Kente cloth 20th century

Editor: So, we're looking at a 20th-century Kente cloth, made of cotton and woven by Ewe artists, at the Minneapolis Institute of Art. I find the patterns so vibrant, they almost seem to vibrate on the fabric! What stories do you think this cloth is telling with its colors and shapes? Curator: Ah, Kente. It’s like a visual poem, isn't it? Each color, each motif woven into this textile sings its own verse. The geometric shapes…they’re not just decoration. They’re often adinkra symbols borrowed from the Akan peoples nearby, whispering proverbs and philosophical ideas. I see some *mmusu*, possibly signifying 'misfortune,' and perhaps *akoben*, the war horn, a symbol of readiness. What feelings do those stir in you? Editor: The 'misfortune' symbol, juxtaposed with the 'war horn', makes me wonder if the textile meant to evoke resilience? Was it made during a tumultuous time, maybe? Curator: Perhaps! Textiles like this were often woven for royalty, occasions that celebrated significant moments, both somber and celebratory, and even communicating messages beyond words. It’s like jazz—repetition and improvisation meeting head-on. Each weaver, a soloist with their loom. This is how one could define “pattern-and-decoration.” How does this make you reflect on fiber art? Editor: The thought that each piece of the pattern can have such deep resonance makes the art much more alive and expressive. Thinking about weaving as a kind of visual jazz, the interplay of discipline and spontaneous expression makes total sense. Curator: Yes, so Kente becomes more than just woven threads—it transforms into history, philosophy, emotion, spun into existence. I almost feel like grabbing my saxophone! What do you take away? Editor: I’ll definitely never look at a textile the same way again! Thinking about all the potential narratives woven into the pattern adds so many new layers. Thanks for the insightful interpretation!