By Thomas Gilchrist
Today we went to a haughty-taughty artisan’s market at some rich diplomats wife’s club. But what was there is exactly how markets in Africa “should be,” should African crafts ever demand the prices I, for one, believe they can, and should.
The prices at Marché Noel were unbelievably expensive considering what their street-market equivalents would command, and there were many fixed-price items for which one could not bargain. What made the Marché Noel stand for producer standards is simple: authenticity.
African crafts are beautiful, ornate, one of a kind works of wood, metal and stone that command high prices when purchased overseas, and they are almost always made by hands who receive little wages. Early on in our stay here, we visited a small mask-carving shack in Dakar, and there, sure enough, were a circle of men sitting on the ground with chisels and knifes, carving masks and statues from little blocks of wood while listening to a little AM radio.
But this wood carving shack was hidden amidst a bus-repair spread of land, and was completely hidden from public view. From what I know, what happens is that vendors come to these mysterious production shacks, purchase statues and masks from these guys on the floor, and go off to yell at tourists, hoping to sell for a high price.
But the connection has already been lost. As soon as the vendor has purchased the mask from the artist, it ceases to be a mask made by artist X, and enters into the vast realm of masks you can buy from guys on the street of whom the perception is they will try and cheat you out of much money as possible through the art of Sly Speak.
At the Marché Noel, however, the artists (albeit ostensibly) were on hand to pedal their own wares. Not only were they able to command a higher price than would acceptable on the street, but they were easily able to access a demographic to whom they had a probability of selling (French women), as well access an enviroment comfortable to their prospective patrons (the Women’s Club). Even though you didn’t see them producing their goods on site, you felt more secure in knowing their wares were authentic (in that they were made by their own hands), thus allowing for a higher price.
This French-controlled approach to commercial artisanry, is, unsurprisingly, the same employed in the United States. Every year in my home town there is a massive series of art fairs that simultaneously overwhelm the city each summer. Artists come from all over the country, and they demand high prices–prices that are met and paid for by hungry consumers.
Their business plan is simple. They produce high-quality works of art they sell themselves. They are there on hand throughout the buying process, there to explain methodology, personal details, inspiration behind pieces, and questions pertaining to how long it took to accomplish a certain work and why. Many also have pictoral descriptions of their creative process. In so few words, you know exactly why you are paying $400.00 for a vase that will go in the dining room on top of the hutch, even though, while pretty, a similar vase could have been bought at Meijer’s for $25.00.
In Dakar, all this goes out of the door as soon as the vendors buy their products from the artists, and in stead of that mask being willingly purchased for $400.00 because it was inspired by the funeral mask of a famous war lord, and took twenty hours to make, the prospective buyer is driven off by an aggressive salesman who wouldn’t give it to them for $10.00.
The vendors try and compansate for this by giving passionate speeches about ho
w their cousin made it, or their brother who was very sick, but only fools believe them, even if it could be true.
The Authenticity Model is not practiced solely by westerners, and artisans at events organized by westerners, as a similar approach is taken by American Indian craftsmen and women in the American Southwest. American Indian crafts, much like African crafts, have the potential of commanding very high prices due to authenticity, only that American Indians succeed at this.
Two summers ago, I attended an American Indian art fair in Sante Fe, New Mexico. Prices ran high, and people bought. They even had a judged contest, and the winners were able to command a premium.
While visiting Kenya in high school, my group went to a weaving factory set up for widows to have work. They produced beautiful rugs, clothes, and bags–right in front of your eyes. Of course their model wasn’t perfect either, as we had to visit the factory to buy their wares, but we did, and bought, and felt good about it.
Whether or not this or a similar approach will be adopted by Senegalese vendors and artisans is up to them, but it has worked for other people.
