Zimbabwe
is
the
house
of
stone,
both
literally
and
figuratively,
with
its
very
name
derived
from
the
ancient
stone
city
of
Great
Zimbabwe.
Stone
is
more
than
just
a
material
here
–
it’s
the
totem
pole
of
the
country’s
identity,
shaping
both
its
history
and
artistic
legacy.
And
there’s
no
better
place
to
witness
this
than
Chapungu
Sculpture
Park.
On
the
outskirts
of
Harare’s
industrial
zone,
the
sprawling
estate
is
both
a
gallery
for
stone
artistry
and
a
living
landscape,
home
to
over
90
varieties
of
indigenous
trees,
with
a
tributary
of
the
Mukuvisi
river
running
through
it.
Art
and
nature
intertwine,
offering
a
unique
glimpse
into
Zimbabwe’s
famous
sculptural
tradition.
The
last
time
I
visited,
in
2021,
founder
Roy
Guthrie
was
still
around,
but
he
has
since
passed
away.
His
enduring
legacy
remains
visible
throughout
the
park.
The
former
refrigerator
salesman
turned
stone
broker
was
arguably
one
of
the
most
influential
figures
in
bringing
Zimbabwean
sculpture
to
the
global
stage.
He
organised
international
exhibitions
and
artist
residencies.
At
one
point
he
had
more
than
200
artists
in
his
books.
But
his
vision
extended
beyond
exporting
artwork.
His
true
ambition
was
to
create
the
largest
and
most
representative
permanent
collection
of
Zimbabwean
stone
sculpture.
Here,
in
the
open
air,
different
generations
of
artists’
works
stand
side
by
side,
demonstrating
the
evolution
of
the
art
form.
Today
I
am
here
to
meet
Marcey
Mushore,
Guthrie’s
widow.
She
tells
me
the
park
is
now
managed
by
a
trust
and
shares
the
many
plans
in
place
to
honour
and
expand
his
work.
One
is
establishing
a
dedicated
museum.
As
we
walk
from
the
entrance,
beneath
a
canopy
of
trees
nicknamed
“the
cathedral”,
sculptures
line
the
pathways,
creating
a
quiet
dialogue.
Leading
the
way
is
our
guide,
artist-turned-administrator
Nicholas
Kadzungura.
He
arrived
at
Chapungu
as
an
apprentice
and
has
never
left.
Today
he
is
a
walking
institutional
memory.
A
stone
archive
My
book
in
progress,
The
Stone
Philosophers,
foregrounds
the
lives
of
the
black
Zimbabwean
artists
who
made
stone
sculpture
famous.
I
am
grappling
with
this
vexing
question:
What
does
a
stone
archive
look
like?
One
possible
answer
could
be
that
it
takes
the
form
of
a
well-tended
garden
park
with
sculptures
from
Zimbabwe’s
master
sculptors.
As
we
stand
facing
the
water,
Mushore
points
towards
a
cluster
of
trees
to
indicate
where
the
museum
would
be
built.
Perhaps,
in
a
few
years,
the
brush
will
be
cleared,
and
in
its
place
will
rise
a
building
dedicated
to
housing
the
history
of
Zimbabwean
stone
sculpture.
Despite
the
international
recognition
it
has
garnered
since
the
1960s,
there
is
still
no
local
museum
solely
dedicated
to
this
art
form.
British
curator
Frank
McEwen,
founding
director
of
the
National
Gallery
of
Zimbabwe,
is
often
regarded
as
the
architect
of
the
movement.
And
Guthrie
considered
McEwen
an
influence.
Zimbabwean
sculpture
With
Zimbabwean
sculpture,
each
piece
tells
a
story,
simple
and
elaborate,
ranging
from
spirit-filled
folk
tales
to
depictions
of
the
everyday
moments
that
shape
life.
You’re
confronted
by
human-size
shapes
of
torsos,
heads,
animals
and
sometimes
abstract
figurations.
While
often
categorised
under
the
contentious
label
of
“Shona
sculpture”,
the
stone
sculptors
of
Zimbabwe
were
not
exclusively
Shona,
the
country’s
largest
ethnic
group.
The
term
was
popularised
by
McEwen.
In
fact,
some
of
these
artists
came
from
other
parts
of
Zimbabwe
and
from
neighbouring
countries
like
Zambia,
Malawi
or
Angola,
broadening
the
scope
of
the
tradition.
The
sculptors
primarily
work
with
serpentine
stone
–
especially
springstone,
fruit
serpentine
and
leopard
rock
–
alongside
opal
stone,
verdite
and
dolomite,
sourced
mainly
from
the
Great
Dyke,
a
300km
geological
formation
in
central
Zimbabwe.
Beyond
the
architectural
metaphor
of
Zimbabwean
writer
Novuyo
Rosa
Tshuma’s
novel,
House
of
Stone,
who
were
the
builders
and
stone
workers
behind
the
legend
of
Zimbabwe?
The
country’s
name
is
thanks
to
the
Shona
people’s
long
artisanal
tradition
of
stone
working.
It’s
not
just
a
metaphor.
Cities
were
built
with
blood,
sweat
and
tears.
Stone
sculpture
was
not
a
peculiarity
that
was
ignited
by
colonial
encounter.
It
was
always
there,
through
generations
and
traditions.
It
was
just
not
yet
classified
in
anthropological
terms,
or
exhibited
in
the
colonial
museum.
The
modern
stone
sculpture
movement
in
Zimbabwe
emerged
organically.
It
was
a
phenomenon
shaped
by
groups
of
friends,
siblings,
and
spouses
whose
work
made
a
significant
contribution
to
the
African
modernism
of
the
1960s
and
1970s.
The
artists
who
brought
stone
sculpture
to
prominence
formed
networks
that
stretched
from
village
to
village,
collaborating
informally.
Their
work
was
eventually
co-opted
into
the
white-dominated
art
world
of
Rhodesia,
as
the
country
was
known
in
colonial
times.
From
there,
it
was
exported
to
Europe
and
the
US.
Although
these
artists
rose
to
prominence
during
a
period
of
decolonisation
in
the
1950s
and
1960s,
they
remained
marginal
figures
in
their
own
country.
When
Rhodesia
declared
unilateral
independence
in
1965,
becoming
an
isolated
stronghold
of
white
supremacy,
the
history
of
stone
sculpture
became
inseparable
from
the
broader
struggles
faced
by
black
Zimbabweans.
It
reflected
the
racist
exclusions
and
hardships
endured
by
its
creators,
who
persisted
against
the
odds.
Keeping
tradition
alive
Today,
Zimbabwe
is
better
known
for
its
young
visual
artists,
who
primarily
work
in
painting,
mixed
media
and
collage.
While
stone
sculpture
was
once
the
country’s
dominant
art
form,
its
visibility
has
diminished
–
not
in
production,
but
in
critical
conversations
about
art.
A
simple
internet
search
yields
little
on
its
history
or
artistic
significance;
instead,
results
are
dominated
by
commercial
gallery
websites
showcasing
polished
sculptures
for
sale,
with
little
attention
given
to
the
artists
or
their
creative
processes.
This
emphasis
on
the
final
product
over
the
maker
is
not
new.
It
traces
back
to
the
very
origins
of
the
stone
sculpture
movement.
What
we
see
here
is
a
repressed
archive,
where
gaps
in
documentation
are
not
accidental
but
the
result
of
historical
omissions.
These
absences,
in
turn,
expose
deeper
questions
of
power,
access
and
visibility
in
the
art
world.
As
we
conclude
our
tour
of
Chapungu,
a
group
of
artists,
seated
on
planks
of
wood
and
large
stones,
wave
at
us.
They
represent
a
new
generation,
carrying
forward
the
tradition
of
stone
sculpture
in
Zimbabwe,
ensuring
that
this
art
form
continues
to
evolve
and
endure.
Tinashe
Mushakavanhu,
Research
Associate,
University
of
Oxford
This
article
is
republished
from
The
Conversation
under
a
Creative
Commons
license.
Read
the
original
article.