The title is undoubtedly provocative, given the Bahamian bent toward Christianity, but "Let Us Prey" (1984-86) is, quite literally, a gift. Donated by Dave Smith in 2007, the work is at once an act of good faith while simultaneously critical of bad. It's another painting from the National Collection that we have given some gentle care to and put on display for the current Permanent Exhibition, "Revisiting An Eye For The Tropics", and fits into the theme of the Bahamian everyday that works within this exhibition.
Dave Smith is a British artist who moved to The Bahamas and spent 17 years here before moving to the U.S. Arriving on our shores as an abstract painter, he is now hailed as a home-grown Pop-realist, with Smith's paintings depicting the Bahamian every day in the style of Pop Art. Art can become a way of knowing a place and Smith's way of looking at our struggles and idiosyncrasies comes from a position of one who is simultaneously 'inside' and 'outside'. He no doubt has strong ties and feels at home here, but he is also from an entirely different cultural background to many of those living in these Bahamian scenes that he paints -- this duality of being familiar with 'The Bahamian', whilst concurrently holding his own Britishness, gives his works a very particular perspective in viewing our society. Certain things seem curious, like the old cinema titles he so carefully renders in his work, but his attention to the minutiae of our lives are shown in such detail it can only be an act of care and consideration.
Smith captures the strange and sometimes the uncomfortable beauty of the place in which we live -- outside of tourist ideals. Tacky figurines with strangely European scenes of dogs catching fowl hunted by humans, distorted TV screens, and shiny pink cars with headlights rendered meticulously -- all this alongside hastily-painted but carefully crafted clapboard. It's a snapshot of Bahamian life in a nutshell. Our obsession with the news, with strange customs and tendencies toward U.S. and British culture, the love of cars and looking like you 'have arrived', all against the backdrop of the classic clapboard house to root us again in our history, it's all here in "Let Us Prey" (1984-86). By building the symbol of a home in the work, he is helping to visually build our world as we know it in the form of an artwork, an object up for consideration by us and, as such, he helps build the arsenal of images depicting Bahamian life.
The advent of Pop-Art after World War II marked a period of art investing itself in the mechanical production of the West as it rebuilt itself and a pointed move away from art being for 'the elite.' Art began to make use of the everyday and of 'kitsch,' thereby making itself a product of the people - and it was certainly a product, commenting on the consumerism of the art market by having work made largely by machines. It became less about the hallowed idea of the 'original' work of art and more about people, the quotidian and what we see on a daily basis. By moving away from the elitism around the 'unique,' it made itself no longer out of reach for our growing consumer populace. This is a genre that Dave Smith still finds himself in years later because it holds a certain relevance to us. It helps us to see ourselves and what surrounds us in an accessible way, in a way that we are familiar with.
"Let Us Prey" (1984-86) sounds like a warning and a command in one and this simple play on words speaks volumes, chapters, tomes - just like the verses and books of 'The Book' that many of us read from on Sundays. The ironic play on words of 'pray' and 'prey' might cause some to bristle at the thought, but this is not the work of a heretic so much as a critique of how we have come to know ourselves and our sense of compassion. On the one side of this work, are the articulately detailed images of those things we find ourselves concerned with - and they all have to do with image and how we represent ourselves. Figurines and other material items with which we present our homes, the pastor screaming aloud on TV, and what looks like a shiny Cadillac below, are all symbols for how we value what image we put forth to the world. We show ourselves as proudly Christian and, as the clapboard on the right of the work might suggest, we do very differently behind the walls of our homes and within our hearts. If it is all for show and we are too caught up in material goods and appearances, then we truly have turned our 'praying' to 'preying' upon each other - as the only thing that can come out of keeping things up for appearances is to bring others down.
From the time of this work's creation to now, we still turn on the TV to consume the horrors of the world, albeit told from our very specific perspectives and biases, but they are horrors nonetheless. The screaming face, genderless, and rendered in the scratchy lines of TV 'back in the day' would hold good competition with the iconic painting "The Scream," by the Norwegian Expressionist painter Edvard Munch,,- which the advent of mechanical reproduction made available on everything from posters to mugs to tea-towels. Some might say, why shouldn't it be? Whereas Munch and other Expressionists looked inwardly to provide visual displays of intense emotion, Pop Art had a more outward mission: to make art familiar and to collapse some of the perceived mystery or boundaries seemingly inherent in artwork.
Works do not ever solely exist in the time they were made--the context is undoubtedly important and is part of the meat of the work--and meanings and significances accrue throughout time that can make work relevant and meaningful in the present. "Let Us Prey" (1984-86), viewed in the context of the citizenship and gender equality referendum, for example, can serve as a poignant reminder of how we 'preyed' upon those more disadvantaged than ourselves, how much of the debate around the referendum became a class war and a matter of, "How can you possibly think this way!?" from both sides, and how the church became once more tied up in state affairs.
Its relevance runs deep, and this is why these works have lives of their own that continue to add more to our own stories as Bahamians as much as it might add to their own as an artwork and as a lens through which to examine life.

Works dealing with the divine, with Christianity, with the spiritual, are very much rooted in what we consider to be part of our representation of Bahamianness. In looking to the work of Dionne Benjamin-Smith, an artist and graphic designer known for her pithy and no-holds-barred practice - and very informative and inclusive newsletter designed and created by herself and her partner - we can see a proudly proclaimed Bahamian woman who identifies with her Christianity taking acute aim at problems with the way we view religion in our country.
Originally shown in an exhibition at Popopstudios in 2003 called '24 x 24' and including a contingent of Bahamian artists who attended the Rhode Island School of Design, "bishops, bishops everywhere and not a drop to drink" (2003) was accessed by the 2003 Collection Fund at the NAGB. Both 'bishops, bishops ...'(2003) and 'Built on Sand' (2003), while they can indeed exist on their own, generate a stronger message when paired together. Context is, after all, incredibly important to the way we read and understand artworks, and sometimes the works themselves can be thought of as key, autonomous ideas existing under the overarching conversation umbrella that is the exhibition. Artworks don't always exist in exhibitions of course, but in this particular context, it is useful to think of them in this way.
These works are currently displayed as part of the "Revisiting An Eye For the Tropics" rehang of the Permanent Exhibition at the NAGB, and they are part of the National Collection. Being a part of the National Collection denotes a sort of significance and importance not just to the work itself, but how it functions as part of Bahamian art history.
For Benjamin-Smith, "This piece reflected my disenchantment with the modern church and the proclivity amongst some of its members towards tyranny, elitism, judgement, hypocrisy and high-mindedness - thus poisoning the minds of people and further alienating them from God and His message of love. Years of guilt-ridden membership in the Catholic church, witnessing pharisaical behaviour from other church leaders and receiving un-Christlike doctrine full of condemnation proved burdensome to me as I was in search of the joy and love my spirit knew existed out there somewhere. It was only until my conversion was I able to discern what the word Christian should mean and what the Church should represent in our society."
The work was not intended by the artist to act as a specific judgement or 'calling out' of particular religious personalities in the Bahamian Christian community, but rather a way to show that "We are all human and we all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.
It simply relates experiences and incidents I witnessed and reflects the kinds of dangerous attitudes and actions which are prevalent in the Church worldwide and of which the Church should be careful and quick to change."
Exhibiting works that look to Christianity, in an exhibition dealing with the way that colonial tourism shaped our representation as Bahamians, the way that the nation was 'produced', shows that we are trying to bring up the difficult, perhaps contentious subject, of how our Christianity fits into our colonial past. Religion was one of the tools used to justify the colonialism of our region (both pre and post-Columbus) and the slavery that was used to displace and oppress the West African people whom many of us are descended from. So why then, do we subscribe to this religion so strongly, and for a lot of us still, without question and doubt?
Benjamin-Smith is very openly Christian in her beliefs, but also very openly critical of the corruption within the church and calls for change. It might appear initially strange to have such opposing beliefs: the upholding of a religion that was instrumental in the suffering of one's ancestors, but also the criticality of the current corruption you are dealing with in the church in its present, various forms. While we cannot solely associate the faith with the way people in power may have used it, it is also an inescapable association we have with our past as a country. Her depictions of distorted, grotesque Bishops and pastors and priests are concurrent with the idea that is indeed 'gross' to see someone intended as a religious leader, someone intended to be a symbol of goodness and an example, be so subject to such unethical, immoral behavior.
No, this is not all bishops or religious leaders for certain, we must make that clear, but the fact that the position has such power and the abuse of this misuse, violation and the exploitation attached to that power is precisely the problem. Benjamin-Smith calls for us to remember that while so many atrocities, both on a local and global scale, are attributed to the Christian churches throughout history, we must not forget the foundation of what the message is meant to mean. It is a faith, and we must not lose this faith: in our brothers, sisters, cousins, friends, even our enemies. We must be confident in demanding to be treated in accordance with these beliefs, should you be a follower, and we must also not forget the song that is constantly sung, if not followed, in Christianity is one of love, tolerance and the betterment of your fellow human beings regardless of background or past transgressions.
Art exists between the different meanings and relationships it has with people, what it means for people and the conversations it brings up. Benjamin Smith's work often very openly and explicitly tackles the difficult conversations and her work, having this background of communication from her design training, helps to do just this, to communicate and to give a call for criticality and action.

Lynn Parotti is a Bahamian artist exploring themes of natural and biological landscape, those surrounding us and within us.
In "The Blastocyst's Ball," Parotti displays a triptych of non-objective form and color, alluding to something that may exist within biology or perhaps, more specifically, in our bodies.
Each piece shows a unique arrangement, but commonly shared hues and rigid texture created through repetition generate a strong sense of unity between them.
Organic form in reds, whites, purples and browns occupy each composition.
Some forms are stacked, building up masses that blend each curvilinear line into a whole.
Others sit next to one another, actively dispersing into space to reveal their individuality.
The last panel exhibits similar forms wrapping around to create a single circular shape, an opening of some sort, and the uniqueness of each mark disappears again.
Parotti portrays a plethora of organic form and line, specifically those of a circle. In the first piece, the repetition of curved lines creates an imperfect circular shape.
Circles have neither beginning nor end, and for that they often represent the eternal whole.
They are used to suggest familiar objects by relating to our natural surroundings as well as to our bodies. To some, their curves are seen as feminine.
There are no concrete rules about what colors are exclusively feminine or masculine, but there have been studies over the past decades that draw some generalizations.
A study, executed in 2003 by Joe Hallock, compared color preferences among various demographics. He surveyed 232 people amongst 22 different countries around the world.
The study showed that women preferred colors that are closer to the red end of the spectrum. For that reason, we tend to associate reds with femininity.
Parotti's consideration of warm hues not only acts as a reference to the body, but also implies a further indication to specifically female biology.
Red is the hottest of all primary colors, making it highly stimulating for the viewer's eye.
It is a color that tends to stir up passion, both in a negative and positive light.
Being the color of blood and fire, it may be associated with meanings of love, passion, desire, heat, longing, lust, sexuality and energy, to name a few.
It is an emotionally intense color that is said to enhance human metabolism, increase respiration rate and raise blood pressure.
The effect this hue has on our bodies directly correlates with the subject matter that Parotti presents, adding a dynamic layer of context to the work, and to the experience between the viewer and the art.
Besides formal interpretations of the piece, the title provided by Parotti is a direct insight into the content of the works.
They abstractly portray the process of assisted reproduction, or in-vitro fertilisation (IVF), in which several eggs are removed form the ovaries, externally fertilized and then--as embryos--are returned into the uterus in the hope that they implant and become a pregnancy.
Woman having IVF are given special reproductive hormones to encourage several eggs to develop in the ovaries.
Final maturation of the egg itself is induced by the administration of a further hormone. Thirty-six hours later, the fluid containing the eggs is drawn from the ovary with a needle, this is usually performed under light sedation with a doctor using ultrasound to check proceedings.
The eggs collected from the ovary are then mixed with a sample of the male partner sperm, which has already been washed and concentrated.
The eggs and sperm are left in an incubator set at 37 degrees for 24 hours so that fertilisation can take place.
During this time, only one of the many sperm cells will penetrate the outer layer of the egg and achieve fertilisation. Following fertilisation, the cells divide and multiply and form an embryo.
After two or three days, a healthy embryo will comprise around eight cells. It is then transferred to the uterus using a thin, flexible tube where it is left to implant and form a pregnancy.
Although IVF is a helpful tool for infertile couples, there is some controversy with the misuse of this technology.
Aldous Huxley suggested that "test tube baby" technology wasn't actually about infertility, it was about eugenics.
Eugenics is a set of beliefs that aims at improving the genetic quality of the human population. IVF was about making super-babies: Better babies, stronger babies, smarter babies, with an aim to make the perfect baby.
Rather than it being of interest between infertile couples, it would be of interest to government and authoritarian states.
Why would we allow any ordinary people to fall in love and have babies? There is less control that way.
Could we control the process in a test tube and select specific traits in children that would be useful for society? The concern of this technology is in its misuse. Through IVF, are we going to breed ourselves to improve ourselves?

Heino Schmid's practice can perhaps be described as slippery or amphibious -- and it's not so much to do with the water as it is to do with his fluidity in dealing with the bounds of what we believe to constitute drawing, sculpture, and painting as separate genres -- the proverbial lines in his practice become blurred. This movement between the medium and the means is why "Temporary Horizon" (2010) was chosen for the current permanent exhibition, "Revisiting An Eye For the Tropics" on display at the NAGB.
"Temporary Horizon" (2010) is what initially appears to be a delightfully simple video work that shifts at one moment from performance -- with the artist clad in a white shirt and jeans (a sort of uniform of modernity for many of us) as he attempts to place the bottom of a Kalik bottle on the neck of another lying flat on the table. It then shifts to a still-life of sorts, as, almost impossibly or by magic, the bottles balance on top of each other and remain unmoving for what feels like eternity. Of course, nothing lasts forever, and the bottles eventually become re-animated and topple over before rolling off the table in the video.
The work is displayed across from a newly created work by Schmid for the exhibition, "Pull" (2017), almost as if they are in conversation with each other. The works in this particular section of the exhibition, entitled "Beyond The Tropical", deal with the way Bahamian contemporary artists are moving past the manicured tropical image of Caribbean paradise to produce work that engages with our specific regional and international context in ways that challenge these notions of the picturesque. Schmid's work typifies this in many ways. The artist and educator, currently Associate Professor of Art at the University of The Bahamas, uses found objects and materials from our everyday environment to re-inform the way we view our surroundings. His work provides us a moment of unfamiliarity wherein we have to re-navigate what we thought we knew our surroundings to be.
This is in part achieved by his work often operating in 'white cube' spaces, much like video displayed in this white background and on a white table -- they both blend into each other before Schmid activates the space in the video by entering the shot. The 'white cube' is the default we often think of in regards to most gallery-based contemporary art work. White walls are meant to indicate a blank slate, tabula rasa, and clinical quality, an idea of a neutral space --but, as the world of art is built of symbols and histories, the white cube is of course anything but. As Brian O'Doherty, the Irish installation artist and critic known for his seminal text "Inside The White Cube" produced in 1976, the white cube is not neutral at all, it is an art-historical construct. The history of the white cube is one that elevates anything within it to be considered art -- hence the problems we have with people thinking that fire extinguishers are being exhibited rather than their proper placement as protection from fire hazards.
The neutrality desired by the construction of white cube spaces is best thought of as setting a stage, it creates an environment and set of social rules for how to engage with the contents of the space in a particular way. That being said, as Caribbean and postcolonial subjects, given our mixed heritage of European, indigenous and African ancestry, with a healthy dollop of globalization and American influence, our art history is a little bit all-over-the-place -- and that provides a beautiful freedom in many ways. We are not bound by the rigidity of being boxed in by "white" as many other Western practices are, because while we are Western, we are also not. We have the freedom to move between different historical references, but

not in a neutral way, we carry our history whether we engage with it directly or not. Schmid might be in a white shirt and jeans, and in a white space -- he could literally be anyone by these listed signifiers -- but he cannot escape the racial ambiguity of his skin in the image and what curiosity that piques. He is a trickster not just by the act performed, but by his movements between elements of blackness and whiteness as his mixed Bahamian and European heritage allows.
There is both a tension and contention for bi-national and mixed-raced subjects, wherein there is a perceived privilege of being able to move between whiteness and blackness, an implied ease of sorts that isn't afforded to most black folks. This is not, however, quite true in itself. Being a black and white mixed subject means that while perhaps a certain whiteness might provide some privilege of moving in primarily white spaces that other black bodies may not be so lucky to do, there is also a distrust that becomes present on both sides and a displacement that can never quite be reconciled.
Caribbean work in the white cube space can also feel this displacement, a feeling that harkens back to some difficult parts of our history as a people descended from all manner of migratory bodies: displaced Black Africans, European colonizers, Chinese, Greek, and South-Asian migrants brought in or moved for opportunities in new lands. We feel it all.
Angelika Bammer, the feminist scholar of "Displacements: Cultural Identities in Question" (1994) describes our plight as the "deconstructive dilemma of needing to step outside and remain inside the same systems". She states that "Identity is at times about what we are essentially not, but are also not free to dispense with." The tension of the beer bottles elucidates this in an understated and succinct way: if we take them to be the fragile balance of our European colonial history and African ancestry, the way that we try to reconcile these two sides of our heritage, and the loop of this video in the way we must gently balance them, hold this balance for as long as possible, and watch as the bottles collapse before we must loop back and do it all again. It feels true to the constant push and pull we feel on our identity here, amidst this displaced backdrop and new territory we are forced to navigate.
The magic of Schmid's trick lies in this balance, and become more real than imagined if we use it as a metaphor for the way think and come to know ourselves. The balancing act is difficult, it may occasionally feel like a performance, but it is an exercise we are much accustomed to. And just as the video- while filmed in a white cube-is displayed in a space with richly colored walls in a building with a history just as richly colored - perhaps we just need to look outside the bounds of our personal frame of reference and add more color to this clinical space to begin to move past these difficulties.