Ashanti Harris on the importance of Carnival

Hazel Peters speaks to Ashanti Harris about her exhibition Dancing a Peripheral Quadrille. This article was commissioned as part of Edinburgh Art Festival's Emerging Writers programme

Article by Hazel Peters | 26 Aug 2022
  • Collaborators KJ Clarke-Davis (left), Jess Paris (centre, standing) and Hamshya Rajkumar (right), with Ashanti Harris (centre).

Ashanti Harris is a visual artist and researcher working across dance, performance and sculpture. Inspired by the novel Signposts of the Jumbie by Faustin Charles, Harris’s exhibition, Dancing a Peripheral Quadrille, explores Caribbean Carnival, culture and identity through sculpture and performance.

The Skinny: Could you summarise Signposts of the Jumbie and why it became a starting point for you?

Ashanti Harris: Signposts of the Jumbie by Faustin Charles sets the theme of the exhibition because the book explores things on the margins and peripheries. I was drawn to the book because I grew up hearing jumbie (ghost) stories from my dad. The main character is a little boy who feels like he's an old man. The boy grows up to be a man and goes to an Obeah man (a witch doctor), to ask to go back in time to fix his mistakes. It becomes an endless cycle, where this man repeatedly becomes a child, reliving his life in similar but different ways.

In my work I’ve been researching jumbies and how the past finds form in the present as ghosts. Signposts of a Jumbie is representative of that idea. Dancing a Peripheral Quadrille was also inspired by the final chapter of the book, which talks about carnival, the history of colonisation, and the physicality of dancing. I wanted to physically embody this chapter through a performance exploring carnival, history, and the layering of time and identity. 

What has been your favourite moment during the Dancing the Peripheral Quadrille exhibit?
It's a roasting day, and the audience is squished into every little bit of shade. Jess (one of the performers) is in costume. While you are wearing a costume, you are the gods and ancestors, but ultimately, you're still human. You can't abuse your power. When the music cuts to this drumbeat it is the ancestors saying it's time for you to return to your human state. When the drumbeat kicks in, and Jess takes the costume off, rain suddenly falls from the blue sky. It is so magical; it feels like an intervention.

Conversations about the commercialisation and westernisation of Carnival are currently taking place. What are your thoughts on the changing landscape of Carnival?
When the Caribbean was colonised by Europeans, the European tradition of celebrating at specific times during the year translated into Caribbean culture. Carnival was a time when enslaved people had the opportunity to celebrate. Carnival is a way of celebrating your history and heritage. It is also about redefining yourself within the place that you are now. Whether your heritage is African, Indian, Chinese, or all three, carnival combines everything and creates something new.  

Carnival in Leeds, where I grew up, has a similar function. When Leeds held its 50th Carnival in 2017, their biggest one yet, there was significant sponsorship and money pumped into it. It was amazing to see a celebration of Caribbean identity financially supported while still feeling like the community took centre stage. However, there is a line between financial backing and forgetting the importance behind Carnival. It’s not just an excuse to get drunk and cover yourself in feathers. Carnival in Leeds is a time to connect to your history and heritage. It’s also about what it means to be a person of Caribbean heritage in Yorkshire.


Ashanti Harris, Dancing a Peripheral Quadrille, Edinburgh Sculpture Workshop until 28 Aug; performance by Ashanti Harris on 27 Aug, 1pm, RSVP here