*Scoffs* the hypocrisy.
I do not have a romantic story for why I am an artist, art has always been with me; always been my first love. My safest place during my academic career was the art room, and as an adult when the world hurts too much or my mind turns against me, I have my first love: art. My second love was introduced to me when I won my first writing competition in primary school and the idea that my loves could also be my career was planted. A deeply exciting prospect until I became a part of the Kenyan creative economy.
A creative economy can be defined as an ecosystem of creation, production, and distribution of tangible goods that also provide intangible intellectual or creative services. These products have economic value for the income and business they cultivate, and play the socially vital role of both documenting and impacting culture. Additionally, this intricate ecosystem prioritizes the use of creative, intellectual, and technological capital as primary input.
To be a Kenyan creative is to know that Kenya’s creative economy is cursed with potential. Talent runs rampant through the country from actors, musicians, writers, designers, fine artists, make-up artists, curators, producers, you name it, there is a Kenyan doing it and doing it well. Each artisan ranges from self-taught, to formally trained to a hybrid, either way, impressive; but society seems to simultaneously berate or dismiss creative work while praising it once it gains (often) western popularity. There are a few things that go into this attitude towards the creative sector in Kenya, colonialism, education, and government policy that influence the social attitude towards the creative industry.
Colonialism informed Kenya’s government and education today, and the aim of previous colonial overlords was the exploitation of resources, labour included. The point was for the native population to till the land first for mineral resources and when those were not found, labour was needed for further agricultural exploits. Therefore, education for natives was structured first by missionaries, then by the colonial government with a complete focus on industrial labour, agricultural work and servitude thus, complete neglect of native art. Post-independence, this legacy of neglect continues with only a theoretical prioritization of art.
“The universities in Kenya that I visited as a young girl were just not inspiring, and I could see the limitations. I knew that the kids who failed ended up in the art universities, and the kids who couldn’t do stuff academically ended up there. There’s still this kind of cloud of lack of regard and of lack of respect for artists in general. I never thought of art as this trough that picks up all the forgotten and the wretched. I thought of it as magnificent, how you can transform an environment, or a person’s day, or someone’s life with an image that [they] had never encountered before.” Wangechi Mutu explained in her interview with Refinery29 in 2019
General Kenyan society takes it a step further from neglect to disrespect, prizing specific white-collar jobs as the only viable career path.
However, it is still possible to have a career as a creative in Kenya, the landscape bonds us in a one-of-a-kind trauma; we share joint experiences like impossible clients, disrespectful client briefs, strained funding, gatekeeping and probably having someone you did work for aeons ago owe you money to this day. While this trauma is occurring, capitalism does not stop. Assuming one has no lifestyle benefactor, an artist must work, and often has to find gainful employment and/or take work they are not all the way excited about. Thus, we are often trapped in a state of survival trying to explore our talents in an industry too young to have a clear guide for us and a crushing cost of living robbing us of the simple luxury of failure (a crucial part of creativity is to experiment), to find what works and develop signature styles and thus formidable careers.
Despite this, people not only survive but thrive navigating the labyrinth freeing themselves and their careers of the cage Kenyan society places creatives in. And once noticed and accepted by a global audience, Kenyan praise is not far behind. The list of these creatives is endless, and thanks to the internet I get to see these wonderful creators grow and be rightfully appreciated for their brilliance. These success stories fill me with joy, the kind of joy I imagine prisoners feel for someone who completed their sentence; not inspiration. The fact these success stories always have a bump in the road, and that bump comes from local audiences is a gross fact that needs to change, and needs to change fast.
How to fix it?
Ideally, the government would be investing in extensive art programs and policies aimed to preserve art both old and new, art education and protection of artists and their future creations. But, as a Kenyan, I know better. So, I’d like to focus on what private individuals can do.
- Art is created by people who are just like you. Every worry, concern and utility bill is like yours. So even if you can’t buy it. Share it. Speak the name of your favourite creators in rooms we are not in.
- Just cause it looks easy does not mean it is, what you see is often years of work. So be part of the journey! Take a chance with the beginners.
- Ask questions about your creative interest, art is built to have cared discussions. There is a creator like you and it is never too late or too early to explore your creativity.
These few changes can help a budding creative industry go a long way so that when you type out ‘Kenya to the world‘ to the next Kenyan breakout star it’s a tad less hypocritical.
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Fashion Science By Mitteiy 