Introduction
Sanford Biggers is not a hip-hop artist, but rather a contemporary griot who utilizes the language of hip-hop to magnify the
confluence of world cultures. Through his conceptual work, Biggers provides a linkage between traditional African and African American cultural sensibilities and the sacred ritual practice of Buddhism, through a contemporary authentic American expression, Hip-hop (a synthesis of poetry, music, and politics) that emerged in the wake of the civil uprisings of the late 1960s and the urban nihilism of the 1970s. It is through the language of Hip-hop that Biggers allows his audiences to see the similarities, not the differences of what would be understood as disparate cultural expressions. To embrace the genius of Biggers’ conceptual work, his audiences must open themselves to three facts: first, that Hip-hop is not only an authentic African American aesthetic product, but now the pervasive and global language of an entire generation; the concept of spiritualism is present in the sacred as well as the secular; and third, materials have the ability to transcend its specific function, particularly in the face of an overarching aesthetic vision.
In terms of contextualizing the voice and practice of this young artist (which follows) in art-historical terms, one could closely align his work with the process-oriented work Ann Hamilton or Janine Antoni. His politic is unmistakably reminiscent to the essential griots of the spoken-word movement of the 1970s, Afrika Bambatta, the Last Poets, and Gil Scott Heron as well as contemporary artist, David Hammons.
Given this constellation of influence, Biggers is extraordinary not only in the maturity of his voice, but his ability to weave and articulate the very nucleus of our aesthetic expression. His message is an anthem of a collective consciousness that emanates from the most ancient of societal elements, spirituality.
Given the maturity and strength of his voice, I decided to let Biggers speak about his work. I have only provided the context–my questions that have been removed for Biggers to directly speak to the reader. I have also taken the liberty to edit the artist’s voice, selecting and sequencing text for a better flo’.
Thoughts of a B-Boy
The connection between Buddhist sacred rituals and Hip-hop began while I was living in Japan in the early 1990s. Well actually, the journey begins much earlier, while growing up in South Central Los Angeles, I was aware of a confluence of the Asian and African American cultures. On the Crenshaw strip, there was and still exists a small Japanese neighborhood. There was a relationship between the African and Japanese American communities both personally and economically.
When I first began break-dancing around the age of 12 or 13-years old, the first pair of shoes that I wore was slip-on Karate shoes. I bought them because they were cheap and because they were really good for pop locking and moonwalking. Most break-dancers wore them because they were different-looking and really inexpensive.
And so, seven years later, there I was in Japan. Many of the Japanese that I had befriended–people my age, had adopted Hip-hop, but not as mimicry, they were really b-boys and b-girls. There connection was authentic. Many Hip-hop artists were performing in Japan, because in the U.S. there was a fear of violence associated with concerts and subsequently, fewer bookings. The Japanese got hip-hop directly from the underground source and, there was a visceral connection. The Japanese that I met were more conscientious of the emotion in the form. I wanted to place a label upon this nexus, but I could not put this linkage into words.
During this time, I developed an interest in mandalas. I was drawing mandalas almost unconsciously and when I returned to the United States, I began looking for a way of evoking the same feeling of an ancient or traditional artifact, but with contemporary materials that also speaks to contemporary subject matter. This is when I began recognizing the linkage between the urban expression of Hip-hop and Buddhism.
Actually, Buddhism entered into my artistic practice quite naturally, because on a philosophical level it offers room for some interpretation. As a life philosophy, Buddhism is not so guarded and allows for the confluence of many other ideas. Part of growing up as a serious B-boy or girl is to mythologize oneself, to be like the lone monk who meditates for years before shedding the light of his inward journey onto others. In our case this meditation took the form of practicing a new breakdance move, tagging and writing graf under the shade of the night or creating new rhymes in the “lab” before shedding that light onto other B-boys and girls. At this time in the mid 90’s, the Japanese hip-hop community was looking for a connection and street cred from the hip-hop nation in the US. Simultaneously, emcees from the US were making connections to the teachings of the Tao De Jing and Lao Tzu while fantasizing about Bruce Lee, Akira and the monks of Shaolin. In other words, the pop syncretism of the East and the West had entered a new chamber. Certainly on my part there was a political aspect to all of this as well, to make people conscious of our connectedness and similarities via these two cultural forms.
I use the mandala in the same manner of say, the Tibetan Buddhist monks who have recently used the ritual of creating sand mandalas as a springboard to bring awareness to their exile. My dialogue however deals more with making sacred what is deemed as throwaway or even low culture, the fringe of society. In making the connection with the mandala and floor-based circular rituals of break dancers; or the impermanence of the sand mandala to that of graffiti, I found myself making a political statement regarding the need to embrace this urban cultural tradition as sacred and ritualized, rather than chaotic and insignificant.
Living in Japan gave me the awareness that Hip-hop was not only an African American language, but also a powerful global language. And yet, there was a simultaneous reaction to Hip-hop in America–as an authentic expression and as a commodity to be packaged and consumed. This consumption and cooption is also pervasive with Buddhism in America. Here, it is seen more so as a commodity and marketing tool, than a sacred tradition. We drink Zen tea and purchase Dao rice cakes from the super market and listen to hip-hop on the radio as we drive away in out Hummers. I mean, what else but the power of capitalism could combine esoteric Asian beliefs, boom-bap rhythms and street tales, with an oversized military vehicle? Perhaps it is this consumerism that becomes the greatest equalizer that renders all authentic cultural expressions, sterile.
I guess one has to question the notion of authenticity. Where does cultural production start; who can really claim to be the originators of these signifiers; and are these cultural signifiers merely fragile constructs to be consumed as well?
Part of my mission with this work was to go beyond the flash and shock of Buddhism and hip-hop, and find a thread that they both shared.
There are of course, strong linkages between Buddhism and African Diasporic traditions. Most notable are the sensibilities of time, ebb, flow and vibrations. There is a flow–an embracing of the unknown and the indefinable, or the ephemeral. The concept of time as both infinite and infinitesimal is also highly specific in both traditions. In African American culture, there is fluidity, a flow as well as spontaneity in terms of timing. You get that same sense when you watch Bruce Lee in say, Enter the Dragon. He was musical in the manner of jazz improvisation. When you know the structure and you are a master at the technique, you can then throw them both away. There is also the aspect of claiming a thing in a very idiosyncratic and individualistic way. Style.
Extremely important in Zen Buddhism is the concept of wabi-sabi, or the idea of profundity in the mundane that is also a vital aesthetic expression in African Diasporic and vernacular tradition. The Vodoun altars of Haiti are good examples of this. At a particular altar there may be a Barbie doll next to a pack of cigarettes, next to a bottle of rum, next to a cross. Once on this altar, however, these otherwise random objects multiply in power. This also happens metaphysically with the syncretism of African religions and Catholicism as witnessed in Brazil, Dominican Republic, Haiti,
In regard to Hip-hop and its genesis from an African American and Latino expression to its present multicultural incarnation–there is a connectedness that is based upon class and experience. This experience transcends the social realities of race and ethnicity. Previously, Hip-hop was not only a musical form but also a means of social critique, a voice for the people. There are many groups that have come out of economic disparity and urban blight and hip-hop has become the lingua franca of these people. I have seen this trend everywhere from Moscow to Warsaw, Cape Town and Palestine. Beyond the music, the attitude asserts itself as well. It is in essence a way of being in this world. It has an inherent politic–it is the people who have been disenfranchised stepping up and saying, “I am going to claim this disenfranchisement and use it to obtain and achieve whatever I choose.
I find it fascinating that Hip-hop music is still as strong as it is considering the creative malaise I feel the mainstream has been in for the last few years. Admittedly, I call myself a Hip-hop romantic because I look at where it came from in comparison to where it is today and feel a sense of loss. Luckily, the music is not an artifact but a yet evolving art form. Hip-hop as a culture however, will certainly be here forever and is still a place of critical dialogue. I feel honored to have the opportunity to engage with and critique its power while it is still viable and relevant.
My work is very process-oriented and there is a performance aspect in the creation and viewing of the work. While I do not consider myself a performance artist, performance does govern the creation of the work. I am always considering how the audience will activate or interact with the work and, more importantly, who to capture the residual of that interaction. The cumulative or collective audience interaction with the work is an essential extension of its being. This relates back to the Buddhist concept of concentricity and interconnectedness in that many people have touched the work and with every new touch, each person becomes connected to the one another in a real, but subtle way.
The Mandala of the B-Bodhisattva is one of the first works within a series of floor pieces that I began in 1999. In this work, I am consciously making the link between Hip-hop and Buddhist sacred practices. The piece was specifically designed to have break-dancers perform upon it. In break-dancing there is also a circular movement with the body that echoes the circularity of the mandala. The dancers’ presence on the floor energizes and activates it. The audience is encouraged to interact with the floor as a means of activation as well. After each interaction, which I’d like to think of a as a performance ritual, the residual of the audience’s presence – be it scuffmarks or scrapes upon the floor remain. The audience’s collective presence leaves a use patina on the work and as such, the work becomes more complete the more it is used.
What inspires me is to attempt to make a visual manifestation of the intangible, like a sand painted mandala or urban graffiti. Graffiti, like sand painting, is more about the process and the gesture rather than the work itself. The work is beautiful and extremely, labor-intensive. Once it has been acknowledged it’s simply disappears, either being swept away or painted over. I thought the relationship between the two processes were so beautifully linked. Where they differ however is in graffiti, it is about the individual ego and the sand mandala is ego-less. As a youth, I also did graffiti. It was one of the four important elements of adolescence–break-dancing, dj-ing, graffiti, and emceeing. While at the Maryland Institute of Art, Leslie King Hammond was a great influence. She told me to push the boundaries of my work, by making it personal. Dj-ing was personal, break dancing was personal, and Buddhism was personal to me. I made these influences visible, making my work autobiographical while maintaining an interest in the arch of cultural connectivity.
