Media Flaws

It’s Cape Town International Jazz Festival time. Or as some purists would prefer it: The Cape Town Jazz-Inspired Festival. The 12th one.

It was Thursday that I ambled into a restaurant where the minister of Arts & Culture, Paul Mashatile, was sitting with a group of artists. The meeting was not about the Jazz festival, but rather about issues affecting the arts in the Western Cape.

However, in the interests of keeping this jazz related I’ll relay a jazzy qualm the minister has – the lack of so-called local artists on the jazz festival line-up. In as much as the festival strives to be on a 50-50 representation of local and international artists, if one takes a quick glance at this year’s line-up you begin to wonder “Where are the South African artists?” If you look closer you'll realise there are many more South Africans though. At some stage the minister admitted to his department being a blind sponsor of the jazz festival as they seldom knew what the line-up would look like prior to sowing funds into the festival. Mashatile further vouched to change this – calling for his department’s active engagement in the actual organization of the jazz festival.

Tricky though. You see in the arts there’s this doing it for the passion and doing it for business juggle. The organizers of the Cape Town Jazz Festival, espAfrika, have successfully merged their business acumen with their passion for ‘jazz’. If you need any proof of this success, look no further than this festival’s R700 million national GDP contribution last year alone. This is business. Will a 70% or 80% local representation of artists in the line-up translate into business sense? Yes and no…

Now I could go on about such politics but it’s 1am on a Saturday as I write this. Earth, Wind & Fire are killing the old timers and their birds in the Kippies stage at the CTICC, right now. You can see the joy of being at the jazz for many in attendance. Spirits are high (in all senses of the pun) as many dash from one performance to the next. Nearly 34 000 people will grace this festival by the end of this weekend.

Great!

Now if you’ve followed my previous late night booze-fuelled jazz blog posts (2010, 2009, 2008 & 2007) you’ll see a change in content herein. Yes. You guessed right. I have not sat with a single performing artist for an interview thusfar. I have an international client with an insatiable appetite for our local artists – yet, that isn’t happening. How so? Apparently there are 600 journalists here who all made requests for one-on-one interviews therefore an interview ‘wishlist’ is largely going to be a wish list, nothing else. So I can’t speak about the nuances of the artists nor produce audio features on them, as yet. I can only speak about their performances:

Dave Koz – the local shebeens’ favourite, I kid you not, go to any shebeen and you’re likely to hear Dave Koz blarring through the speakers – had the crowd eating up all his notes (even better when Bebe Winans joined him on stage). Mozambique’s Ivan Mazuze was great. The Cape Town Tribute Band, although tasked with equipment teething problems were also a much appreciated experience. Christian Scott never disappoints. Hanjin was, in a comedic sense, great. As for Earth, Wind & Fire – well, you’d swear they composed the songs with the massive crowd they drew. Most appreciated was the fact that the sound was amazing on all stages.

Shoo! The paragraph above was a nightmare to write. It’s not what any journalist would hinge their writing on. One would envision personalised reflections on artist performances based on earlier one-on-one interviews. This is not happening. A press conference seldom cuts it as many journalists fear giving away their supposedly golden [read: “what did you have for breakfast?”]  questions for fear of responses being communal or not exclusive. Sadly the only time any journalist can be productive around events such as the Cape Town Jazz Festival is not on the actual performance nights – unless you’re a photojournalist or videographer – it’s at these press conferences. If you merely set-up journalists with watching performances you run the risk of contrite subjective reviews and Tweets. Plenty. You need to meet, tele-interview or digitally-interview your artists. Artists too must make an effort to get maximum interviews from such events. That’s just my personal take.

If you are in the Arts & Culture “business” – make the media your best friend. Above all be public relations savvy or work with a team that can give you extra mileage. There’s no cap to publicity… That said, I owe myself some sleep - before that let me go check out Tortured Soul on the Bassline stage… Day 2 to follow…

Whilst reading today's Mail & Guardian I came across the letter below from Kendell Geers - directed at the chief Art writer and reviewer at the publication, Miles Keylock. What struck me about this letter and led to my scanning it on to here is mainly due to its resonance to my stance on contemporary South African art writing. Art writing in the media is pathetic, to say the least, and an attempt at saying I-went-to-varsity-for-art, constantly peppered with undergraduate theory undertones. If you're an art graduate or any graduate of any sort and decide to write for the media, best you get your head wrapped around the stark naked fact that you are writing for human beings; not yourself or past lecturers. Not that any of this reflects Geers arguments. Here's the letter:

I would like to congratulate the Mail & Guardian on the ‘Lost in Frustration’ [hover on title for link] review of my latest exhibition at the Goodman Gallery, for it sharply punctuates and embodies absolutely everything that is wrong with the South African Contemporary art world and the reason why I no longer live there. Smug in its manicured vocabulary and proud of its venomous tone, the text is in truth little more than an undergraduate exercise in hate speech and conceptual capital punishment. It reads like a Laurel and Hardy attempt to grow a brain, but they simply cannot get past their old habits of kneejerk ‘slapdick’ violence.

Miles Keylock refers to an incident at the ‘Dada South?’ symposium in which Nina Romm accused me of phallocentrism; yet, had he been present, he would have known that Romm was in fact declaring the exact opposite. Romm took offence at what she perceived to be the predominance of the female sex and the absence of the phallus in the issue of Be Contemporary that I guest edited. I do admit to having been somewhat clumsy in addressing her concerns but it was, and remains, my intention to make more effort, as a South African, to speak in less confrontational and less aggressive ways.

I suspect that Keylock has his own castration anxieties, for he raises the issue of the male member at least three times in the text, culminating in calling me a ‘dick’. Whilst all manner of evil atrocities have been committed by, through and in the service of the dick, these problems will not be solved through public castration and the emasculation of male identity. If more men loved their members, and used them with more respect they would be less inclined to think of them as ‘tools’. The rape and sexual violence that rips the country apart is only possible when men are in denial, and emotionally detach themselves from their dicks for how can you respect life (or sexuality) if you do not respect your own body?

I am so tired of the cynicism and jealous posturing that seems to define contemporary South African Art, for in effect it only begets and generates more violence and despair. It is my belief that artists must now carry the beacon of hope, light and love, leading the world out from the political deadlock that emanates from the Capitalist pit of opportunism and profit at any cost.

The shallow individualism and cynicism that Keylock accuses me of is probably more a reflection of what he wants to see and his state of mind than my own, for we can only perceive that which we are ready to open our eyes to see. The ‘Ritual Slips’ that he describes as ‘abstract binary patterns, meaningless liturgies that deflect and refract understanding’ are, for instance, composed of the words Believe, Love, Faith, Trust and so forth. He goes on to say that they were made by anonymous Ndebele crafters but, of course, such a colonialist statement begs the question: anonymous to whom? They are certainly not anonymous to me and they would not have been to him had he bothered to ask any more than he would have seen the writing on the wall had he the courage to look beyond his prejudice. Far from being anonymous, I will be donating some of the proceeds to a charity that supports and promotes these traditional crafters.

The country is drowning in rape and murder and yet when an artist dares to try send out a message of hope and transformation they get castrated by critics refusing to accept change, growth or development. Keylock says that my work has matured as if that would be a bad thing? The review reads as though it was hacked together by a music critic based on rumour and hearsay and dick-tated to by an overbearing girlfriend with a grudge against all men. For those readers willing to look past the vitriol of a septic review, I humbly offer my exhibition ‘Third World Disorder’ with the intention of transformation. The works are my sincere attempt to shift the focus and exorcise and transform the pervasive negative energy into that of hope, trust, faith and a revolution of love.

Kendell Geers

(sources: Mail & Guardian newspaper and Artthrob)

He stands short in a shiny navy suit with his daughter alongside as they muse unamusedly at the works of art on display at the Goodman Gallery One & Only. The same thought that struck me when I met Pam Golding was the same thought I had upon meeting the suited Sol Kerzner: “Sadly, no amount of money can prevent ageing.” Sol walks with a bit of an old age limp, but still exudes an aura of I’m-filthy-rich (some call it confidence). As I stand, star-struck, joop walks Felicia Mabuza-Suttle in her signature I-don’t-want-to-age air of being. I take one more quaff at my Meerlust Pinot Noir and decide to check out the art. 

It’s the usual Goodman goods on display such as the Essop twins, Subotzky, Miss Veleko, Sue Williamson and Goldblatt (although I didn’t quite see his work – was it hidden in the portfolio instead?). Oh, yes. What makes this exhibition different is that people weren’t actually there to buy the artworks on display but rather the portfolio of seven signed prints which feature all nine artists – the portfolio is called Inside Edition. And in my opinion is a nifty portable way of buying art from a traveller’s perspective. 

Spoke to a few who’s who’s and two artists who actually made the effort to avail themselves that evening. Another great thing about this exhibition was the lack of the usuals I’ve become accustomed to in these Cape Town openings – some of whom are the kind that freely dispense those what-do-these-blacks-want-here looks. So none of that was felt or observed. Thankfully. 

Well, no pretension in the air here, no over-scrutinising and ponderings on the meaningless works of Adam Broomberg & Oliver Chanarin. No really, what were these two thinking with those miniature drawings? No amount of art theory can justify mundane doodles. And then there was Sue Williamson’s work, which did little to me. She talented and great in her own capacity as an artist. But sadly not my cup - I’ve seen her stuff and quite frankly always walk away with a get-over-obscure-Africa-representations-already taste in my mouth - a leave that to Zwelethu Mthethwa kind of feeling. 

I’m pretty sure Goodman Gallery could have selected something far better from Nontsikelelo Veleko than a topless hairy blinged male Durbanite. The other artists on display were alright and much like what we’ve come to expect or know of them. And to be quite honest I could level more critique, but I’ve learnt that art exhibitions aren’t peer review panels and sometimes you just have to accept what’s there, support and buy wherever possible. So I by no means intend to trivialise the exhibition. The context, One & Only, adds a flair of standard to the exhibition and the portfolio which contains signed prints equates to value for money. Another thing, I quite liked is the quick dissipation of the crowd. I couldn’t have stayed longer than an hour there. And besides, the Vista Bar downstairs was calling my name.

On my way down I caught a glimpse of ‘their’ mayor, Dan Plato, sitting in the lobby area engaged in what seemed like boring conversation with what looked like prominent tourists. He smiled and waved and I acknowledged. Perhaps 'their' Premier Helen Zille taught him to be nice to the only blacks at the dinner table – because why I got a greet is beyond me. Argh, maybe I'm being petty and he's just a friendly chap. Anyway, that’s Cape Town for you. 

p.s: The exhibition opened on 5 July, running for a month and open to the public – that’s if you’re not intimidated by the location and harbour no nasty preconceptions of the nouveau rich.

It was a pseudo-sunny Thursday in Cape Town, with a cold breeze blowing when I bumped into Simon Njami. Needless to say his wryly crude sense of humour led him into making snide remarks about my beer belly. “Well at least I’m not on the brink of looking like an Africa-hunger ambassador, like you!” I thought.

Njami, he of Africa Remix (2004 – 2007) and much more, was at Michaelis to give an impromptu lunchtime lecture on the discourse of contemporary art production in an African context. Suffice to say he veered off topic and kept his talk quite short – 32 minutes to be exact. And no one could blame him for that. I mean how can one attempt to re-breech this hard laboured cliché of ‘African Art this’ or even ‘African Art that’? Even Mario Pissarro eventually gave up on this subject - and it was his life cause at some stage; or so it seemed).

Anyway, back to Njami. He started off with a few anecdotes on perceptions of Africa and how everybody has an Africa of their own through living, studying or working on African subjects. The main problem being how every Joe Soap tends to define what African art is and should be – from heritage items to Jackson Hlungwani-like sculptures. However the problem in this, is that there is no problem, because as far as concern should be concerned these are merely all opinions. Nothing more. And to which Njami quoted Clint Eastwood's "Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one." I, personally, am of the inclination that each artist – African or not – should dictate the direction of their art and be free to define it as they please. Would that be too idealistic?

“Africa for me is a construction,” opinionated Njami, as he made an example of how in his curatorial positions he has often been confronted on the authenticity or true African-ness of some of the artists he has selected in past shows. “A thread that I found is that what makes Africa Africa is Europe. 99% of the African countries were colonised, so that’s what makes it Africa.” Referring to Achille Mbembe’s text on post colonialism he said “people are always trying to define Africa, according to history, according to blah blah blah. Why not define Africa or African countries from within? Not from a historical perspective but from the reality and try to understand what it is?” I’ll take this further by saying why not let the art producers define their own work? Or are they so spineless and uncertain about their products that they need Western reaffirmations to say “Ah son! This is art!”

The only instance where so called African Art meets the West – with the exception of biennales and/or exhibitions - would be on academic turfs. Suffice to say that most art history texts or art literature largely circumnavigates around art of the West, the Americas and so forth. There are minimal accounts of so called African art written by so called African artists and scholars. So as it stands, art students have to accept what is taught – but be open minded enough to realise that – by being taught on art (contemporary or backdated) of the West and so forth, they are being given a vocabulary which they can then apply to expand on African art literature. “Art is a language and we are attempting to say something, unambiguous; trying to tell stories that have never been told. No story is unique but context is,” added Njami as he explained how context will always distinguish the newness and lack of repetition of work. “The only way to build an original history is to talk from a point of view and attempt to avoid preconceptions.”

Not one to mince his words, but sure to mumble them in his ‘I am about to say je t'adore’ accent, he then proceeded to field questions from the honoured audience. Questions ranged from how to retell African stories without being repetitive? how Africa helps define other countries? and even what is the meaning of art? and many more...

Njami is currently in the country to open the Us exhibition in Johannesburg. An exhibition which he describes as an attempt to remove the usual suspects of South Africa Art, his friends (the Kentridges, etc), in a bid to “see what is coming next, if there is anything coming next.”

Cape Town.
Saturday.
23 degrees Celsius.
Partly cloudy.
Sun shining nonetheless…

... Instead of nursing a hangover I’d instead committed myself to presenting a paper on Art in Contemporary SA Media at the Iziko SA Musuem. I’ll post full paper during the course of this week.

But first.

When time came for me to present I felt like a preacher about to lambaste his congregation for ignoring the light (media in this case). No, really Sean O’Toole, Nadja Daehnke and Bettina Malcomess had done an excellent job at swaying away from conventional I’ll-speak-you’ll-listen strategies as they presented in interview-styled techniques, fictional novelistic readings and casual engagement with the audience. Hand-in-pocket and trying to avoid my script I then embarked on a 20-minute talk.

Thereafter we sat and fielded questions. The first was rather tricky as it required me to explicitly state what art means to me. No. Never. The young lady who posed that question would have to forget getting a proper response on that. I am trained never to give such a direct opinion on my chosen subjects. That’s like me speaking objectively about Jacob Zuma and then you go and ask me how I feel about Jacob Zuma? I mean imagine if I’d told the lady “Actually art means nothing to me, thank you!”

But I’d be lying. For someone who was born by an artist-cum-high-school-art teacher I’d be lying. My interaction with art extends beyond my dismal high school Still-Life drawing attempts. Beyond sitting with a Tando Mama uncle, who half the time, we never understood what he was up to – until the media actually catapulted him in a ‘listen fools this is what your uncle has been doing all along’ manner. Oh.

Now in the midst of the Iziko audience sat an editor who’d earlier mentioned that there was a lot of art in media. Good. A bit vague on which media featured art a lot (international or local?), but that was cleared up straight after my talk during the Q&A session. Gabriel Clark-Brown (editor of Art Times) should have kept it all to himself as he immediately discredited himself as a media practitioner in my eyes.

You see earlier - and you’ll read this in my paper when I post it here – earlier I’d mentioned that South African artists need to start operating in a manner that takes cognisance of the media environment they operate in; start finding ways of adapting their work for the media, polish up their pitching skills, etctera. I used radio as one such example and intentionally chose uKhozi FM (6.6 million listeners) and Umhlobo Wenene (4.6 million listeners) as public service broadcasters with a potential to carry art programmes whether on an art educative drive or sound art exploration. Now. Clark-Brown here gave a firewalled response along the lines of those radio stations will never listen to you if you come with art, blah, blah, they want soccer and so forth. WTF?

“Have you ever listened to these stations!?” I thought. Clearly not – these two station carry the most educative content and still feature radio dramas which were long declared dead on other radio formats. In fact if any stations were to have art talks or slots it would have to be these two chosen ones because there are thousands or rural kids with an artistic ability being exploited to paint ‘Coca-Cola’ or food menus on the walls of general dealer cafés for R20 or so. Art as something big is not a reality for them because the media ignores them as an audience. Radio gets people talking in rural communities - heck those fruit and veg ladies near the Thafalofefe hospital in Centane - who were, in my going rural days, the most up to date due to their blarring 'FM stereos' - are probably discussing Carl Niehaus as I write this.

So my annoyance grew with every utterance Clark-Brown made from his backrow audience seat as he continued to genureflect on his art-rebutted/rejection experiences with other media. Make no mistake sonny lack of skill or a rat-like cunning to sell ice blocks in Antartica doesn’t mean it can’t happen or the media will not accept art because you couldn't sell it.

Let me explain a branch of the media game for Art Times and the likes.

Selling an idea to an established media house (one that does not necessarily attract an art audience) is as daunting as paying hell a visit with the sole intention to convince Lucifer to buy electric heaters. Lucifer already has paraffin heaters, wood-fuelled fireplaces, braai stands and a generally warm environment which seldom experiences winter. You, the salesperson or journalist will regardless of these pre-conceived ideas of hell, go ahead and sell your heaters to him at any cost PROVIDED YOU ARE CREATIVE ENOUGH.

Let’s paint this picture for Clark-Brown on this blog canvass:

You: Good morning Lucifer! Firstly I’d like to commend you on the HEAT you’ve got going here!

Lucifer: Why thank you. Just the other day we were grilling Joost vd Westhuizen on his 38th birthday.

Y: No, no. I didn’t mean that HEAT – I meant the souring table-mountain burning temperatures here.

L: Oh. Yes. That’s us yes. So how can I help you?

Y: Well, I’ve come to sell you electric heaters!

L: But it’s warm enough here.

Y: Yes. And these heaters will go well with your theme. They illuminate three bars and create an excellent three-bar shadow with 100% stainless steel frames. Above all, these can hang on walls and enhance your charcoal décor.

L: Mh-mm, let me think about it.

That’s the first step towards selling an idea to the media – it will be partly plagued with the editor’s or publications own bias but if you’re good – you’re good.

It's been a long way coming. Heck, first it was Michaelis Bloggers.

After several chit-chats here and there and trying to track down former Michaelis Bloggers, we've finally decided to blog again. This time we're taking blogging to new heights. Post Post-Production has arrived.

Post Post-Production will be a 2008 pilot blog for our third year Discourse of Art students - so far 41 students are registered on it and are already posting. And no this is not your typical "Res-Food-Sucks" or "Dear-Agony-Aunt" or "rant-n-rave" blog - Post Post-Production is stricly academic and is hoped to be a model for other student bloggers around campus.

Categories will include extensive reference lists, essays, interviews, videos, academic podcasts, reviews and art-scene related matters. A kind of mega-blog resource centre for our art students...

Check it out on: http://blogs.uct.ac.za/blog/post-post-production

Credit must go to Ed Young and Matthew Partridge for pitching the idea.

Lost and confused: “Sorry where is the NY Now exhibition?”
Me: “NY 1? That’s in Gugulethu or Nyanga dear.”
L.A.C: “No, no I mean the DJ Spooky exhibition – New York is Now.”
Me: “Oh! Just walk down to the next building – it WAS there.”

Pause. Rewind. Press Play: Paul Miller better known as DJ Spooky is an artist, musician, and writer from New York. Before the 24th of February I only knew DJ Spooky as that subliminal music brainchild from the States. An art exhibition was the last thing on my mind as I read and re-read his interview with James Webb: “It kind of reverse-engineers some of the issues that started Surrealism – mainly how Europe appropriated many of the themes of what was going on in Africa, Asia and Latin America. I wanted to create a portrait of New York as a series of fictions and video poems, but crafted with Africa in mind.”

Anyway, on the 24th of Feb DJ Spooky graced us with his presence at the Michaelis Gallery, Cape Town. His statements and deep philosophical insights and references to post-modernism, surrealism and art whatnots really changed my views on his music. It just didn’t sound like a DJ talking - a Disc Jockey? maybe a Word Jockey (WJ)? As I gazed at his featured work I found myself thinking: Why am I watching King Kong sequences that are juxtaposed with arbitrary walk-with-a-limp beats and the odd lounge sound. It didn’t make sense. So I turned to the press release that said: “…using archival footage and early avant-garde cinema mixed with his own music, New York is Now is an exploration of memory through the interplay of images and sounds; creating a digital multimedia opera about a city made of improvisations, disjunctions, overlapping histories and multiple rhythms.”

Okay.

Somewhere along the lines of his opening speech DJ Spooky went into some exoticism of a certain ‘Hottentot Venus’ who’s “ass” was cut off, packaged and exhibited around the world. The audience kept on hissing Saartjie Baartman, but Spooky ignored them all, until a senior Art theorist/ critic, Andrew Lamprecht, corrected him. The theorist/critic, seeming quite worked up, slashed Spooky for presenting a poor historical account of the said ‘Hottentot Venus’ and undermining certain facts about Africa in his seemingly self-indulgent African narrative journey or opening speech. DJ Spooky retorted by acknowledging that a) he could be wrong and b) his knowledge of the ‘Hottentot Venus’ and Africa was what he got online and via US media. And on and on it went -. -. -. -. -. until an American art lecturer stepped in to ask about the innovations of sound, art and mixed media teachings, etcetera, etcetera.

So the exhibition ended three days ago. You can’t see it. You’ll just have to take my word for it. My word: You probably wouldn’t have understood it, unless you were at the opening or had read the press releases. Trust me. I’m being serious. I witnessed Design Indaba fanatics and general members of the public excitedly rushing into the exhibition and then 10 minutes later walking out with WTF? facial expressions. Problem 1: There was no artist statement in the venue - people are used to being spoonfed with visual clues or some form of textual guidance to make sense of an artist's work; unless of course the artist wants every Tom, Dick and Harry to plaster their own interpretetion to his/her work. Just music, film sequences and abrupt editing. Maybe I’m being too simplistic. So I’ll stop here and congratulate DJ Spooky for having the courage to present his either too advanced or too simple work to a premature African audience that is struggling to even grasp last decades so called Conceptual Art, and now they are expected to digest this too?

If I approached a gallerist, let’s say friendly João Ferreira, and told him I wanted to exhibit a blanket I once wore during the Xhosa practice of umaluko (something some people call going to the bush), would there be any harm in that? Tell me? Would that blanket be considered an artwork? And if yes, an artwork by me? Because I hardly remember ever sowing a blanket together. I might have dirtied it and all, but never stitched the darn robe.

I’m getting to a point here.

Just make sure you keep the idea of my blanket in mind as I take you through the recently opened Dungamanzi/Stirring Waters exhibition at the Iziko National Gallery in Cape Town. Look, I could easily sum-up this entire review by saying: Dungamanzi is the usual stereotypical parade of native primitivism. But that would be non-patriotic of me. Dare I say such about fellow natives who’ve been given a platform in one of South Africa’s major galleries. Which is summed-up as: “In the past, the voices of artists who created traditional artworks were largely absent from museum and gallery displays.” Dare I say that most of the ‘artworks’ weren’t even artworks – they were, just like my blanket, normal objects. But of cause it’s the eyes of the beholder that redefine, give meaning and throw an entirely different light on our day-to-day African objects. A headrest? A walking stick? A Shangaan dancing dress? Please! Maybe the Jackson Hlungwane sculptures could be classified as art, as well as the bead work that was used to draw pictures of the not-so-pleasant past. But in terms of terming dresses and walking sticks as artworks – please!

The entire exhibition conjured memories of Thomas McEvilley’s Exhibition Strategies in the Postcolonial Era, where McEvilley raises the notion of “The West and the Rest” – I can’t really remember it word-for-word but it basically acknowledged the West’s obsession with exhibiting objects from other cultures – especially cultures they once tried to colonize. Such objects, now known as ‘artworks’, were usually relocated to curio rooms – yep, objects of curiosity.  (I’m trying my best to remember that article so forgive me if I don’t give it to you as it was).

So there I was in the midst of observers observing the objects of Tsonga and Shangaan art from Southern Africa. Today I won’t go into race politics and highlight that the majority of the observers were of this and that decent. Instead I’ll just resort to telling you that I left early. I just can’t take this laziness anymore. Lazy curators who are interested in showing South African artworks must do more than just google stuff and ask a ‘black’ friend to get them something authentically African so they can show it off. No. They must get off their arses and actually go and see what those people are doing. Simply getting a dress or a walking stick doesn’t cut it. You cannot limit African ‘artists’ to sculpture only – there’s more to just molding trees and stitching things up goddamnit! The refusal to see Africans as capable of doing anything conceptual and above beadwork and treework will always limit what we are shown in exhibitions such as Dungamanzi! Yes, curators of African ‘art’: your limit of thought should not be the yardstick measurement of African ‘artists’ and their capabilities.

Phew! I’m tired. Let me go back to McEvilley – where he states that these objects were not just objects of curiosity but rather also served the purpose of trophies – something which the Western explorers (who in this case are Iziko, Johannesburg Art Gallery, National Heritage Council, Natalie Knight Gallery, Ove Arup, CD Shipping and the Consulate General of Switzerland) use to show-off their ability to penetrate other cultures (Tsonga and Shangaan). Also interesting to note is that I did not meet a single Tsonga or Shangaan person at the exhibition. Did they even know their ‘work’ was being Saartjie-Baartmaned in Cape Town’s Iziko?

Hm, so I still wonder if a gallerist would actually take my blanket?

This one's for the true conceptualists. Many refused to believe me when I described an artwork that's plainly a box of Joko and Omo strategically placed together - titled Yoko Ono. Well, here it is:

Artist: Ed Young
Title: Yoko Ono
Where: At the Stellenbosch Modern and Contemporary Art Gallery

I don’t even know where to begin. I’m livid, putrefied and disgusted to say the least. Yesterday saw me wasting away an hour of my life in a talk with an alleged artist, Barend de Wet*. This old timer actually had the nerve to grace our campus and present to us what many could term a post modernist display of sheer crassity.

The worst part is that I had double booked myself yesterday. It was either I missioned off to upper campus and witnessed our deputy vice-chancellor debating issues of Affirmative Action at UCT. That would have been interesting to say the least. But no, for the love of all things bright and beautiful (art) I chose to sit it out at Michaelis and witness a faded artist scrap together whatever remains of his dignity he could scramble. Needless to say he failed dismally. His first stunt was tattooing a lecturer and a popular artist. He then painfully proceeded to spin a yo-yo for an entire life-long 10 minutes. Thereafter he probably felt some form of obligation to play us a video of the world no.1 yo-yo spinner. Then the killer part – his ill-hearted video attempt at performance art, titled ‘pussywhipped’, where he nudely parades his wrinkled self, whilst shaving his girlfriend’s…. (take a guess).

Presuming I had died somewhere along his hour-long presentation, I could easily say I was turning in my grave. I couldn’t even jump out of this casket as I had to film the gyser for our school archives. Students mockingly asked him questions that further reinforced his fall from wherever he used to be. A bright 1^st year, posed a question that went along the lines: ‘Who is Barend de Wet, what does he do besides spinning yoyo’s, tattooing and shaving girls? What makes him an artist? His history, etc’ It was a good question, that was in line with what other lunchtime lecturers do whenever they grace Michaelis. Lo and behold, a Suzy Bell - looking like she had just walked off the set of a gothic movie - interjected and lamented the poor 1^st year for not having googled Barendt. Suzy, you boarded the wrong bus dear, I doubt the owners of google could tarnish their search engine with such banality. Barend was supposed to tell us about himself, his work, his inspirations, et cetera.

The single most inspiring element of his talk was when he eventually stopped, ran out of time or words; now that was an applause worthy moment of good riddance.

Loved this photo of an artwork by a local artist...

It was one of those ‘I’m-the-only-black-at-the-dinner-table’ moments until I saw Robert Suresh Roberts neatly tucked away in a corner, creating a deep contrast with the pitch white gallery walls.

I’m in Stellenbosch, for the very first time in my life, and the occasion is the opening of the Gimberg/Nerf/Sacks/Young exhibition at SMAC (Stellenbosch Modern and Contemporary art gallery), better known to others as SCAM (Stellenbosch Contemporary and Modern art gallery). Parking problems prompted us to park further and endure a short walk. A walk riddled with fears of being lynched and irrepressible feelings of displacement/disorientations coupled with a sickening sense of paranoia, as I perused the folk on the streets and Java café. At first this seemed like a well-composed scene from one of those small town movies, but I couldn’t help the feeling that my every move was being monitored. At last I reached the safety of the gallery and with a sigh of relief opted for water instead of wine. My first impression: Massively stunning gallery filled with genius works – you even forget you’re in Stellenbosch.

This time Ed Young actually did some work, for a change, exhibiting his videography masterpieces, as well as teddy bears or his pink panther range. Also liked the black version of pink panther – the Black Panther, which means something if you know your politics. Then I came across a box of Joko Tea strategically placed along a box of OMO! Those conceptual artists can be annoying sometimes! And when you approach them to say, “but that’s not art, I could have done it too” you are met with a conceptual response along the lines of “but you didn’t!”

Ruth Sacks outdid herself as usual and has also secured herself a place at this year’s Venice Biennale. Douglas Gimberg is a newbie on the commercial scene and displays a rare dare-devil mentality as he was brave enough to exhibit somewhat ordinary pieces (t-shirts) and priced them up. Nice work and impressive, I hope he doesn’t stick to conceptual art – as in the long run, no one will take him seriously or he’ll be expected to keep up with the high standards he’s setting.

Chris Nerf also had some neat works on display, included his latest copyright symbol. Having arted my self up I then proceeded to listen to Robert Suresh's speech. I don’t have much to say except maybe for the fact that I still can’t figure out why politics and Mbeki’s website were his main concerns at an art opening night. His speech regurgitated texts from Mbeki’s newsletter, George Orwell and poked the war in Zimbabwe. Audience members: ‘what’s this got to do with art?’ I later realized that these artists (Gimberg/Nerf/Sacks/Young) had cleverly included Suresh in their line-up. Had one viewed Suresh as a piece of art, then maybe and only maybe could his ‘missing-the-point’ be understood. But I still don't!

The night also featured a heavy SMAC publication entitled One Million and Forty-Four Years (and Sixty-Three Days) facilitated by Kathryn Smith. After the formalities it was mingle, mingle time – business card swopping, new acquaintances and the works. I’ll definitely be doing Stellenbosch again – should another exhibition rise…

Exhibition runs until the 5^th of May 2007 @ the Stellenbosch Modern and Contemporary Art Gallery (Tel: 021 882 8335).

Nothing entertains me more than a rambling Brit that actually knows what he’s on about. Simply put: Brian Eno talking. A certain UCT campus had managed to upset many by means of stealing Eno from the expensive barriers of Design Indaba today. Apart from hosting an unusually calming or meditative exhibition at the Michaelis Gallery, Eno seems to be a talker of sorts – who at times reflects a sense of bitterness when touching on issues he does not particularly subscribe to.

So, it was with great interest to see him trash what one could term as 'interactive art' and merely rubbing it off as being nonsensical if not aspiring to being like a shopper trying to choose between rice or potatoes. Giving art viewers interativity and choices nullifies the point of exhibitions, according to Eno. Something he assimilates to being like an oke who buys himself the most expensive sound system, but never listens to it due to the fact that he is always positioning this speaker there, tweaking the treble here, neatly arranging the components – a type of agitation, lack of contention and concentration.

It truly was an honour to witness this breathe of fresh air in action. None of the superfluous le bourgeoisie art terms on postmodernism, neo-realism, avant garde, et cetera, et cetera… just a comedic-ish and detailed biographical talk on how he came about creating his latest Exhibition. A long process filled with trials and errors, tedious etchings and paintings, stolen video machines, unsynchronized sounds, annihilation of television broadcasters, avoiding employment and all sorts of stuff that would ‘stupidify’ criminals for choosing crime instead art.

Brian Eno will be speaking at the Design Indaba this Friday. For more on that, check out designindaba.com And if my writing wet your appetite for Eno’s art work – feel free to scurry along to the Michaelis Gallery, 31-37 Orange Street, Gardens. before the 28th of February 2007.

There I was crawling on the red carpet whilst ultimately ascending on the heavenly stairs of Artscape. At the top I’m swooned with a glass of champagne as I turn to catch a bird’s eye view of the next red carpet victims; needless to say they literally plied me with champagne the whole night. I think they were trying to keep me bubbly – bubbliness which came handy when I was bored stiff of low-self-esteemed film-maker-wannabees and chit-chat about film noir, visual aesthetics, cinema vérité, cinematography and the latest 3ccd camera, etcetera.

This year Sithengi outdid itself (as usual) and treated everyone like royalty. The likes of David Kramer, Dali Mpofu, Mary Watson and more schelebs mingled in-and-amongst us normal beings, until we were carpeted off to the main opera theatre to preview the latest Tsotsi-to-be South African film: Bunny Chow.

Whilst getting seated I readied myself for a nightmare of long speeches as the sex-show host and ‘O’ editor, Kgomotso Matsunyane, MC’ed this event. Once again I was proved wrong, as the speakers kept it under 5 minutes. Heck even the minister of Arts and Culture, Dr. Zweledinga Jordan, kept it short.

Directed by John Barker and acted out by the usual Pure Monate Show suspects - Kagiso Lediga, Joey Rasdien, Kim Engelbrecht and so forth; this movie is about a group of three wet-behind-the-ear comedians who embark on a roadtrip to Oppikoppi - to get drunk, high, laid and paid. I could have enjoyed this film more if I hadn’t touched the champagne earlier. Erm, er... the lack of colour and extreme close-ups were a bit irritating at times, but the presence of comedians and a few stand-up comedy scenes guaranteed a lack of dull moments. Then there was a point where the ‘F’ word became the common lexicon of each script-page; but that didn’t last long enough to even unnerve Dr. (Pallo) Jordan.

I remember having the same feeling when Tsotsi premiered and it could be another sign that South African film producers have finally grasped the concept of proliferating good movies.

As the credits rolled, guests were invited to feast on bunny chows. Imagine everyone in their almost-formal wear carrying half a loaf of bread stuffed with meat and curry. Bunny Chow! In cinemas from February 2007. Or if you don’t mind venturing off to the townships you can catch three more previews, this weekend only, at: Zolani in Nyanga, Luyolo in Gugulethu and Alliance Francaise in Mitchell’s Plain.

A sexy, talented South African R&B singer "dies again" - this time on TV. I read with great amazement on how TK ( Tsakani Mhinga - the late R&B sensation) will be featured on a SABC 2 programme, Zero tolerance this coming Friday evening (9pm), according to the Sunday Times.

Now in this coming episode, which was shot in November 2005. TK stars as a lesbian celebrity who snorts "coke" like it's going out of fashion and is sadly shot in the back of her limo. In real-life TK is alleged to have died in a very similar manner, without the shooting part though.

My point - isn't it wierd how life keeps on imitating art? Just a thought, but here's the killer part of this blog. Should the above-mentioned episode be aired on television? How will TK's family digest this? etcetera, etcetera.

A staunch by-the-book media expert will definitely conclude that the dead have no say and there is no way you can defame a dead person - as the dead have no say. And trust me thats somewhere in the journalism codes of conduct. It's sad that we will have to watch this episode - especially for those close to TK, who will now experience life imitating arts. What ever happened to art imitating life?