Patting the donkey: everybody does it. Whether it's DIA regulars or visiting tourists, kids on school visits or couples on date night, stopping by to give Artie (as he’s widely known) a quick pat is a time-honored way to start a DIA visit. But where’s Artie from? What’s the backstory? And why, in a museum filled with irreplaceable treasures, is it okay to put your hands on an artwork? 

“It’s a ritual,” says Francesca Catalfio, Visitor Experience Associate at the DIA. “And it’s not just children—I’ve seen plenty of CCS and Wayne State students coming in to pet him.” Catalfio’s own Artie memories go way back: her father brought her to the DIA as a child. When she was a Wayne State student, the DIA and DFT were date-night spots, and she has brought her children, and now grandchildren, for many visits over the years. Now on the museum staff, Catalfio has watched thousands of visitors beeline to the sculpture the moment they arrive. “He’s kind of a shared memory of this place,” she says.  

Though it might seem Artie (nobody knows when the nickname started) was always intended as the museum’s mascot, he is a work of art called Donkey, acquired by the museum in 1928. Over the years, Donkey was installed in different places, and eventually, people began to touch it. The touching has taken a toll; he isn’t supposed to be so shiny. But that damage is its own teaching tool, explains Morgan Hollemans, Gallery Teacher Team Lead, whose team works with thousands of schoolchildren every year.  

“Artie has visible wear and tear, so we use that as an example for the kids of why you’re not supposed to touch artwork in the DIA” she says. “They’ll talk about how it’s darker under his belly because you can’t reach there. And then they check their fingertips to see if there's bronze on their hands.” 

For Barbara Heller, Director and Conservator of Special Projects, Donkey is first and foremost a work of art, created by the German sculptor Renée Sintenis in 1927. A celebrated artist at a time when women artists were rare, and successful ones even less so, Sintenis was known for small-scale bronze sculptures with a detailed surface, or patina. “Her technique was distinctive and modern,” says Heller. One of Sintenis’s sculptures was given to President John F. Kennedy during his historic visit to Berlin in 1963; another sits in Griffith Park in Los Angeles, a gift from Berlin to its sister city. 

The DIA first installed Donkey in the Garden Court until that became Rivera Court. The sculpture then moved to the Romanesque Hall next to a small fountain. That’s when touching became a thing, says Heller. People would throw pennies into the fountain and pat the statue, gradually wearing away the unique subtle grooves on its nose. By 1953, the Donkey’s back was shiny as well. In 2009, the sculpture was moved to the newly renovated Beverly J. Prentis Court, and the petting went big. “The director at the time allowed it to be touched, because people were already touching it,” says Heller. 

“It’s amazing to me that it’s going to lose all its texture,” she adds. "That sculpture is 95 years old, and in the 15 years since it was reinstalled, the patina is almost totally gone.” But she also understands that Donkey occupies a unique role. “People love it, kids run to see it, they get their picture taken with it. It’s a mascot.”  

Artwork, teaching tool, mascot, memory-maker; Artie does a lot of work. On Facebook, commenter Marie Mullins posted:

“I have many fond memories of Artie as a child; my dad would lift me up and I would stroke his ears and nose and neck. I still like to give him a pet when I walk by. He definitely gave me a respect for not touching art that has persisted to this day.” 

Love Artie? Keep him on your fridge with this unique magnet from the DIA shop! 

Guest writer: Ayana Bryant-Weekes

Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening. —Coco Chanel

I had never heard of James Barnor before I was invited to the DIA’s media preview of James Barnor: Accra/London—A Retrospectiv, his first major exhibition in North America. As I and the board members of the Detroit Fashion Community—a nonprofit organization dedicated to cultivating and supporting fashion professionals and enthusiasts in the metro Detroit area—walked through the galleries, we were transported by Barnor’s work and the vivid scenes he captured.

DIA curator Nancy Barr gave us a tour, and as we walked through the galleries, I soaked in Barnor’s perspective on the beauty, history, and vibrancy of his life in Ghana and abroad. I came to a halt at a massive image of the back of a young girl’s head. The neatly parted columns of hair that left just enough scalp exposed to feel a cool breeze, and her tightly twisted tendrils that spun into each other at the nape of her neck, instantly brought to mind my tactile memories of a fresh hairstyle.

Barnor’s photography highlights the decorated familiarity- the elaborate elements of something shared by an entire community- that enrobed daily life for African and diasporic communities. An image of a young girl’s traditional Ghanaian hairstyle brought up memories of my own African American and Caribbean childhood experiences of getting my hair plaited. Especially growing up in Detroit, the Black hair and fashion capital of the Midwest, where your hair is considered a make-or-break outfit accessory. The beauty of the final product is in part connected to an intricate process that is not pictured, but still culturally understood and appreciated in that community.

Barnor’s eye for style is apparent even in his everyday images of people going about their lives. He captures men in uniform, well-dressed partygoers, concert attendees at sporting events and rallies, festive birthday parties, and women in elaborate head wraps and skirts at market days, creating detailed observations of Ghanaian style and clothing. That same eye allowed him to document London in the Swinging Sixties, where he worked extensively for Drum and Flamingo magazines depicting the African diasporic communities developing there, with images that ranged from churchgoers wearing Kente cloth (a colorful Ghanaian fabric) to the colorful and creative lives of Black people in London. The color photography techniques he learned in London are apparent in his photos of models of African descent, including Constance Mulondo, Rosemarie Thompson, Erlin Ibreck, Rema Nelson, and Marie Hallowi, all of whom appeared on Drum covers in the late 1960s.

While Barnor may not be widely recognized in the style world, his work has been an inspiration to some. Tyler Mitchel, the fashion photographer from Atlanta who photographed Beyonce for the cover of Vogue magazine in 2018 (becoming the first Black photographer to shoot a Vogue cover), cites Barnor as an influence. Barnor brings to his photos all the elements of great style photography: an eye for beautiful people, individual personalities, composition, color, texture, context and more. In one short visit I discovered a new fashion photography icon.