Nelson, who welcomed us into his cultivated space, describes the way to channel African Humanism and the Black Body. To him, chains are what humanity cannot carry, and only those with humanity use their voice as power. He does it with his work.
Hi Nelson. Thank you for joining us today. So, to start off, can you tell me a little bit more about yourself?
I came from Curaçao, right? I was born there in 1953. As a family, we came to Holland in the 1960s. In 1964, because of the economic situation in Curaçao, we had to leave as a family and migrate, actually. My family was looking out the better goods for the children, better education for the children. So, we came here in 1964. And I did do the necessary schools here. And then in 1975, I went to an art academy. So, I studied sculpture in 1975. and in 1980, I started as a professional sculptor. And in 1982, I had a studio from 82 and now. I was a professional, let's say, sculptor. But sculpting was more a voice of deep ancestral knowledge. That's it, see it this way. It's not about making forms or selling. It was a voice that has to be heard in the outdoors. I soon realized, as a child, that the outdoors is not neutral. The outdoors is for certain people, it's not for the black people.
And when you were younger, what was the moment that kind of made you realize that there is an outside part?
I think the first day when we arrived here. My father had an opportunity to get a very nice apartment. He bought it in a very nice neighborhood. So as soon as we arrived here, we realized that they didn't want us there. So, I already knew. So, I was outdoors, neutral, and I learned to navigate in this— you know— in this identity. Not really identity. Who am I? You know, know yourself. In a period in the 60s that was very creative. So, we had the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the music, all those things. So it was, for a young black guy, it was very creative. I don't only look at the bad part; it was a very creative part. Changing the narrative of young people, you know, Longyear, the music, the dance. The rebellion. Yeah, it's very creative. I'm very glad to have experienced this time because I was very glad that you came from Curacao here. It was like a new horizon. So, it's not all bad, there was also joy. Looking for your part in this story.
Moving to and growing up here in the Netherlands, especially during this time period, you once mentioned that you were one of the only black ones of the few black families in your neighborhood and one of the few black artists in your school, in your art school. Did you ever feel a sense of responsibility? Responsibility towards representation, towards your community, your ideas, your history, or did you sort of resist the notion of responsibility?
This is a very deep discussion that we also had in the 80s about how black artists have a responsibility to their community. A lot of black artists choose not to go in the figurative form because the figurative form is connected to slavery. So, if I make a form of a Negro, people come in and say that's a slave. So, they tend to go abstract to have their voice. I was more like, my community brought me here. I was reading about the great leaders in the 70s. 80s, so they gave their blood for us because to the 80s they killed them all so the 80s there was change right but till to the 80s they killed them all because what they did they wanted to change the slave narrative so like Huey Newton of the Black Panther Party said, as soon as we want to change the slave narratives, white people get rage. So actually, what he said is, white people can only exist if we stay in the slave narrative. And they don't want us to change the status quo.
