Every day you go for a run.
You witness the sun illuminate the sky and cast long shadows on the early birds waiting for the bus. As you breathe in the crisp air and take in your surroundings, you notice that your new neighbour also jogs.
You haven’t had a chance to get acquainted yet, but today is special. Today, you are finally going to say something. You plan out your approach to time it right, and as he gets closer, you exclaim, “Wow, you’re so fast!”
That’s not what he hears.
Whether it’s the music pumping through his headphones or the thick saliva weighing down your jaw, the “s” in “fast” gets left behind. He spits out an insult, which leaves you confused.
It takes hours for you to realize the misunderstanding, and now your mind is blazing with self-doubt.
“Should I ring his doorbell and explain my intentions?”
“Do I change my running route so I never see him again?”
For most of us, the feeling of being misunderstood invokes such a powerful reaction. Our pulse accelerates, and our bodies stiffen as we prepare to choose between fight or flight.
Being disliked by one person is tough enough. Imagine that hatred coming from an institution of very powerful people.
In 1999, when Chris Ofili displayed The Holy Virgin Mary, he had no intentions for his art to receive such sharp backlash. The piece was vandalized, politicians pulled out lawsuits, and the Catholic community was pissed. Surprisingly, Ofili didn’t overexplain or get defensive. He let the hate train run its course, and once the dust settled, the fallout actually worked in his favour.
In countless cases, misunderstandings can bring more awareness to suppressed artworks. This creates a paradox where art takes on new exponential meanings despite attempts to stifle it.
Ofili’s intent vs. reception
Some artists do aim to irritate audiences, but for the most part, creators want to tell stories influenced by their lived experiences. When Mildred D. Taylor wrote Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, she vividly depicted the harsh racism in the deep south, slurs and all. Her intention wasn’t to traumatize students, yet that was the exact argument used to challenge her books.
Chris Ofili found himself in the same position. When he created his version of Mary, he crafted a reflection of himself and his culture. Her skin was dark, her features were Afrocentric, and the elements used to create the piece were as diverse as his own life history.
The painting was unveiled at the Brooklyn Museum during the Sensation exhibition. It is hard to say which part enraged Catholics the most, the elephant dung or the black skin.
Holy Mary and merde!
Describing all the details featured in The Holy Virgin Mary is like falling down a rabbit hole. Each addition and every decision can be discussed ten different ways, so it’s best to stick to the most contentious element.
The inclusion of feces in a painting depicting one of the most respected religious figures was enough to cause mass outrage. Ofili placed elephant dung on the chest of the Madonna and propped up the piece with two additional clumps at the base. Many saw this as blasphemous and couldn’t think of a single positive reason why feces should be featured in religious art. There are a few reasons …
Tracing back to Africa
Although Ofili is of Nigerian and English background, in 1992, he spent time in Zimbabwe studying cave paintings. Being exposed to this new culture introduced him to a dynamic medium, elephant dung.
He became enamoured by the many ways locals used dung to repel anything from mosquitoes to bad spirits. In rural Zimbabwe, elephant dung is not waste. It is a blessing used to deliver healthy crops, keep disease away and protect one’s spirituality.
For Ofili, dung is sacred. He didn’t use this medium to enrage Catholics or to disrespect Mary.
To make it fair, he also incorporated dung into many of his other notable works, including No Woman No Cry (1998) and Afrodizzia (1996).
Mary, or me?
In other parts of Africa, hunters use fresh dung to track and locate animals across the vast plains. If the dung is fresh, you can trace exactly where it came from. If it is stale, there’s no hint of its origins. Although Ofili uses dung, it is far from fresh. It is old, stale and covered in resin. Attaching stale dung to this piece is a comment on the ambiguity of the Madonna. It’s a way to highlight the intimate bond between religion and personal identity.
There are numerous depictions of Madonna-like figures throughout history and across cultures. Who gets to decide what she should look like? Is it Jean Fouquet? Allan Rohan Crite?
Apparently, the mayor of New York believed he should have the final say.
Rated “V” for vulgar
Politicians often send out conflicting messages. When Sensation was making its way to New York, bishops, mayors and community leaders voiced their displeasure. They claimed that the exhibition in general and Ofili’s piece in particular was too vulgar to be shown. At the same time, they critiqued the museum’s decision to ban minors from attending.
Rudy Giuliani, yes, that Rudy Giuliani, was mayor at the time and doubled down on this hypocrisy. He threatened to pull funding from the Brooklyn Museum for adding an age restriction to the exhibition.
When the museum ignored his tantrum, Giuliani filed several lawsuits, which were all dismissed. Despite his loss in court, he did not stop campaigning against Ofili’s piece.
He labelled the art “sick stuff,” claiming that it was “desecrating someone else’s religion.”
Chris Ofili was raised Catholic, but that didn’t matter. Giuliani and many religious leaders were determined to hold on to their misunderstandings, despite never seeing the piece in person. They didn’t care that the artist belonged to their religion, and they didn’t ask for the meaning behind the strange medium.
While men like Giuliani aimed to destroy the institution that supported Ofili, the drama and exposure drew more eyes to his art.
Ofili’s masterclass in strategic silence
Humans have a sweet tooth for suppressed works. From banned books to cult classics, we have a tendency to support artists whose works were misunderstood in their time.
In this sense, controversy can be a blessing, but it depends on the artist’s reaction.
If Ofili went head-to-head with the mayor of New York and battled with the Catholic League, that would have significantly changed the optics. Especially given his race, he would have been seen as an equal (if not greater) aggressor in the debate.
Ignoring the conflict and only speaking when spoken to allowed him to adopt an aura of cool.
Record numbers of viewers visited the exhibition, including 72-year-old Dennis Heiner, who smeared white paint all over the artwork. This action further expanded the value of the painting by adding more controversy. The piece was now alive.
The cultural significance of the artwork was easily translated into monetary success. The Holy Virgin Mary was sold several times, with the most recent sale racking up $4.5 million. In 2018, the new owners donated the piece to MoMA, where the painting is now a part of the museum’s permanent collection.
If there’s one thing we can learn from Ofili, it’s to let our work and character hold its own weight. Once you conquer the fear, being misunderstood can help you develop a stronger sense of self.
About the artist
Chris Ofili is an English painter of Nigerian heritage responsible for works such as Iscariot Blues (2006), Afronirvana (2002) and, of course, The Holy Virgin Mary (1996). He grew up in the church and regularly attended services as an altar boy.
His career began taking off in the mid 1990s after completing his studies at the Chelsea School of Art, the Royal College of Art and the Berlin University of Arts.
His creations can be closely connected to the works of Jean-Michel Basquiat, George Condo and other Blaxploitation-based artists like Mickalene Thomas. He’s been awarded many titles and achievements, including the Turner Prize in 1998 and the Commander of the Order of the British Empire in 2017.
He moved to Trinidad in 2005, where he continues to paint and craft. To explore more of Ofili’s work, view the mini-collection below or visit his profile at MoMA.
Works cited
Cameron, Ben. “The Mayor and the Madonna.” American Theatre (New York), vol. 16, no. 9, 1999, p. 4.
Hynes, N. J. “From Riot to Austerity: Chris Ofili’s Retrospective at the Tate Britain.” NKA (Brooklyn, N.Y.), vol. 2010, no. 27, 2010, pp. 42–47, https://doi.org/10.1215/10757163-2010-27-42.
Plagens, Peter. “Holy Elephant Dung.” Newsweek (New York), vol. 134, no. 14, 1999, p. 71.
