Drawing tradition: Dogon children's art in the age of tourism.

On my first visit to the Dogon, in 1990, when I arrived at Sangha, Mali, as a lecturer with a museum tour group, I was told there would be a film showing that evening. (1) Few of the tourists were interested in attending, as this was not on their program, but I was curious. There is no movie theater in Sangha, and I couldn't imagine what film this would be or where it could be screened. As the hour approached, I was directed down the hill to an open field. There I found a large group of men, women, and children of all ages watching Sigui, the series of films on the Dogon ceremony of the same name, made by Jean Rouch three decades before. (2) The images were projected on a white cotton sheet, and the loud whirr of the generator muffled the sound. But the audience was entranced. Sitting in the front row were Jean Rouch himself, the French anthropologist and Dogon scholar Germaine Dieterlen (1903-1999), most elegantly attired, and, on the periphery, members of a Japanese film crew who were making a television documentary about Rouch's return to the Dogon with Sigui. Rouch told me that when he made the films, between 1967 and 1974, many Dogon did not really know what the ceremony consisted of; they simply figured it out as they went along. Now, of course, with the series as a baseline, it is likely that the next sigui will appear to some to be much closer to "tradition."

Many of the adults in the audience laughed as they saw their youthful selves projected on the white sheet. Rouch's films, and others, are just some of the numerous representations of Dogon culture appearing in books, movies, photographs, and travel brochures that freely circulate both inside and outside the culture. Many of these representations are made by outsiders, with various degrees of cooperation from local people--Dogon and other Malians. Dogon people present and represent themselves to outsiders in dance performances, guided tours, and art for sale. The images express how the Dogon experience their own culture and identity; but because they are made for a foreign audience, they also take into account the encounter between the Dogon and outsiders. (3) One form of self-representation that has so far received little attention in the literature of the Dogon are drawings made by children. Depicting landscapes, masks, and rituals, they reveal what the children see as essential and distinctive about their culture. (4)

Using pencils and colored markers, many Dogon children today fill school notebooks with scenes of Dogon life. On occasion these books are offered to tourists. The drawings are about three things: masks, Dogon's distinctive cliffside architecture, and ritual, particularly shrines and sacrifices. They are notable for their realism: masks are depicted in fine detail and as part of total ensembles, with all the props and accoutrements, not as disembodied head pieces sold to tourists. The examples drawn seem to be mainly those seen in the most common theatrical performances, including the satimbe (woman's mask), the bede (young girl mask), the kanaga (bird mask; Figs. 1, 2), the tall sirigi (house mask), the tingetange (stilt mask), the pulloyana (Peul woman) mask, the hunter mask, the goiter mask, and animal masks including hyena, rabbit, cow, monkey, and antelope. (5) The second theme is the distinctive Dogon architecture, including hillside villages and granaries (Figs. 3, 4), the toguna (men's house), and the gina (clan head's house) with its many open compartments. The third theme is the ritual landscape, especially various ancestral shrines covered with sacrificial materials (including millet gruel and chicken blood). There are drawings of the Hogon, or village elder, of senior men, and of chickens being sacrificed on ancestral altars (Fig. 5). All but the last are things that tourists are inevitably taken to see as they do the village tour, either in Upper or Lower Ogol, near Sangha.

[FIGURES 1-5 OMITTED]

Children's graphic art appears in another context: along the ochre walls of circumcision camps. Tourists are taken to a large wall in the village of Songo, where they see drawings of masks, snakes, and various objects associated with legends and rituals. This is the same wall that members of the Mission Dakar-Djibouti described and photographed in 1931 (Schaeffner ca. 1933). (6) Today the wall paintings, still associated with the circumcision camp, are strikingly similar to the ones documented in the 1930s (Figs. 6, 7). As in Griaule's day, after circumcision the boys demonstrate that they have mastered the meaning of the symbols by repainting the images.

[FIGURES 6-7 OMITTED]

While these drawings on walls and in ledger books may simply reflect what is of continuing importance to the Dogon, one must also wonder about the extent to which the world the children are portraying is being constructed for outside consumption, and whether children are participating in a process of reifying tradition for outsiders. If this is the case, what effect does this have on the culture itself? On the surface, the highly realistic drawings in ledger books seem to be accurate renditions of the children's world except for the obvious fact that tourists and other visitors are missing from the drawings.

In a fairly obscure monograph, Jeux dogons (1938b), Marcel Griaule suggested that Dogon children's play revealed abandoned ritual practices of the past. Traces of early Dogon religion, he claimed, could be detected in children's toys, games, and artwork. He noted that children sometimes played with discarded ancestor figures, while Dogon carvers, when offering figures for sale to whites, attempted to pass them off as toys. Griaule was skeptical of the artists' claims, as we may be of Griaule's. Nevertheless it is interesting to follow his suggestion that there is some relationship between the play and art of children, on the one hand, and the ritual objects and practices of adults, on the other. Dogon children's art today is, in some ways, clearly representing, if not actually preserving, "tradition," even if this tradition is constantly changing and adapting to a world in flux--with modernity, Islam, Christianity, tourism and the art market, and so many other forces affecting Dogon society. (7) Although Griaule is undoubtedly somewhat off the mark in his explanation of children's play as a kind of museum of ritual practice, his approach may offer some insight into the meaning of Dogon children's art in the late twentieth century.

Griaule's is only one of many theories about children's art that deal with the question of origins. Psychologists look at this art in terms of the development of a person's cognitive capacities or as a way of discovering a child's non- or preverbal psychic state. Western artists also have been attracted to it. At the same moment that Griaule was writing his arcane study of children's games, modern artists were beginning to look at children's art as a reservoir of the unconscious mind. Like "tribal" art, as it was perceived by Modernists in the 1930s, the art of children was thought to reveal universal and primordial, precultural, ways of seeing and feeling (Fineberg 1997, 1998). In Grove Art Online, the entry on "Child Art" is cross-referenced with the entry on "Primitivism," making a clear link between these two subjects (Willats 2003).

While I am not suggesting that we accept Griaule's theories about children's play and ritual at face value, his work provides an interesting starting point for looking at Dogon children's art today. Granted that the relationship between children and masks is something that has to be viewed in cultural context: initiation, the importance of hierarchies of age and gender, and the restrictions on children's participation in adult ritual activities all affect how children understand things like masks and ritual landscapes. But Dogon masks increasingly perform for outsiders--tourists, film makers, and anthropologists. As tourists wander around Dogon villages looking at altars, divination grounds, and the men's resting places, or toguna, children are following them into new social and physical spaces. Masks today also perform for local people at non-ritual events, such as the opening of a school, or for visiting Malian dignitaries (Richards 2000:111). Are children today, with their colored marker depictions of masks, shrines, and sacrifices, following Griaule, preserving the past and transforming the sacred into the secular? Are they participating in the freeze-framing of Dogon religious practice? Many other writers have asked this kind of question in regard to tourist performances in general, but here my focus is specifically on children, for it is through children that some of these processes of inventing and adapting "tradition" take place.

Jeux dogons is surely one of the most detailed ethnographic accounts of childhood in Africa written in the early twentieth century. Perhaps because children proved to be accessible informants, readily sharing information, at least on the surface, with outsiders, Griaule and others on the Mission Dakar-Djibouti devoted considerable attention to recording information given to them by young informants. The resulting 290-page monograph contains accounts of children's activities in twenty-four villages along the Bandiagara escarpment. The monograph is rich with descriptions, drawings, and photographs of toys, games, children's songs and stories, musical instruments, wall paintings in circumcision camps, sand drawings, architectural models made by children, and masks. It includes accounts of how Western material culture, including airplanes and cars, guns, cameras, and eye-glasses, were, in 1938, being eagerly incorporated into the repertoire of Dogon play.

Griaule began his account, not surprisingly, by linking children's games with cosmology. "Once, when the sky was very near the earth, the Dogon women detached the stars from the sky and gave them to the children. When the children were tired of playing with the stars, the mothers put the stars back in the sky" (1938a:1, my translation). The stars, once remote from children, are grasped by women, become part of the children's world, and then are returned to, or reconciled with, the cosmos. The mothers are in charge of the cosmos and share it with children, who may therefore hold the key to the origins of the cosmos. As we know from Walter E.A. van Beek and others, much of Dogon ritual, especially masking, is aimed at countervailing this feminist and child-centered perspective. The stars--the secrets of the universe--inevitably get taken over by the men.

Like many of his contemporaries, and deriving ideas from writers like Edward B. Tyler (1832 1917) and Sir James G. Frazer (1854-1941), Griaule speculated that children's games represented survivals of earlier adult rituals. The abstract of the English translation of Jeux dogons sums up his argument: "Griaule notes that in many of the listed games and amusements there are certain religious and magical elements present, basically parodies of adult rituals, which may eventually represent the only survival of those adult Dogon ceremonies now falling into disuse" (HRAF doc. 13).

Griaule speculated that children's games, masks, and drawings on the cliff walls of circumcision camps moved between the religious sphere and the everyday world, with children as the intermediaries. Children and their material culture occupied the liminal space, what Griaule called "entrebaillement"--the gap, or half-open space--between ritual and play (1938a:5). This point was not lost on the Dogon themselves. When Griaule noted that in talking to Europeans, sculptors would say that the figures they were carving were dolls and toys, they were, Griaule claimed, telling lies, hiding the true meaning of the ancestral figures. The sculptor was recontextualizing it by hiding behind the foil of childhood. Griaule, suspicious of the carver's claim that he deliberately made figures for children, suggested instead that dolls were discarded ancestor statues; the fact that toys in 1938 had simpler forms than the ancestral altar figures then in use demonstrated stylistic change in ritual carving over time. In fact, what was most likely going on was that the artists equated children and whites, insofar as both were alienated from Dogon ritual practice, and they therefore simply recategorized the objects according to the user, moving them from the realm of the sacred into the realm of the everyday.

Griaule was correct, I think, in suspecting that the sculptor who said that a certain female figure he was carving was a doll of a type he frequently made for children was duping him. Griaule had never seen a child play with a form like that. He realized that Dogon children made their own toys, and African sculptors--Dogon and others--rarely spent time carving such things. Dogon children today make small dolls out of colored rubber (Figs. 8, 9) and reed (Hollyman & Van Beek 2000:66), but these bear absolutely no resemblance to wooden figures used on altars.

[FIGURES 8-9 OMITTED]

In addition to seeing games and toys as clues to past rituals, Griaule also noted that children's games were learning experiences, practice for more adult "entertainment" that included masks but also had religious significance. Masks take on spiritual meaning after initiation, when children begin to learn the secret language associated with them. Before that, children may draw pictures of masks, or make imitation masks, but these are not the "real" thing, whose meanings emerge later as part of a total ensemble of costume, dance, and performance in association with both music and language. Griaule (1938a:19, 257) described a funeral for a cat performed by young boys. (8) He said it served as a learning experience for the funerary behavior that the boys will need to know as adults. Children, in this account, perform ceremonies, including masking, as play before they understand its true meaning. Young Dogon boys play with masks and other representations of the human, animal, and spirit world. But after initiation, females and uninitiated youth are excluded from the world of masks, and these playthings become redefined and associated with manhood, adult entertainment, and the world of the spirits and the ancestors. The transformation from play to ritual coincides with initiation, the separation of the sexes, and the learning of a secret language that separates, in theory, men and women, the young and the old, the secular and the sacred.

In Jeux dogons Griaule devoted a long chapter to children's drawing, sculpture, and architecture. He noted that Dogon children drew large stylized figures representing masqueraders "like the children of Europe draw soldiers" (1938a:181). Applying ochre with a millet stalk, they casually drew pictures of people and animals on cave walls, rocks, and house interiors, but at circumcision time they focused on representing masks. After circumcision, Griaule noted, they would be able to wear a mask or help an elder with a masked costume. "It is this agreeable idea that they express on the rock paintings," he wrote. At the village of Nandouli, sand paintings had the same function. Griaule also saw children build small clay houses, compare them, and discuss the quality of the architecture. And they played a game of tracing designs in the sand, either one- or two-handed, in which one tried to retrace the lines another child had made without tripping up. It was through drawing, Griaule observed, especially images of masks, as well as dancing and making and playing musical instruments, that children approached the world of adult ritual, which those who were not circumcised were allowed to watch only from a distance. But as he mentioned, by 1938 some of the taboos associated with viewing masks were already weakening, even though rock-painting sites associated with circumcision camps were still forbidden to women and the uninitiated.

Today the villages along the Bandiagara escarpment are listed among the endangered UNESCO World Heritage sites. This means that the government of Mali has to take steps to preserve the cliff side dwellings. In the Dogon area, the scenery, the historic architecture, and the living culture constitute the site. Tourism, of course, is both part of the solution and part of the problem. Tour groups to the Dogon area are taken to one or more villages. The most common tour is of Lower and Upper Ogol, near Sangha. Here visitors wend their way along narrow pathways to see the houses and granaries, various kinds of shrines, and the men's toguna, or meeting shelters. Most also stop at Songo, where they climb the cliffs and gaze at the wall of circumcision paintings and also peek into the cave where musical instruments used in initiation ceremonies are stored. Finally, all groups see a masked dance performance, based on the third part of the dama funerary cycle (Figs. 10, 11). Some visitors have a meal or stay overnight in the guesthouse at Sangha; others sleep on the roofs of houses in other villages; and many of them buy art and souvenirs, including masks, before they leave.

[FIGURES 10-11 OMITTED]

How children relate to global tourism is not a trivial issue: children not only present their society to outsiders but also learn something about what the outside world values in their culture. To what extent, then, do these kinds of encounters shape their lives, and how do they affect the way in which they apprehend and identify with their own cultures? In the Dogon area, interaction with children is a notable part of the tourist experience. Children sing and dance at the base of the caves that tourists visit, especially at Banani, where a children's chorus sometimes assembles. They grasp visitors' arms, attempting to serve as guides for those climbing the cliffs and ledges into the villages. Some of the elderly tourists welcome this assistance if the approach is not aggressive; others try to push the children away, usually without success. Children hawk small items and souvenirs, sometimes working for the vendors who have stalls in Sangha near the guesthouse. And in Sangha, although not in the smaller villages like Tireli, some beg for money, candy, paper, and ballpoint pens. Sangha has the highest concentration of tourists, since that is where the day visitors stop, and children there are often seen as a nuisance, so much so that the official guides have attempted to work with elders to keep them at bay.

In the smaller villages the children are more reticent. In Tireli they help visitors climb the steep cliff up to the dance area. They stay nearby during the performance, even though they are not supposed to see the masks. Children allow the tourists to take their pictures, and they offer to sell them their small notebooks with drawings (Fig. 12). (9) Boys make all the drawings, signing them and noting their ages. They seem to be between about age 7 or 8 and 11 or 12. I am not certain whether specific artists were pre- or post-initiation, but the children who surround the tourists almost surely include both.

[FIGURE 12 OMITTED]

The drawings do not depict just masks, as is the case on the rock walls, but rather masqueraders dressed in the entire costume associated with a specific mask: fly whisks, wands, raffia skirts in particular colors, cowry-shell vests, and so forth. Most show a single masquerade ensemble drawn with minimal background, at most a simple frame that is also perhaps a rainbow. Some drawings depict Dogon houses and granaries, altars, animals being sacrificed, and men sitting in the toguna. Tourists avidly photograph all these subjects (except sacrifice), and the drawings isolate the elements and name individual objects in carefully written script. The imported materials used in the ledger books, the details of the depictions, and the act of writing explanatory captions in French bridge the gap between Dogon knowledge and the Western audience. In contrast, when the children are learning the names of ritual objects, especially masks, in the circumcision camps, words are secret and cannot be written. In these depictions, done in a Western representational idiom, everything is explicit, and there are no secrets.

Although part of the dama funeral cycle is now performed for tourists, the complete cycle, which occurs irregularly, is still one of the most important events in a Dogon boy's life, according to Van Beek. (10) In the past, participation in the dama was a prerequisite to wearing a mask. Despite tourism, Islam, and Christianity, Van Beek says that Dogon religion and ritual life remain intact and that children participate in it actively: masking and all that it involves remain central to their lives whether through the dama cycle, initiation, or the annual sagiri festival (Van Beek n.d.; Hollyman & Van Beek 2000). Children are allowed to make and wear the leaf masks that are used at sagiri ("changing of the season") and buro ("rite of the year") festivals associated with sacrifice and fertility. Van Beek's account of these ceremonies, as well as of the sigui festival performed only once every sixty years, stresses how traditional ceremonies are still intact. (11)

Nevertheless, parts of these performances have become detached from the ritual cycle and become theatrical performances for tourists (Van Beek 1991; Imperato 1971; Lane 1988; Richards 2000). Polly Richards notes that in remote villages where mask performances are rare events, the Dogon refer to all mask dances as imina go; but in Sangha, where masked dances for tourists are performed often, the Dogon refer to the dances for tourists as imina yogoro yogoroyay, or "mask play game" (personal communication, Dec. 21, 2003; Richards 2003:182). Richards documents the many changes masks are undergoing, especially in their formal qualities. She also observes that in the tourist performances women come much closer to the masks than they did in the ritual performances (2000:114). As for children, she describes how youths who have not yet earned the right to dance by participating in a dama are now brought into the tourist performances, when needed, through special arrangements, including the payment of fees to elders (Richards 2000:120).

The performances for tourists suppress innovation and emphasize a mythologized version of "tradition" based in part upon Griaule's texts and photographs, in part upon what the tour guides make up, and in part on what the Dogon perceive to be the audience's expectations. Thus while masking itself is evolving and changing in some contexts, the tourist presentations are freezing tradition into a mythologized rendition of Dogon culture. It is this version of the masking that is most accessible to children, and this is what they seem to be representing in their art.

In writing about children (Dogon and others), it is important not to assume that they are simply passive learners--that culture is defined by adults and that children simply grow into it. If, as some writers suggest, the Dogon as adults are able to absorb tourism and at the same time preserve their identity and their rituals, conceptually separating the latter from theatrical performances, this does not mean that the current generation of children will develop the same understandings. If the "real" dama is only performed, in some places, every twelve years, as Van Beek says, this would be a one-time event in the life of a child. Yet these days, during some seasons, there are frequent presentations for tour groups visiting from Europe, the U.S., and Japan (Van Beek 2003; Lane 1988), not to mention performances for local people for secular occasions. Through these events children gain their understanding of masks, and construct images of Dogon culture and their place in it. And masks, formerly something that they only learned about through ritual, as they approached adulthood, are now part of the culture of childhood (Figs. 13, 14). The new media that children use to represent their understanding--the school exercise book, the pencil, and the colored marker--enable even the younger ones to study the details and discuss the meanings of various elements of the masks.

[FIGURES 13-14 OMITTED]

Outsiders have been impressed with the realistic detail in these drawings. This detail is evidence, I think, not just of the centrality of masking and traditional architecture in Dogon culture, but also of the fact that these aspects of culture are accessible to children in new ways. Dogon children's art today is not simply a learning experience but rather a signal that the boundary has shifted between what children are allowed to know, as children, and what is only accessible to them after initiation. It is worth noting again that only boys are doing these drawings, even though girls also see the masks dance for tourists. It may be that while the boundaries of age are being crossed, those of gender are being reinforced.

Today, as the dances and masks are performed for outsiders, and as the children's drawings are themselves becoming a kind of marketable currency, we are seeing more than a continuation of the preoccupation with masks that Griaule described in 1938. Children are constructing an image of the Dogon world in these drawings, in detail and with precision. They are depicting what is important to them, but at the same time they are leaving out things that are also part of their world. There are no tourists and no cameras in their drawings, nor do we see the masks made of all kinds of imported materials that have been noted by Richards (2000). Griaule described children making cars and airplanes in 1938, but today these things, even though commonplace, are not represented.

In the literature on children's art, one often hears that young children draw what they know and older ones draw what they see (see Willats 2003; Fineburg 1998). (12) Are these boys who are constructing Dogon culture through their very selective representations leaving out the signs of modernity because they think such images won't please the tourists, or are they leaving them out because they do not want to acknowledge modernity--including tourism, Islam, and technology--as part of their lives? Clearly they believe the masks and the other elements of the ritual landscape are important, but is this preference also guided by the reactions of the teachers, anthropologists, and tourists who admire and buy their drawings? Among other things, the drawings show that to the young artists, these worlds--that of the masks, the architecture, the ritual sacrifices depicted in the drawings, on the one hand, and that of the camera-carrying visitors on the other--are conceptually separate. (13)

It is worth bearing in mind how different the Dogon example is from the children's art one sees so often elsewhere in Africa: the wire cars, airplanes, motorcycles--images of technology, not tradition. That the Dogon boys are doing something else entirely refers us back to the question Griaule raised in the 1930s: To what extent is the artwork of children preserving a reality that might otherwise immutably change? While the Dogon drawings will not, in themselves, stop changes from occurring--either in the direction of conservatism for tourists, or innovation for Dogon themselves--the children, through their art, are negotiating the relationship between these domains. What effect this might have on the culture itself is beyond the scope of this paper, but as the children become adults, these images are likely to remain part of their experience, their identity, and the way they interpret Dogon culture.

[This article was accepted for publication to January 2004.]

Notes

(1.) My contact with the Dogon is based on four short trips over a ten-year period (1992-2002), two of which involved visits to Tireli. On all these occasions, I worked as a lecturer for the American Museum of Natural History's Discovery Tour program, paying as close attention as I could to the interaction between tourists and local people, especially children. My thanks go to Polly Richards and Susan Vogel for reading drafts of this paper, and to Simon Ottenberg, Alisa LaGamma, and David Binkley for comments on a version presented at the 2003 African Studies Association meeting. A larger version of this paper, comparing children's art in Senegal, Mali, and Nigeria, was presented in 2002 at the Rutgers University Center for Children and Childhood Studies Regional Seminar Series.

(2.) Jean Rouch, sadly, was killed in a car accident in Niger on February 20, 2004.

(3.) Curtis Keim and I developed this theme in our study of early-twentieth-century Mangbetu art (Schildkrout & Keim 1990); it is discussed in regard to tourism among the Dogon by Walter E. A. van Beek (2003).

(4.) Van Beek mentions such drawings in Dogon (Hollyman & Van Beck 2000) and in an unpublished paper on children's masquerades. Polly Richards has also worked with these drawings, and actually arranged a drawing competition among children (Richards 2003). At the time of this writing I have not read her thesis, but I have had the opportunity to correspond with her. See also Richards 2000.

(5.) Imperato's description of theatrical performance in 1971 coincides closely with what I observed in the 1990s, and Imperato, in turn, comments on the similarity to what Griaule observed about secular performances in the 1930s (Imperato 1971:72).

(6.) The article "Peintres rupestres de Songo" in the special issue of Minotaure dedicated to the Mission Dakar-Djibouti (Rivet & Riviere ca. 1933) is signed "A.S." I have inferred that this signifies Andre Schaeffner, who wrote another article in that same issue.

(7.) According to both Richards (2000) and Van Beek (2003), the Dogon concept of tradition is a way of explaining everything in the present by virtue of the past.

(8.) Van Beek (n.d.) also describes a funeral for a cat that he witnessed in the 1990s.

(9.) I acquired three such books for the American Museum of Natural History, one of which was a post-trip gift from a tourist. All the drawings in these notebooks can be viewed at http://anthro.amnh.org.

(10.) While Van Beek says the cycle is done every twelve years, others say that the full dama occurs at more frequent intervals (Imperato 1971; Polly Richards, personal communication, December 21, 2003). Apparently it occurs at different times in different villages.

(11.) Richards points out that Griaule did not discuss these masks in Masques dogons (Griaule 1938b), but rather dealt with them in Jeux dogons (Griaule 1938a). She devotes a chapter of her thesis to integrating these masks into the overall masking tradition.

(12.) This statement derives from the work of G. H. Luquet (1927).

(13.) According to Van Beck they coexist. I am suggesting that this coexistence may be problematic, in that one cannot assume that one sphere doesn't influence the other (Van Beek 2003).

References cited

van Beek, Walter E. A. 1991. "Enter the Bush: A Dogon Mask Festival," in Africa Explores: 20th Century African Art, ed. Susan Vogel, pp. 56-73. New York: The Center for African Art.

van Beek, Walter E. A. 2003. "African Tourist Encounters: Effects of Tourism on Two West African Societies," Africa 73, 2: 251-89.

van Beek, Walter E. A. N.d. "Boys and Masks among the Dogon." Unpublished.

Fineberg, Jonathan. 1997. The Innocent Eye: Children's Art and the Modern Artist. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Fineberg, Jonathan (ed.). 1998. Discovering Child Art: Essays on Childhood, Primitivism and Modernism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Griaule, Marcel 1938a. Jeux dogons. Travaux et memoires de l'Institut d'ethnologie, Paris: Universite de Paris, 32.

Griaule, Marcel. 1938b. Masques dogons. Travaux et memoires de l'Institut d'ethnologie, Paris: Universite de Paris, 33.

Hollyman, Stephenie, and Walter E. A. van Beek. 2000. Dogon: Africa's People of the Cliffs. New York: Harry N. Abrams.

HRAF (Human Relations Area Files). Document 13, OCMs 524 756 857. New Haven, CT: HRAF 2000. Computer File.

Imperato, Pascal James. 1971. "Contemporary Adapted Dances of the Dogon," African Arts 5, 1: 28-34, 68-72, 84.

Lane, Paul. 1988. "Tourism and Social Change among the Dogon," African Arts 21, 4: 66-69.

Luquet, G. H. 1927. Le dessin enfantin. Paris.

Richards, Polly. 2000. "Imina Sana or Masque a la Mode: Contemporary Masquerade in the Dogon Region," in Re-Visions: New Perspectives on the African Collections of the Horniman Museum, ed. Karel Arnaut, pp. 107-23. London: The Horniman Museum and Gardens, and Museu Antropologico da Universidade de Coimbra.

Richards, Polly. 2003. "Imina Sana (masque a la mode): A Study of Dogon Masquerade at the Turn of the Millennium (1994-2000)." Ph.D. thesis, SOAS, University of London.

Rivet, Paul, and Georges-Henri Riviere. Ca. 1933. Minotaure 2 (special number: Mission Dakar-Djibouti 1931-1933). Paris: Editions A. Skira.

Schaeffner, Andre. Ca. 1933. "Peintures rupestres de Songo," Minotaure 2:52-56. Paris: Editions A. Skira.

Schildkrotu, Enid, and Curtis A. Keim. 1990. African Reflections: Art from Northeastern Zaire. New York: American Museum of Natural History; Seattle and London: University of Washington Press.

Willats, John. 2003, "Child Art," The Grove Dictionary of Art Online. Oxford University Press. http://80-www.groveart.com .osiyou.cc.columbia.edu:2048. Accessed December 22, 2003.