By Elizabeth W. Giorgis
The formal properties, styles and techniques of telsem fascinate viewers from both Ethiopia and abroad. Traditionally created on parchment, the sophisticated and complicated lines of the art form consist of spectacularly expressive symbols. But the conventional knowledge base for telsem art in western art historical provisions has been cabalistic. Modernism, as a field of study, persists in classifying telsem’s intricate lines and shapes, exuberant colours, and conceptually complex arrangements in categories that lie outside the modernist canon, consequently reducing the ideological and philosophical meaning of the art.
In a review of the 1997 exhibition Art That Heals: The Image as Medicine in Ethiopia, held at the Museum of African Art in New York, The New York Times art critic Holland Cotter acknowledged the exquisite imagery of telsem art. He referred to the paintings as ‘visual knockouts.’[i] Yet Cotter placed emphasis on the disciplinary divide between the modern and historical visual languages of European and non-western art forms such as telsem, which are perceived as a historical objects. Despite being practised in contemporary times, non-western art is still approached through anthropological designations.
It was precisely this underlying difference of perspective in art historical studies that the exhibition Men Neber (2018)—which I curated at the Modern Art Museum: Gebre Kristos Desta Center, Addis Ababa—attempted to address. The title and query Men Neber [what was it] served as the starting point for presenting a honed and nuanced understanding of Ethiopian telsem art, conventionally labelled ‘healing art,’ ‘magical scroll’ or ‘talisman art’. The exact meanings and practices of telsem had not been included in modern education and contemporary knowledge production even though the art is still practised with visual sophistication, astute philosophy and complex concepts.
Showcasing telsem art by Henok Melkamzer, Men Neber intended to provoke alternative approaches to the planning and review of non-western visual studies. It urged viewers to critically examine non-western archival spaces to understand specific cultural histories and powerful artistic accomplishments such as telsem, which are still produced in contemporary times but do not appear in modern art historical studies and documents. The exhibition challenged a one-dimensional understanding of modernism, highlighting both ancient inspirations and modern idioms as it focused on the contributions of telsem to the modernist movement in Ethiopia.
Undoubtedly, exhibiting telsem paintings in a modern art museum has its own complications since the historical and epistemological underpinnings of such institutions are fraught with the power-laden histories of representation. Departing from Okwui Enwezor’s idea of exhibition space as a site of encounter and critical production[ii], this exhibition, like its predecessor, Men Neber, seeks to complicate these conventional narratives behind non-western art objects such as telsem.
Scholars like Timothy Mitchell argue the history of the west is positioned in such a way that ‘all other histories must establish their significance and receive their meaning.’[iii] The anthropologist Talal Asad thinks ‘many of the things that are thought of as modern belong to traditions which have their roots in Western history.’[iv] We should devote considerable attention to their words when we examine the project of modernity and modernism, a vexed issue that continues to unsettle contemporary theories on the subject.
Attempting to interpret the space that mitigates the relationship between the ‘modern’ and the ‘non-modern,’ and between ‘tradition’ and ‘modernity’, this exhibition, Henok Melkamzer: Symbols and Imagery of Telsem Art, calls our critical attention to what Mitchell indicates is the hegemonic project of the modern, which is staged and performed. Certainly, the teleological understanding of the term ‘modern’, both as a political philosophy and an economy of culture, has been contested and challenged in multiple ways in scholarly debate. But in Ethiopia, as well as in many other parts of Africa, it is especially important to note that the complexities of the modernist project have been informed by the socioeconomic phenomena of modernisation in contexts of development.
The hegemonic values and discourses of modernisation and development have scorned traditional knowledges such as telsem and repudiated such knowledge as ‘spiritual’, ‘indigenous’ and ‘unscientific.’ It is against this background that I argue that the art of telsem cannot be excluded from the platforms of modernism. It is our own modernism. Henok Melkamzer: Symbols and Imagery of Telsem Art, therefore, does not aim to compare and contrast telsem art with European modern art but rather to challenge the meaning of ‘modern’ as ‘modern’ in telsem is practised in contemporary times with modernist visual sophistication and complexity.
The uses of the supernatural in non-western visual art are often grouped together under the rubric of ‘magical realism’, and humanistic scholars have given little significance to the substantial modernist interventions of art such as telsem. Clearly these complex works of art cannot be purely described in terms of contrasts such as ‘reality versus fantasy’ or in contexts of a long-gone tradition that has waned. They are still produced in contemporary times, fantastically depicting specific cultural, political and social experiences of the contemporary moment in both rational and mythical ways.
While telsem art has long been collected by western art lovers, it was notably brought to western art platforms and markets by the French anthropologist Jacques Mercier. His exhibition Art That Heals: The Image as Medicine in Ethiopia (1997) particularly stimulated interest in telsem among western art critics, curators and collectors. Mercier worked with telsem artists such as Gedewon Mekonnen (1939–1995), whose works have been displayed in western museums and are currently part of the Jean Pigozzi Collection of African Art.
Even though Mercier’s exhibition loosely offered the principles and concepts behind the artistic practice of telsem, it barely considered Ethiopia’s larger political, cultural and social history, which framed and informed the visual form, or the variation and articulation of telsem at different moments of history. While his study of the art covered a large time span, it also exclusively referred to Ethiopian telsem as an ahistorical form of ‘talismanic’ art, explicitly related to the styles and forms of other ‘talismanic’ art in the region and beyond.
Mercier’s exhibition stated that the word ‘talisman’ originated from the French religious leader Joseph Scaliger (1540–1609): ‘We owe the word talisman to Joseph Scaliger who coined it as a transliteration of the plural of the Arab word “tilasm”, then followed its Arab meaning in using it to designate, in both French and Latin, certain objects and stones shaped for astrological purposes.’[v]
In some ways then, it is plausible to say the analysis of telsem art in Mercier’s exhibition was informed by Scaliger’s postulation, which referred to ‘talisman’ art as ‘objects and stones shaped for astrological purposes’. The way many European curators and critics formed and shaped their knowledge of telsem was, therefore, broadly governed by epistemes outside the epistemic locations where the knowledge was produced.
Clearly, categorising telsem as unassumingly ‘talisman’ is reductive since it omits the specific characteristics of the art form. The painstakingly detailed and intricate illustrations of Ethiopian telsem paintings cannot be confined to art specifically designed for therapeutic purposes or simply considered mere medicinal artefacts, as the predominantly western field of study continues to brand them. It is true that telsem paintings are used as therapeutic instruments to cure mental disorders and other illnesses. But it is also true that telsem is primarily an intellectual tradition through which critical concepts and ideas are routinely contemplated to unravel complex problems. Not limited to therapeutic bodily concerns, telsem is also used to solve some of the complex problems of the universe, such as environmental carnages, war and poverty.
This is not to say that Ethiopian telsem art was not influenced by the Byzantine or Islamic ‘talisman’ that Mercier’s exhibition brilliantly portrayed. Nonetheless, telsem art should primarily be studied within its own frame of reference, focusing on its own epistemological inquiry, epistemic location and history—within its own meaning and context—for a deeper understanding of its relationship to or influences from other knowledge systems.
One significant query that Mercier brought forth was the broader relationship of telsem art to other forms of African art. He urged us to search for conceptual frameworks beyond conventional art historical approaches. Whether the art form of telsem is connected to other art forms of the African continent is rarely examined. It should also be noted that research on Ethiopian telsem is relatively recent and, in many cases, conducted through partnerships with foreign scholars who are exclusively interested in the medicinal aspect of telsem or art institutions that are enamoured with the magnificence of the images.
The interpretation of telsem varies from artist to artist. Nonetheless, most telsem artists agree that the art is not ‘made’ by anyone and that it has its own rules and customs only a few can decipher. Although some painters achieve exceptional knowledge of telsem on their own without being trained by their forefathers, the mysteries of the art form are generally transferred from one generation to another through blood lineage and only to generation members who can protect the secret.
Telsem is often associated with the debteras of the Ethiopian Orthodox church, though it is also practised by artists who are not debteras. A debtera is a learned person who completes the same studies as a priest. However, unlike a priest, he can neither celebrate mass nor take confession because he is also interested in investigating non-Christian beliefs. Known as astrologers, scribes and fortune tellers, debteras perform the music and dance associated with church services. But whether telsem art is practised by debteras or others, the philosophical underpinnings of telsem require rigorous training in both the spiritual concepts and visual elicitations of such concepts.
Certainly, the practice of telsem art has also significantly dwindled in recent times. Though formally trained artists from the Ale School of Fine Art and Design in Addis Ababa continue to emulate the unique styles of telsem art, much of what they produce lacks the deeper framework and knowledge characteristic to the art. This is because artistic production and pedagogy in the School of Fine Art and Design are centred on European modernism. Ethiopia’s unique artistic traditions, including telsem paintings, are certainly at the heart of many artists’ practices, but they lack the scope and complexity that mark this tradition.
Furthermore, the rise of evangelism and the fundamentalist course of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, which violently prohibits any form of non-Orthodox Christian belief, has also undermined telsem’s artistic inquiry. Although telsem artists say the genealogy of Ethiopian telsem art dates back to the creation of the universe and that most of the symbols in telsem art have been appropriated by the Orthodox church, telsem painters have traditionally experienced a dubious relationship with the Orthodox church. At times they were in conflict with the church, which considered the natural elements, non-Christian spirits and their invisible powers in telsem as subversive. At other times, their knowledge was widely sought by the church. For instance, artists were pursued to decode difficult texts in Orthodox manuscripts as artists were erudite in such matters and Orthodox Christianity could not deny their powerful knowledge base.
The telsem artist Henok Melkamzer is not a debtera. He learned his craft from his father and his grandfather. He has no formal training as a painter and never attended the School of Fine Art and Design. He lives in Entoto, close to the Maryam and Raguel churches. His small studio, which also serves as his living space, has a spectacular view of a forest filled with swathes of eucalyptus trees.
Most of my interpretations of telsem art and its knowledge base are derived from Henok’s and those of his father, Melkamzer Yehun. Even though I have worked with Henok for almost four years, I still do not have a full understanding of telsem art and the knowledge imbued in it. To begin with, one should understand the Ge’ez script, from which the Amharic language derives. I do not know how to read Ge’ez or interpret its celebrated, layered meanings, although I speak and write Amharic. Second, the secrets of telsem’s meanings have been very well protected for generations. Henok was only able to reveal some of the basic knowledge to me.
Henok has used canvas for the works shown in this exhibition, although he also paints on parchment on rare occasions. He says he prefers parchment to canvas since the durability of paint is stronger on parchment, though parchment is presently hard to find. His recent paintings have also been made with acrylic rather than eswat [pigment extracted from plants], since, according to him, these extracts deteriorate after five or six years.
Each element in Henok’s telsem paintings, permeated with sprawling vines, words and numbers, carries multiple meanings. Posed in unusual forms, these elements are covered with seven basic colours symbolising the seven days of the week and the seven vowels of the Ge’ez script.
The multicoloured lines in the works pause before they recede and then mend yet again. But each time they rise, entities are formed, emerging as if to explode. All the while, they are presided over by the surveying eyes that are aligned in the middle of the canvas. It is the eye that looks, that is curious, that guards and surveils. ‘The key to reading telsem,’ says Henok, ‘is to begin from the centre—the eyes are at the centre—and move outwards. And each vine begins with a word or spiritual concept to depict the complex relationship between colour and the alphabetical form of telsem language.’
The artistic expression of telsem conventionally served as a time-based experience that responded to specific sites and needs. Artists were able to make a living from telsem paintings as the art was created with the intention of expiry, and the ephemeral nature of the object did not really affect its monetary value. In the case of amulets though, paintings were covered with protective leather bindings.
One of my questions to Henok and his father, Melkamzer, honed in on the ephemeral nature of telsem art and why Ethiopia’s strong legacy of long-lasting paints did not relate to telsem paintings. Their response was that churches apply protective layers such as boiled incense to their paintings. In contrast, telsem artists are prohibited from employing protective layers, particularly incense, since it is believed that the aroma of incense can potentially evoke the sensibilities of the church in patrons of telsem art. In most cases, the patron is a believer in the Orthodox faith and fears becoming a menafik [non-believer] for soliciting service from a telsem artist instead of God. The aim of the artist is to secure the unwavering attention of the patron.
As I have indicated elsewhere, local aesthetic or medicinal interest in telsem has declined, particularly in the urban centre. Indeed, Ethiopian values and beliefs that are not consistent with the ideals of a Eurocentric modernity are scorned by the urban elite, an emerging class of nouveau riche who are involved in the buying and selling of art. Their perception of modern art, which centres its definition in the European tradition, has systematically denigrated other types of art as ‘spiritual,’ subsequently expelling these art forms from the modernist category and classification. Therefore, Henok’s art has been excluded from the contemporary market and modernist discourses. There is a booming art market in Addis Ababa today, and Henok would like to make a living from his paintings along with other modern artists. Doing so is challenging, however, when his art is instantly characterised as an anthropological artefact.
Consequently, Henok solicits exhibiting institutions, collectors and scholars that can inject critical value and meaning into telsem art in formalist modernist readings. This approach should ultimately confirm the inimitable relevance and connection of telsem to global modernist projects. This type of intervention, which informs the transition of telsem art from the ethnographic to the aesthetic, from religion to art, will also create and sustain its monetary value, which, in turn, will enable artists to continue to produce.
[i]Cotter, Holland, ‘Not Just for Viewing, But Also for Healing’, New York Times (14 Feb. 1997).
[ii] Enwezor, Okwui, ‘Topographies of Critical Practice: Exhibitions as Place and Site’, Caribbean Curatorship & National Identity Symposium Keynote Lecture, 21st Annual General Meeting of the Museum Association of the Caribbean (MAC), 1 Dec. 2009, Barbados, https://www.internationalcuratorsforum.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/07/Okwui-Enwezor-Topographies-of-Critical-Practice-Transcript-ICF.pdf (accessed 26 Jul. 2023).
[iii] Mitchell, Timothy, ed., Questions of Modernity (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000), 7.
[iv] Asad, Talal, Formation of the Secular: Christianity, Islam, Modernity (Redwood City: Stanford University Press, 2003), 13.
[v] Mercier, Jacques, Art That Heals: The Image as Medicine in Ethiopia, (Munich: Prestel; New York: Museum for African Art, 1997), 60.
This essay was originally published in the booklet accompanying the exhibition Henok Melkamzer: Telsem Symbols and Imagery, on view at Sharjah Art Museum from 24 February to 16 June 2024.