There was plenty of polite pomp surrounding the opening of “Benin—Kings and Rituals: Court Arts from Nigeria” at the Art Institute of Chicago last week. A royal entourage from the Kingdom of Benin—now part of Nigeria, and not to be confused with the independent Republic of Benin—came to town for the show, which originated in Vienna and consists of 220 works, primarily brass sculpture and intricately carved ivory culled from major European and American museums. There was a gala party for more than 600 in the former Gunsaulus Hall, making its debut as an event venue. But at a press preview two days before the opening, Princess Theresa Erediauwa read a short speech on behalf of her father, Erediauwa I, the Oba of Benin. “I have made it a personal goal to build a museum in my country to display this art,” the Oba’s statement declared, and went on to say that he hopes to see at least some of it returned.
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What’s more, the event was taking place on the home turf of Art Institute director James Cuno, whose new book, Who Owns Antiquity?, champions the claims of museums over nations in the tussle for the world’s cultural treasures.
An Edo-speaking city-state with origins going back to the 12th century, Benin was a vibrant force in Africa for hundreds of years. When the Portuguese arrived, in the 15th century, Benin forged a trading alliance with them and prospered by exporting goods including spices, ivory, and fabric—and, in later years, slaves—to Europe, the Middle East, and the Americas. Metal casting had been practiced in Benin since the 1200s, but after the Portuguese brought in supplies of copper, Benin’s artisans refined their methods and began producing one of the world’s most remarkable bodies of work in brass. The Obas, considered divine rulers, actively supported the artists’ guilds and commissioned work from them; ritual art and artifacts were used to honor the royals and to communicate with sacred ancestors. Most spectacularly, during the kingdom’s golden years in the 16th and 17th centuries the palace walls were said to be covered floor to ceiling with hundreds of finely detailed brass bas-reliefs depicting Benin’s history and customs.
After a word from Art Institute curator Kathleen Bickford Berzock, who’s been working on the exhibit since before Cuno’s arrival in 2004 (the catalog is 472 pages), everyone adjourned to the galleries where artifacts of the court of Benin waited: fabulous dwarfs, stunning black leopards, coral-beaded royal garb, and bas-relief obas. Iyi-Eweka made his way slowly past one display after another to the most incredible artifact of all: a huge photograph placed near the exit. Taken aboard a British yacht, it shows three soldiers, armed with rifles and swords and standing at attention behind a seated, robed, and clearly outraged man who looks very much like Iyi-Eweka. “That’s my great-grandfather,” Iyi-Eweka said. “In shackles.”
