It briefly dipped below 12°C the other week and I woke up to morning fog outside my bedroom window. A stiff blanket of grey settled itself around the lamp posts, hovered above the streets and made everything cool and wet. Although it didn’t rain, I could still smell the petrichor wafting throughout my room and seeping its way into my bed sheets – a scent that made me feel drowsy, but strangely more awake than I had in days. Sometimes I crave the burning heat of the sun and its days of Ile-Ife. For a long time, I thought I was never going to find warmth in Dunedin—a city that comes for the kill in winter—until I stumbled upon Kate Fitzharris’ clays at the Dunedin Public Art Gallery. The clay collection titled Looking at things as a whole uses form and scale to tell playful but meaningful stories that celebrate histories and relationships carried by objects across time within our intimate Aotearoa.

As I gazed at the different shapes and heights of these clays, which often represent and mimic the human form, I thought of how Kate is an Ōtepoti artist. This brought back fond memories of the Yoruba mythology stories my dad would tell me as I sit with my warm egusi soup and sweet pavlova. Her works and carvings remind me of Ere Ibeji, the Ibeji figurines of the Yorubas and is a surprising and intriguing connection. While Kate may not have a direct relationship with Yoruba culture, the resemblance in her clays to the Ibeji figures I grew up observing sparked a nostalgic and meaningful association for me. Kate Fitzharris’ clays link with the cultural aspect of Yoruba’s Ere Ibeji makes the bond I have with Ōtepoti, stronger. The connection between these two cultures symbolises an exchange where the artistic techniques from the Ere Ibeji fuse with the clays of Kate Fitzharris. Linking these different cultural and artistic expressions across continents and traditions, bringing in my childhood stories of Ere Ibeji from Nigeria and South Africa to Aotearoa with Kate’s clays shows that art truly has no boundaries.

Ibeji means twin or Double Birth. The Ere Ibeji mimics human forms much like Kate’s clays and are often used to tell the histories of twins. There is an oddly enchanting connection that links the Yoruba nation’s culture with an 18-year-old Ōtepoti-based girl whose Yoruba tongue is colonised by English grammar. This connection becomes more apparent as I reflect on the relationships surrounding Kate’s clays and their connection to the Ere Ibeji, making me contemplate the ties to my own family. I’m not surprised when I see articles about the incidence of twin births in West Africa being higher than in the rest of the world; my mother is a twin and I have a couple of twin first cousins. I think about my grandfather from my dad’s side who was wonderfully over-indulged when his twin sister, Kehinde, died and how his mother got a village carver to make an Ere-Ibeji, supposedly, to prevent her spirit from taking him with her.

The origin of the Ibeji is shrouded in mystery, and it may have emerged as a way to understand a puzzling event relatively common among the Yoruba people. In ancient times, the Yorubas used to reject and sacrifice newborn twins because of the belief that they harboured evil spirits. However,  nowadays, twins are accepted by the Yorubas and celebrated, their birth being an occasion of great rejoicing. It is believed that twins can bestow health, happiness and prosperity upon their families. Therefore, their upbringing is far more permissive than that of other children.

The concept of twins is linked to the Yorubas’ philosophy around duality. In the Yoruba cosmology, the world is viewed as a finely balanced cosmic dance of good and evil, life and death, as opposing forces. As representations of duality, twins come to represent this complex balance. Initially, Yoruba people believed that the birth of twins disrupted the natural order of the cosmological balance and hierarchy of spiritual deities, which is why they were afraid of them.

Twins were viewed as abnormalities that would cause trouble and bad luck. To restore what was thought to be a disrupted cosmic harmony, extreme measures were taken, including infanticide.

Interestingly, although the Yoruba people’s view of twins has gone from a negative to a positive, from killing to adoring twins—the rituals and ceremonies performed for twins still remain. The link that the birth of twins has to the cosmic balance is further supported by how the Yoruba people don’t like to give things in odd numbers — regarded as disruptive because they represent an imbalance in the fundamental order of the universe. Instead, the preference is to give and receive in even numbers or pairs to preserve the order of the cosmos, which is consistent with the traditional emphasis on harmony and balance. Like the duality or ‘twoness’ that exists in nature — day and night, sun and moon, life and death—the Yoruba people believe that two is a sacred number.

The importance of twins and duality in Yoruba cosmology is instilled into art forms. This is often reflected in the statues artists make in memory of living and deceased twins —  accomplished with carved wooden figures or statues known as Ere Ibeji. The Yoruba people consider twins, or Ibeji, regardless of gender, to be extremely special children. The first-born twin is called Taiwo (or Taye/ Taiye), meaning “the first twin who tastes life,” while the second-born twin is called Kehinde, meaning “the one who follows.” Twins are referred to as “the two who are one.” My mum’s name is Taiwo because she was the first twin to come out. My grandfather from my dad’s side is also Taiye. My grandfather lost his twin sister when she was very young, so in Yorubas’ belief, he was obligatorily over-pampered by his mother because she believed that if she didn’t please her son, his Kehinde would take him away to the spirit realm. In simple terms, she believed he would die. To prevent this, she arranged for the carving of an Ere-Ibeji to represent the Kehinde, and ceremoniously washed it and took care of it to tend to the inner soul (ori inu) of the deceased child.

Although one may question the wisdom of several generations, holding firmly to and participating in this belief, the realities of life a few centuries ago also need to be taken into consideration. The infant/child mortality rate was very high in Nigeria, as it was in many other parts of the world, and high incidents of sickle cell among children contributed to the early death of many babies. The belief systems associated with Ibeji were a way for Yoruba communities to make sense of this loss. One should not underestimate the power of belief.

It is fascinating to see how the history and culture of the Yoruba twins have been told throughout time through Ibeji. The concept of moulded shapes and objects holding and telling stories over time is an aspect I admire in Kate Fitzharris’ clay collection—Looking at things as a whole. New Zealand Ceramicist, Kate Fitzharris is renowned for her ceramics and doll-like creations. Looking at things as a whole explores relationships and histories that clays carry across time through experimenting with material, scale and shape — a material that carries the wairua of the whenua. The relationships, histories and stories of the soul within our domestic landscape, specifically Dunedin, are interwoven through the clays and the varieties of other materials used to mimic human life. As a form of post-studio practice, Fitzharris creates her works for the spaces in which they will be installed as a way of challenging the traditional studio space.

Fitzharris describes the clay forms as representing themselves while also presenting our histories. During an interview that Fitzharris had at one of her art exhibitions I attended, she said, “I love how clay can dress itself up as almost anything whilst also carrying its history of giant mountains worn down to the tiniest pieces.”

Even the title of the clay collection, Looking at things as a whole, feels like a homage to connections of histories, relationships and stories that fuse, striving for completeness. The work displays the histories of strong and weak ties — the people who knew you intimately, the people you knew through someone you met seven years ago, and the people you had fleeting conversations with but left a deep impression on.  For me, walking through the exhibition was an immersive experience. The contrast of various coloured vases and pots is uncommon, making the clays and the role they hold within that space notably unique.

Fitzharris pushes the elements of these intimate relationships and histories into her work to interrogate human connections and experiences. She explains that “clay is made soft and malleable with water and turns rock hard, transformed into ceramic, by fire.”

Perhaps, this can be used to understand the significance of Ibeji in Yoruba culture.  Traditionally, the birth and existence of twins can be seen as the initial soft and malleable state of clay. The water in this quote represents how the familial, spiritual and cultural aspects influence and shape the significance and identity of twins in Yoruba society. However, just as clay is transformed into ceramic by fire, the Yoruba Ibeji culture undergoes a transformative process through ceremonies and rituals that signify spiritual transformation and cleansing. Every year, my grandfather attended the ceremony and rituals they held for the Ere-Ibeji of the Kehinde he lost, even as an adult with a family of his own, until the death of his mother. The lines between whether he did it out of a personal conviction that agrees with the practice, the fear of being taken away by his deceased twin, or more out of respect for his mother blur. However, it was believed that the death of one twin releases a strong force, which calls for cautious rites to protect the well-being of the family and the surviving twin. The ‘fire’ solidifies and changes the Ibeji traditional beliefs as time goes on. Now seen more as a relic of our Yoruba history, rather than a necessary belief.

These histories and cultures that Kate Fitzharris’ clays carry across time alongside the significance of Ibeji in Yoruba culture, help me reflect warmly and feel comfortable probing into both cultures. For me, observing and studying Fitzharris’ clays taught me the importance of the preservation of stories and histories. These stories carry the weight of history and relationships that have been passed down through time.

The weather is looking brighter than last week and the fog has been replaced with the smell of steamed sun rays streaming in through the open window. Clearing the crisp air of delicious clouds in the blue hue and cooking in the air. The warmth of my hometown that I thought I could never find, nestles gently in my humble abode in sweet Ōtepoti.

This essay is published through our Dunedin Critical Coverage Project, formed in partnership with Ōtepoti Writers Lab and funded by the Dunedin City Council.

Header Image: Kate Fitzharris, Looking at things as a whole (installation view), 2023, ceramic. Dunedin Public Art Gallery, 22 July – 12 November 2023. Courtesy of the artist.

Photo: Justin Spiers