Joshua Adelakun of Mede.

I first heard of Joshua Adelakun in 1964 at Ilase. I was told that there were now no practicing sculptors in the town and that when carvings were required, the work was usually commissioned from an unnamed woodcarver at Mede. (Mede is a small settlement of mixed Ifonyin and Gun [Egun] population situated about three miles east of Idiroko, the principal border post between southwestern Nigeria and the Republic of Benin, formerly Dahomey.) (1) The same story was told at Ayetoro, a few miles along the Idiroko road. Yet again, at Oke Odan it was said that since 1957, when the local sculptor, Akinjobi (see Chappel 1997), had died, people who wanted carvings usually commissioned a carver at Mede. In the local courthouse, I was shown a pair of figures, commissioned for decorative purposes, with Joshua's name painted on the base of each. I met the carver himself soon afterwards.

Joshua Fakunle Adelakun Alamun, to give him his full name, was born in about 1925. He wore his hair unusually long for a Yoruba, and he had the filed upper teeth of the Gun, his mother's people (Fig. 1). However, he regarded himself, first and foremost, as Yoruba. Born in Mede, he lived with his wife and children in a modest group of houses built in the traditional style and situated on the outskirts of the village. The compound was shared with Jiman, his fourth junior brother, and Jiman's immediate family. Joshua's wife also cared for Tetede, her senior brother's daughter (Fig. 2). Tetede was a twin whose sister, Esun, had died. In an adjoining house lived Amos Elegbede, junior half-brother to Joshua's father, Adelakun, who had acted as compound head since Adelakun died in 1959 or thereabouts.

Joshua's paternal grandfather had been an orisa worshipper, whereas his own father was a Muslim convert. He himself was brought up a Muslim but had been baptized into the African Church (Salem), an indigenous separatist movement, at the urging of his uncle Amos Elegbede. Joshua professed to have no direct connection with the traditional deities (orisa) other than Ogun, patron of woodcarvers and all who work with metal. Nevertheless, he continued to believe in their power to affect human lives. For instance, he maintained that if he should fall ill it would not be Olorun (God, the Supreme Being) to whom he would turn and who would diagnose and, hopefully, solve his problem, but the orisa, most especially Ifa, the deity of divination. His church favored a synthesis of Christian and traditional beliefs and raised no objections to his continued involvement in accepting commissions for ritual carvings for the orisa. (2)

Training

Joshua's willingness to discuss his work in a straightforward manner made him an ideal respondent. So far as I could discover, his work was not represented in the collection of the National Museum, Lagos. Joshua described his early training as a carver thus:

   When I was a small boy, I started
   watching my father. I was the only
   one interested in the work. My
   brother Jiman only took it up when
   it [the pressure of work] became
   too much for me. I started carving
   when I was about nine years old.
   There was no "syllabus" (eto, "program");
   what I had to do was to
   watch my father as he carved. He
   did not force me to do the work. I
   used to take a piece of wood and
   play with it and when my father
   saw this he would call me and show
   me how to do it. If I carved it and
   it was no good he would tell me to
   do it this way or that way and then
   I would do it the way he says.
   Sometimes, he would say: "Haven't
   you got eyes?" and he would show
   me one of his carvings and tell me
   to do the work again. Sometimes,
   he would hit me with his switch.
   When he took his ax and went into
   the forest I used to go with him.
   When he cut his own wood he
   would ask me to cut mine. If he
   wanted to carve a human being (yo
   enia, lit., "bring out or make visible
   a person") I would watch him and
   bring out mine too. Not that I tried
   to bring out a person on my own:
   It was his that I was looking at.
   Whatever he carved, I tried to do
   the same. After about five years, I
   became used to the work. (3)

Joshua said that his father had stopped carving altogether several years before he died, leaving all the work to him. According to Adesola, then the head of Joshua's lineage, Joshua and his father had been "competing" (le ara won) with each other for some time until Joshua proved that he had learnt the work so well that he had become a better carver than his father. The rivalry between father and son had, by all accounts, been on a friendly basis and Adelakun had been quite happy to acknowledge Joshua's superiority and to pass on the baton, so to speak, to his son. Adesola estimated that Adelakun had stopped carving some ten or fifteen years before he died, when Joshua was in his early twenties. Joshua still used some of his father's carving tools for certain types of work, claiming that "they help me to do the work correctly like my father."

Commissions and Fees

Joshua's work as a carver covered a wide field (Fig. 3). On one fairly typical occasion, I found him engaged upon two tasks, the repair of a drum, which required a new skin, and the cutting and shaping of a new butt and stock for a hunter's Dane gun. Two more drums and another Dane gun also awaited repairs. Jiman, meanwhile, was hollowing out a log for a new drum commissioned from Joshua. To one side were three uncompleted figurative carvings: a standing figure of a local policeman commissioned by a police sergeant from Ilase; a large standing figure of Sango, god of thunder, commissioned by cult members from Ilase; and a large odo Sango (ritual mortar for Sango) consisting of a seated woman as caryatid suckling a pair of twins, commissioned by Sango worshippers from Ifonyin (Fig. 4). At other times, he said, he might be commissioned to carve memorial images for twins (ere ibeji)--as there was a fairly constant demand for these he generally had one or two completed figures at hand--masks for the Egungun and Gelede masquerades, and divining trays for Ifa priests.

He maintained that there was nothing that he did not and could not carve, and whatever a patron might ask of him he would be able to do it. Usually, he said, patrons (onise, lit., "owner of the work") gave him verbal instructions as to their requirements; on very rare occasions they actually brought samples of what they wanted. They would tell him what type of object they wanted and specify the use to which it would be put; the decoration required, such as facial or other markings; the sort of wood, whether hard or soft, whether resistant to insects (this was sometimes specified by the orisa concerned, if a ritual object, or by the Ifa oracle, or it might be dictated by the use to which the object would later be put); and, in the case of figurative carvings, the gender.

Joshua claimed that no patron had ever refused to accept a commissioned work once it had been completed, and he suggested that the only way in which such a situation might arise would be if he himself had failed to elicit proper details from the patron before commencing work. As he put it: "If the person has explained it properly we will use our brain (opolo) to make it well enough so that it goes down his throat (i.e., he will be satisfied)." The only occasion on which he himself might refuse a commission would be if there was a serious disagreement over the fee.

According to Joshua, in the case of images for twins the charge was dictated through Ifa, but for most other types of work it was a matter for discussion between carver and patron. The fee prescribed by Ifa for the image in memory of Tetede's twin Esun (Fig. 2) had been kola nuts, palm oil, gin, and two shillings. (In 1964, a Nigerian shilling had approximately the same value as the old English shilling, now less than 5 pence). The charge for twin images varied from 2 to 8 shillings, though there were occasions when the instruction from Ifa was to carve free of charge. In the case of a large commission, such as a carved door, Joshua explained:

   If I ask what kind of door and he
   tells me to use my brain (opolo; i.e.,
   he gives me a free hand), it has started
   there. I will tell him that he has
   to pay when the work is finished,
   because I don't know what kind of
   brain will come out (i.e., what the
   work will entail). But if he tells me
   what he wants and how I should do
   it, I may tell him that the work is too
   much; it will take too long and he
   will have to increase the money.
   Then, I will tell him how much it
   will cost and if he is satisfied I
   start work.

In the case of memorial images for twins, according to Joshua, the carver was usually chosen by Ifa, or rather by the departed twin speaking through Ifa. If a twin indicated that he or she wanted a memorial figure--some twins demanded only a shrine (ojubo)--then the Ifa priest would call the name of a carver known to him, and if Ifa "took" the name that man would be commissioned by the parents to carve the image. If the name was not taken the priest would try another name and so on until either a name was taken or the priest had no more names to offer. If Ifa took none of the names called then one of two things was likely to occur: Either the priest would tell the parents to go to one of the carvers already named but refused by Ifa, on the grounds that "the ere must be made," or he would tell the parents to find out the names of other carvers, who would then be offered to Ifa.

In the case of ritual carvings other than ere ibeji, would-be patrons were not normally obliged to find the carver through Ifa, though Joshua maintained that some people still did this, especially if the initial demand for the carving had been made by an orisa through Ifa or if a patron was undecided about which carver to commission. In this connection, it was suggested that it would be in Joshua's best interests to make himself known to local Ifa priests so that they would be sure to offer his name to Ifa. However, the notion appeared alien to him: "I have no need to go to the babalawo (Ifa priest) like that: they will know me. Can something happen in a village and somebody not know about it? You yourself have come from far away--how did you find out that I was a carver?" He reacted in a similar fashion when it was suggested to him that he should advertise his work locally: "If they hear that I am a good carver they will come to me--if they don't want to come I cannot force them." However, Joshua did concede that a recent innovation of his, the signing of his name and location on some of his larger decorative carvings (he had been taught to do this by a young member of his household who attended primary school), could be regarded as a form of advertising.

Rituals

Before cutting a supply of wood or embarking on large or important commissions Joshua performed a propitiation ritual (etutu) for Ogun, the deity of carvers. According to Joshua, he performed this ceremony for purely practical reasons. He did not himself regard tree-felling or even carving as especially hazardous activities. However, he deemed it advisable to placate Ogun as an added insurance against possible accidents, such as the ax or knife slipping, or a tree falling the wrong way. He thought that some trees might harbor "spirits," possibly even harmful spirits, but he was not sure about this and the question did not seem to worry him unduly, unlike some other carvers.

The propitiation ritual for Ogun was described by Joshua:

   I collect all my tools, including the
   ones for cutting the tree, and put
   them down in any place where I
   know that they will not be disturbed.
   Then I take water--it can
   be any water, rain water, river
   water, or even my own water--and
   sprinkle it over the tools. The
   water is important because Ogun
   must drink, and nothing can live
   without water. Then I take a cock,
   slaughter it and put its blood on
   the tools; then kola nut, which I
   split over them; then palm oil and
   also some palm wine. Then I will
   say: "Ogun, somebody has begged
   me to carve ere--let everything be
   alright." I leave it all there for three
   days and after that I begin work.

Unlike his father before him, Joshua maintained no permanent shrine for Ogun, though he said that he intended setting one up "someday."

According to Joshua, all carved images for the orisa had some "power" (agbara) in them even before they were handed over to the patron. This was provided that the correct wood (i.e., the wood specified by the patron) had been used by the carver and also that he had not turned the log or branch "upside down" when carving (i.e., that the wood had been carved upright relative to its natural direction of growth when part of the tree). However, Joshua was of the opinion that the image did not attain its full ritual power until the performance of the final propitiation ceremony of dedication to the orisa concerned (Figs. 5-6). In some cases, as with memorial images for twins, Joshua himself was instructed to perform such a ceremony before handing the work to the patron though, in general, it was the responsibility of the latter to ensure that the image became ritually effective. However, if the carver had used an incorrect wood, one that would not "hear" the requests of supplicants, or had turned the log or branch upside down whilst carving, the completed image would remain powerless, totally immune to any form of ritual entreaty.

Joshua firmly believed that whether or not an image was well-carved had no direct bearing on its effectiveness as a ritual object. On this point he was quite adamant:

   The power is already in the wood
   whether it is well-carved or not.
   You can only increase the power by
   performing etutu, not by carving
   well.... When I carve, I take more
   care over using the correct wood
   than the carving itself. Whether or
   not the carving is good, the etutu
   will be the same. The correct wood
   and the correct etutu are the important
   things.

In fact, Joshua claimed to be able to tell at a glance whether an image was powerful or not, for simply looking at it told him whether the correct wood had been used and whether or not the carver had kept the wood upright when carving.

The Process of Carving

Joshua cut all his own wood in the forest. For most carvings he preferred to use ire (Funtumia elastica), a variety of wild rubber tree, because its fine texture favored delicate and intricate work with the knife. It was also, he said, resistant to termite attack, so patrons liked it too. On occasions, he made use of, or was asked to use, a slightly harder variety, akoko (Newbouldia laevis) and very occasionally, but only when asked to do so by a patron, iroko or African teak (Chlorophora excelsa), which is particularly hard, durable, and termite-proof. However, iroko was in short supply in this area and cutting it required a permit, which cost 15 shillings in 1964.

He carved mostly indoors but occasionally, when engaged on a large work, made use of the shaded area in a clearing behind his compound. He would only carve at night, with the aid of a kerosene lamp, he said, if the work was particularly urgent or there was was much to be done. He had no qualms or "superstitions" about certain days or times being more propitious for carving than others, though he did try not to work on Sundays, when he attended his local African Church. He carved only with his right hand and was surprised to learn that some carvers were ambidextrous. He did all his work at Mede and had never travelled elsewhere in order to carry out a commission. Occasionally, when there was a lull in his carving work he would help his brother Jiman on the farm.

Joshua designed all his own tools, giving detailed instructions to Jiman who, besides being a farmer and carver, was also a part-time blacksmith. He described his work as involving two broad stages, the shaping stage (yiyo), and the smoothing or polishing stage (didan). However, in the course of fulfilling a commission to produce a twin image illustrating the stages of production in sequence (Fig. 7) he delineated four such stages. Yiyo, literally "the appearing" in the sense of making something visible, was the stage in which the adze (awon) was used to block out the main forms. In fifa, the scraping-away stage, he switched to his carving knives (obe ona) in order to establish the final proportions of the figure in terms of mass, though a narrow-bladed, long-handled adze was also used for certain areas. Didan, literally, "the shining or polishing," was a general smoothing-off process with a smaller knife and ewe ipin, the abrasive leaf of Ficus asperiola or, when he could afford it, sandpaper. Fifin, the final carving or decorating stage, was when all the fine details such as fingers, facial features, and plaited hair were cut. (4) During this final stage, in particular, he marked in the details with the back of the knife before cutting, and to further ensure an overall symmetry he carved such paired features as eyes and ears in alternate stages.

Assistance and Attribution

Joshua's working relationship with his brother Jiman was basically one of master and assistant. Jiman clearly regarded himself as a carver in his own right, but most of his work appeared to be done under instruction from Joshua and under Joshua's name (although Jiman was not without the desire for his own work to be recognized). Commissions were usually placed with Joshua and only rarely, as in the case of the portrait of the police sergeant from Ilase (Fig. 4), with Jiman and then only, it seemed, when Joshua was too busy to carry out the commission himself. Both carvers said that they sometimes worked together on a single commission, although they agreed that the most important parts of the work, principally the fifa stage, when the principal proportions were established, and fifin, the decorating stage, when the final details were cut, were generally Joshua's responsibility (Figs. 9-10).

Inasmuch as most commissions were accepted by Joshua, the completed carvings went out under his name irrespective of who carried out the actual work. None of the people spoken to at Mede or the surrounding settlements who knew of Joshua as a carver had heard of Jiman or were aware of the fact that Joshua had an assistant. Indeed, it was not until I myself had visited Joshua several times that I met Jiman and discovered that he, also, did some carving. According to Jiman, Joshua would sometimes sign his own name on a completed carving even though Jiman had done all the work.

Both carvers agreed that if asked directly for the identity of the author of such a carving, Joshua would name Jiman as the carver and that it was right and proper that he should do so. Both carvers also agreed that it would be quite wrong for a carver to take the work of another carver and put his own name to it without that carver's knowledge or approval. On the other hand, there was nothing untoward in a carver who, for one good reason or another, was unable to carry out a commission commissioning another carver to do the work on his behalf. It would be wrong for that carver, if asked, to claim that he had done the work but, as Joshua pointed out, that was a question that, under normal circumstances, few Yoruba would feel compelled to ask. Indeed, those who wish to establish the identity of a carver tend to make their inquiries discreetly.

Art and Creativity

Although Joshua was disinclined to intellectualize about the creative aspects of his work, he did answer a number of questions that, taken together, provide an insight into the various faculties employed by him as a carver:

   When I carve, I use iye (thought,
   mind, rationality), emi (life, breath,
   spirit, being) and okan (heart, feeling).
   Everybody possesses iye, but
   being a carver you imagine (ro) certain
   things, how to begin, how to
   do it, and it comes out correctly. I
   start by remembering all the things
   that I have been taught as a carver.
   I sit down and think with my
   okan--then, when I have worked it
   out I will do it and it will be like
   that.... lye, lakaye (common sense)
   emi, ogbon (intelligence, skill, sense)
   and opolo (brain, intelligence) are
   all inside the heart which is in the
   chest. There is nothing inside the
   head except ero (thoughts). Everything
   comes from the heart to the
   head before it comes out. The heart
   is the father of all, and if your heart
   is not at rest you cannot be a good
   carver....

At different times, Joshua used such terms as emi, opolo, and iye as if they were synonymous and it was not easy to establish exactly what he meant by them. However, of one thing he was absolutely certain: All physical and mental attributes were, in the last resort, dependent on the proper functioning of the heart, a belief which seemed to be in accordance with the general Yoruba view that the heart is the seat of the emotions, of psychic energy, and of the processes of thought (cf. Lucas 1948:247, Idowu 1962:170). He was extremely skeptical when told that some carvers claimed to derive inspiration for their work from dreams:

   I don't dream and my father did not
   dream. There is no need to dream
   when you know the work and it is
   the work of your generation (i.e., it
   is an inherited skill). I will not say
   that those others are telling lies: It
   is the way that they see it that they
   are talking about, the way I see it
   that I am talking about. They are
   telling lies, but don't tell them that
   I said so!

As already indicated, Joshua believed strongly in the principle of a personal destiny, preordained by Olorun, which governed every sphere of living, whether it was the choice of a wife or one's daily occupation. His carving he regarded as a gift (ebun) from Olorun, passed on to him through the heart of his father. He believed, also, that unless an individual found his true destiny in life he would never be successful:

   A person can branch to another
   type of work, but after some time
   he must change it and do the work
   that has written down for him.
   When he starts to learn this work,
   after he has been taught a little, he
   will do it well because Olorun has
   given it to him.... When I meet
   another carver who is doing this
   work correctly (gangan, lit., "exactly"),
   I will tell him that we share
   the same anjonu (tutelary spirit),
   the anjonu olona (the spirit of the
   craft of woodcarving). (5)

Neither Joshua nor Jiman believed that carvers were basically any different from other people--it was simply that their anjonu was different, as were those of the blacksmith, or the weaver, or any other person engaged in a craft requiring skill. People did different types of work, each with its own anjonu, but this alone did not make them something special. As carvers, therefore, they claimed no special source of inspiration other than the anjonu of their work:

   We know that anybody who does
   carving work correctly comes with
   a little (i.e., was born with a certain
   amount of talent and ability), but
   the rest he must work out with his
   opolo. But it is the anjonu of this
   work that shows a person how to
   do it and which helps him to remember
   the work. When you are
   carving, the anjonu will always be
   in control of your emi.... Let us say
   that this work takes kola nut from
   you and palm oil. When you make
   etutu for Ogun, at the same time
   you are giving these things to the
   anjonu of carving. You must believe
   that it is not your own brain
   that you are giving them to, but to
   the anjonu of the work. When you
   learn to become a carver it is the
   anjonu olona that will teach you how
   to do it.

Inevitably, Joshua could not contemplate doing any other type of work, maintaining that he would continue carving until the day that he died. He found the idea of having to give up carving, for whatever reason, a disturbing one: "It would be very bad for me because I would still remember how to do the work but not be able to do it." Even if, by some chance of fate, he achieved a title such as oba (local ruler), for whom such work is generally considered inappropriate, even demeaning, he would, he said, continue to carve for his own private satisfaction and enjoyment because "my heart would not allow me to refuse the work."

Aesthetics

On the subject of criticism, Joshua said that he used the same faculties that he employed for carving when carrying out a critical appraisal of his own work or that of other carvers. He suggested that any person with emi dada (a good spirit) would be able to judge whether a particular piece of sculpture had been well carved or not. In addition, the brain and the eyes would have to be used to "take its number," i.e., judge its proportions. However, the final verdict had to come from the okan (heart), "the father of them all." Joshua claimed that he welcomed criticism of his own work, especially when the critic was either another carver or someone whose opinions he respected:

   If we are working and somebody
   comes and watches us and says
   that this or that remains [to be
   done], if we are sensible we shall
   not be annoyed. We shall allow him
   to finish what he is saying. We must
   not say there is something wrong
   with him because we carvers, when
   we sit down to work, don't know
   what remains to be done (i.e., by
   way of making improvements). If I
   have been working for a long time
   on something and it is not finished
   I will leave it and if somebody
   comes in I will ask them to look at
   the work and tell me what remains
   to be done. If he tells me I shall
   keep quiet. If another person comes
   I will ask him to do the same. Everything
   they say I will be playing
   with it (i.e., treating it lightly). But
   if two or three people tell me the
   same thing, then I will know that it
   does remain.

Even if a total stranger criticized his work he would not be annoyed or consider the person rude, he said, for he would assume that the person knew something about woodcarving and might even offer him some good advice. However, he would be surprised if a person who knew nothing about carving began to criticize his work. He, for instance, would not presume to criticize something that somebody had written for, being unable to either read or write, "I know nothing about this work." Carvers, though, were not the only people qualified to criticize: "Some people who are not carvers can see what is good from what is bad. A carver cannot know all his faults and not only carvers can see faults, but a carver will usually know better where the man has gone wrong because it is his line of work."

Joshua himself appeared reluctant to criticize the work of other carvers, publicly at least, unless requested to do so. He would never, he said, enter another man's house and begin to criticize any carvings that he saw there:

   I will not just go in and say this is
   not good, that is not good. The carver
   has tried in his work and it is not
   good for us to spoil a thing with our
   mouth (i.e, criticize). We ourselves
   don't always know how to do it. It
   is Olorun who chooses us. There are
   some people who like to praise
   themselves, whereas Olorun did not
   praise them (i.e. did not endow them
   with any talent). But if Olorun praises
   a man (i.e., by endowing him
   with certain gifts or talents) then we
   should do the same.

If asked by other carvers to comment on their work he would do so: "If they are willing to learn they will accept what I say; if they are too proud they will make excuses."

Invited to comment, on different occasions, on small groups of twin images from other parts of southwestern Yorubaland, he concentrated exclusively on the proportions and relative naturalism of the figures. According to Joshua, the defining characteristic of good carving was how fine and delicate (we) were the details, especially of plaited hair and facial features. He also, inevitably perhaps given his own interest in the accurate portrayal of this particular portion of the human anatomy, looked very carefully at the treatment of the hands. For instance, of a figure from Ilaro (Fig. 11), he noted:

   It is good except for the arms, which
   are too thick. One arm is even thicker
   than the other. Also, the hands are
   incorrect--you cannot bend your
   fingers like that [he demonstrated
   how impossible it was]. These lines
   on the fingers (the demarcation lines
   of the third joint) should be longer.
   The breasts are not well carved: they
   should be falling, not sticking up
   like this.

When it was suggested to him that the carver, even though he might have known that the curve of the breasts was "incorrect," might have preferred to carve them this way in the interests of the overall visual effect, Joshua's response was an emphatic one:

   This carver must have made a mistake:
   He certainly did not mean to
   do them like this. If he had known
   how to carve breasts, he would
   never have done them like that.
   When doing such things, one
   should look very carefully to see
   how they really are. These breasts
   would have been better upside
   down!

Similar criticisms were directed at a twin figure from Abeokuta (Fig. 12): The head was "correct," but the body was badly carved and, in particular, neither the breasts nor hands bore much resemblance to their human counterparts. Joshua was even more scathing about a figure from Ajilete (Fig. 13), picking out as the only commendable feature the carver's treatment of the bante (loincloth or apron). He castigated the carver for completely "squashing" the figure's forehead and for not taking the trouble to relate the correct measurements of arms and legs, so that the latter were far too short. Ranked well at the bottom was a crudely carved figure from Olorunleke. Joshua's comments were brief and merciless: "This man cannot carve. The proportions are very bad. He has used the wrong tools and he has no patience, because it is not completed."

The figure that impressed him most, and which he consistently ranked top in any group in which it was included, was a female twin figure from Abeokuta (Fig. 14). (6) When he first saw this figure, he immediately wished to handle it, turning it to view it from different angles and, all the time, making appreciative sounds indicative of his undoubted appreciation of the workmanship involved. Eventually, he pronounced the carving a very fine piece of work, with everything "proportional," and one which he himself would have been proud to have produced. Initially, he maintained that he could find no fault with the figure but, subsequently, after a number of viewings he offered one or two minor criticisms: The arms were, perhaps, a little too long, although he had seen people with long arms; the knees were rather high up the legs and there was not quite enough thigh (he slapped the back of his own thigh to make the point). Nevertheless, in spite of these minor points, it remained an outstanding example of the carver's art. Could he, and would he, make a copy? Joshua did not hesitate: "Yes, and I will make it even better. I shall have to make a few alterations where I think the carver has gone wrong--at the wrists, for example. There aren't any on this one."

Not long after making this copy (Fig. 15), Joshua was shown a group of twin figures which included among them one of his own figures. Taking up the figure in question, he shook his head sadly, saying that the work was not good enough and that he would have to change his style. He would, he said, make the legs and neck thinner and the head smaller. These "improvements" were, in fact, identical to those features which Joshua had particularly admired and commented upon in the figure from Abeokuta which he had recently copied.

Joshua clearly knew his own worth as a carver, as exemplified in his confident willingness to compete with the best in the incident recounted above. In general, he divided carvers into two groups: "good" (oje okan, one amongst many) and those he described as "trying, or making an effort" (gbiyonju). Asked in which category he placed himself, he replied: "I cannot say, but I know that I carve well." When it was suggested to him that he quite clearly belonged in the first category, he did not dispute the point. He was particularly conscious of his skill in the carving of hands and he regarded this as a sort of trademark (ami), which singled out his work from that of other carvers.

Joshua's unashamed delight in his technical prowess was demonstrated on a number of occasions. After I had once passed a remark concerning the generally static nature of most Yoruba sculpture Joshua produced, entirely on his own initiative, two figures, one a policeman in full dress striding forward, in the act of withdrawing his sword from its scabbard (Fig. 17), and the other a naked man, wearing a baseball cap and urinating (Fig. 18). He had done the carvings, he said, in order to prove that he, at least, was capable of carving people "doing things" (i.e. actively engaged in some sort of activity involving movement).

He added that he had only been "playing" when carving these two figures and that if I cared to spend a week with him at Mede, he would demonstrate the full extent of his powers. He could even, for instance, carve a man standing on his head! Did he require a human model for this? No, he would simply "imagine" (ro) how the man would look, using his okan (heart), and then carve the figure accordingly. On another occasion, Joshua picked up a small piece of wood about 4cm (1 1/2") long and proudly announced that he could carve a human figure from it without any trouble. He did not think that many other carvers would be skilful enough to do likewise.

Finally, his confidence was such that he had no objection if people, including complete strangers, watched him at work:

   As many people may watch me as
   they like. Those who don't like to
   be watched are like that because
   they don't want others to know
   their style (owo, hand), with the exception
   of those learning from
   them. It is to prevent people taking
   what they have and adding it to
   their own work (i.e. benefiting from
   it). It does not worry me if people
   want to take (copy) my style.
   Even if they have it, it still does not
   mean that they will be able to carve
   like me!

In particular, Joshua believed that, no matter how long they might watch him at work, no other person could ever learn to carve hands as well as he did. There was also a special interlace pattern, called ibo, which he sometimes used on Ifa trays and which, he claimed, would prove impossible for any other carver, unless as skillful as he (Figs. 9-10).

Portrait of the Artist

In this brief profile of the carver, the portrait that I hope has emerged is one of a well-integrated individual with a balanced attitude towards life and a stable personality happily adjusted, so far as could be judged, to the social and cultural environment in which he found himself. (7) Gentle, lively, and intelligent, a man of obvious integrity, good humor, and unfailing courtesy, Joshua's consuming interest in the practicalities of his craft, coupled with his straightforward acceptance and enjoyment of his expertise with adze and knife--though this did not preclude the periodic self-critical appraisal of his own shortcomings as a carver--allowed him to discuss his work with a refreshing directness. His proven technical ability, his well-developed powers of observation, and his willingness to involve himself in his work with a high degree of intensity and sensitivity, clearly elevated him above the rank-and-file of his fellow practitioners.

Above all, Joshua gave the impression that he was a contented man, completely devoted to his family and happy to accept that as a carver he was fulfilling his own personal, though lineage-derived, destiny. Perhaps the most striking aspect of his personality was his air of quiet self-containment. Here, or so it appeared, was a man at ease with himself and sure of his own worth and ability. When at work, his relaxed but totally focussed composure was a clear indication that he had succeeded in adhering to his own belief that "a man cannot be a good carver unless his heart is at rest." (8)

As a final tribute, it might be said of him that he exemplified those hundreds of often unsung sculptors, many of whom, hopefully, are still active in contemporary Yoruba culture, whose common bond is that over the centuries they have been content to serve their communities honestly and well, and through their creative vigour and integrity have helped to establish the artistic heritage of the Yoruba nation as amongst the richest in the world.

If, in a fit of outmoded ethnocentricity, we were to regurgitate two opposite and extreme roles, in themselves simplistic stereotypes, in which to cast the artist/craftsman, we might have at one end of the scale the humble "artisan" or "technician," conservatively repeating conventional schematic forms, and at the other, the innovative, self-regarding "artistic genius," absorbed in the task of expressing his or her own individuality. To which end of the scale should a carver such as Joshua Adelakun be relegated or promoted?

His apparent lack of inner conflicts, resentment, or disrespect for the established order, often thought to supply an extra "cutting edge" to creativity and to operate almost as a prerequisite of artistic inspiration, would appear to preclude him from the extreme role of artistic genius, that heavy burden bequeathed to Western culture by late nineteenth century Romanticism. Indeed, given his outgoing, cheerful and, apparently, con tented disposition, Joshua himself would most certainly have found it extremely difficult, if not impossible, seriously even to entertain the Freudian notion (later abandoned by Freud himself) of creativity as largely the product of neurotic conflict.

Should he, then, be regarded as simply a "gifted technician," automatically repeating the forms passed down within the cultural, and more specifically, the lineage milieu, conventional by force of circumstance if not by temperament, because not compelled to undertake the role of innovator? Not so, it seems, for Yoruba scholars, most notably those writing from within the culture (e.g. Abiodun 1994; Yai 1994) have convincingly elaborated on the nonstatic, dynamic nature of the relationship between tradition and creativity. Yai, for instance, maintains that for the Yoruba, "Art is an invitation to infinite metonymic difference and departure, and not a summation for sameness and imitation" (1994:113).

The convention to which Yoruba artists/craftsmen, such as Joshua Adelakun, subscribed--and, in all likelihood, still subscribe--seems to have been one in which the invitation to invent was implicit in the very notion of tradition. All the indications were that as a conventional artist, in the very best Yoruba sense of that term, Joshua's personal inclination was to respond vigorously and effectively, whenever possible, to that invitation. It is highly probable, also, given the strong and abiding Yoruba awareness of the life-enhancing, sustaining power of the ancestors, that he, in common with most of his fellow artists, would have had little difficulty in concurring with T.S. Eliot's notion, expressed in an essay first published in 1919, that tradition brings with it a perception "not only of the pastness of the past, but of its presence" (1953:23), so that tradition itself becomes a readjustment of the experience of that past to accord with present needs. In the creative process evolving from the interaction between past and present, the living are, therefore, revitalized by the past, in this instance the Yoruba sculptural canon, which in turn imposes its own sense of order on the present.

Following on from this, and taking into account the widespread Yoruba belief in reincarnation within the lineage context, it is also more than likely that Joshua and other Yoruba artists would have been in full sympathy with Eliot's view that "No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists. You cannot value him alone; you must set him, for contrast and comparison, among the dead" (1953:23).

[This article was accepted for publication in November 2003.]

(1.) This material was gathered in 1964-65, when I was employed as an ethnographer by the Federal Department of Antiquities, Nigeria. The Ifonyin are a Yoruba subgroup centered on the border town of that name. They are often referred to as Anago/Nago, which is also used, especially in the French literature, as a generic term for all Yoruba-speaking peoples in Benin (formerly Dahomey) and Brazil. The Gun/Egun are of Ewe stock. For further information on the ethnic and linguistic complexities of the area, see Eades 1980:11-14. Abimbola (1994:137) has mildly rebuked those engaged in Yoruba art historical studies for tending to concentrate on just a few well-known sculptors from certain areas. This article serves as a small contribution towards redressing the balance. It is dedicated to the memory of Ken Saro-Wiwa and the Ogoni people of the Niger Delta.

(2.) In 1964, the local African Salem church was in the process I of being constructed. Joshua declared that, once it was finished, he would produce a "very good carving" for permanent decorative display in the building. This would, he said, serve as a reminder to the congregation of his work as a sculptor.

(3.) This, and subsequent quoted passages, have been transcribed from a series of taped interviews, both formal and informal, with the carver over a period of infrequent meetings lasting some fourteen months. Joshua spoke no English and my Yoruba was, and remains, extremely limited. However, I was particularly fortunate in obtaining, at different times, the services of two Yoruba assistants, Sam Cole and Alex Johnson, whose appreciation and understanding of the purpose of the work was such that their active participation served, I believe, to transform this limitation into something of an asset. The close rapport established with Joshua was almost entirely due to their interested and enlightened efforts on my behalf. I am also most grateful to Ladipo Yemitan, of the Nigerian Broadcasting Corporation, for checking some of the transcribed material.

(4.) These stages may be compared with those from northeastern Yorubaland outlined in Picton 1994:30. For an illuminating description of the carving processes see Drewal 1980:9-15, who was himself apprenticed to two Yoruba carvers.

(5.) The concept of anjonu (the variant of aujanun, alujanun encountered in southwestern Yorubaland) proved a difficult one to unravel. It was discussed and analyzed at length with a great number of Yoruba respondents from all walks of life. During the 1970s, I also corresponded with a number of Yoruba scholars and scholars of the Yoruba. Most grateful thanks for their time and trouble go to, amongst others, Prof. Warren L. d'Azevedo, Prof. William Bascom, Prof. S. O. Biobaku, Father Kevin Carroll, Prof. T. Lambo, Dr. D. Olu Olagoke, and Ladipo Yemitan of the Nigerian Broadcasting Corporation. The general consensus seemed to be that, while the term derives from the Hausa aljannu, which in turn derives from the Arabic djinn, Abraham's gloss of "evil spirits" (1958:52) is too narrow in scope and, quite possibly, reflects a missionary (especially Christian) bias. Various synonyms in use, such as ebora, iwin / iwinle, oro, and even orisa, imply the notion of an exceptional skill or miraculous talent involving a supernatural or, at the very least, supernormal component. Joshua's own use of the term, and that of his uncle, Adesola, appeared to be more akin to the Classical concept of genius, in the sense of a generalized "tutelary spirit" associated with specific areas of creative endeavor, rather than the specialized, out-of-the-ordinary quality of a gifted individual's creative output, and this is the interpretation adopted here. I hope to discuss the concept of anjonu more fully in a forthcoming publication.

(6.) For further information on this workshop, and also that o the rival Adugbologe workshop, see Chappel 1972; Drewal 1980:13, 274, 52-3, 77, 79, 87.

(7.) Discussing the rural/urban dichotomy, with particular reference to Abeokuta, Lambo (1963:305) suggests that members of rural communities are less likely to be subjected to the effects of sociocultural disintegration. However, it is quite possible that an urban environment would have suited Joshua equally well, while the increased competition that he would have encountered--as in Abeokuta, where the workshop principle flourishes, which may lead to rivalry between different carving lineages (cf. Chappel 1972)--coupled with exposure to a range of different carving styles and demands from patrons for a higher degree of variety and expertise, might have provided an added stimulus to his own creativity.

(8.) When I asked Sam Cole, who came to know Joshua well over a period of several months, what he thought of him as a person he replied with the single, admiring epithet, tutu (cool, calm), high praise indeed coming from a fellow Yoruba. Both in his appearance and in his easy, relaxed, but assured manner Joshua bore a marked resemblance to a performer who was, perhaps, the epitome of "cool," Nat "King" Cole.

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