- [first lines]
- Récitant: When men die they enter into history. When statues die they enter into art. This botany of death is what we call culture.
- Récitant: An object dies when the living glance trained upon it disappears. And when we disappear, our objects will be confined to the place where we send black things: to the museum.
- Récitant: From age to age, as its shape slowly unraveled, Africa was already the land of enigmas. Black was already the color of sin. Traveller's tales spoke of monsters, flames, diabolical apparitions. The whites already projected onto the blacks their own demons as a way to purge themselves of them.
- Récitant: And yet, once beyond deserts and forests, which he believed to be bordering on the kingdom of Satan, the traveller discovered nations, palaces.
- Récitant: And it is fair that the black feel pride about a civilization which is as old as ours is. Our ancestors can look at each other face-to-face without looking down with empty eyes. But this brotherhood in death is not enough for us. It is much closer to us that we are going to find the true black art; that which puzzles us.
- Récitant: The enigma begins right now, here, with this poor art; this art of hard wood, with this plate for divination, for instance. It is not very useful for us to call it religious object in a world where everything is religion, nor to speak of an art object in a world where everything is art. Art here begins in the spoon and ends up in the statue. And it is the same art.
- Récitant: The wisdom is in art and the ornament of a useful object like the head support and the useless beauty of the statue belong to two different orders. Here, this difference falls apart when we look closer. A chalice is not an art object. This wooden cup is a chalice. Everything here is about cult. Cult of the world.