All tagged 2019

The Lives of Others: Gabrielle Goliath at the IZIKO National Gallery

“The day after the protests against gender-based violence in Cape Town earlier this year, a group of students returned to sing beneath the statue of Louis Botha. A man with bagpipes was there, playing Scotland the Brave to their outrage. A television crew arrived to film the students as they sang. Someone with an Israeli flag jostled into frame. In the background, municipal workers began removing the signs and flowers left on parliament’s gates. Passers-by paused to catch the scene on cellphones. It was Friday, September 6th. Nene would be buried the following day, and Jesse too. A single police car idled at the curb. The morning was still and warm, and defeat hung heavy in the air.”

Once More, With Feeling: William Kentridge at Zeitz MOCAA

Five years after The Nose debuted, during the 2015 Rhodes Must Fall protests at the University of Cape Town, the bust of Cecil John Rhodes at the memorial above campus was vandalized. The words THE MASTER’S NOSE BETRAYS HIM were spray-painted on the sculpture’s base, and Rhodes’s nose removed, leaving a flat, unoxidised plane of metal between his eyes. Following the protests, the editor of a monthly art publication took it upon himself to furnish Rhodes with a nose. All in all, three new noses have been glued to the bust; each made from composite material and painted to match the original metal. The last remains precariously attached, while the previous two prostheses are currently housed in a bedside drawer in one of our greener suburbs. The original nose, however, remains at large. It has yet to take up public office.

The Tie That Binds

Here is a red thread. Crimson red, like blood. Placentared, menstrualred, nipple-sucked-raw red. The shade of birth and death, and of life in between – the shade of passion and shame, love and rage. The colour of warning and good fortune; of fire and fertility. A colour analogous with the warm dark cave of the womb. As in the body, so to in the earth – vermillion clay, russet ochre, iron oxide. And above, in the sky, in dawn’s scarlet and dusk’s magenta, at the far end of the colour spectrum, at the rainbow’s apex: red. It is a colour that belongs as much to the exterior world as the interior, to the real as to the symbolic. A colour saturated with meaning, with metaphorical import. Potent and charged with the significance we lend it. And there, the thread, tracing its red line across the canvas.

The Silent Image

It is stone to which Aggenbach’s work refers and returns. To Carrara marble, heavy and still and ivory white.To Michelangelo’s Pietà. Her paintings reference this vision of silent piety with a studied evasiveness; echoing the drapes of fabric, the pale flesh, the composition of forms. Only her bronze sculpture speaks; it alone is legible, apparent, a sentence written in the clearest script. It stands apart from Aggenbach’s paintings and their silence, punctuating their quiet.

‘Nothing Bad’: Michaela Younge at Smith Studio

Younge’s felt compositions are darkly hedonistic, with bare legs and bars, cars and cowboys,pin-up girls and cut-out ones. Unlikely objects coincide in unexpected scenes: a small-town strip mall, a supermarket, a school gymnasium. Nothing is as it seems. The artist’s characters appear as actors in an obscure play, the scenes painted sets on which they perform. There is a sense of unreality about her compositions, not only because the drama they depict is so peculiar, so macabre, but because the perspective is never quite right, the depth never deep.

Art and Its Image

Art takes as its primary structure translation. Pictorial art represents the visible world, reflects it in paint or clay or gesture. A bowl of fruit described on canvas, a nude rendered in bronze. Even art that makes no reference of the world is a translation of the times, of the attendant art theories, of the historical moment. Perversions, pleasure, politics; the artist’s preoccupations reflect in the work, manifestly, obliquely. Art has always been reproducible; it lends itself to secondary translations. For centuries, aspiring artists copied masters to see how they worked, to understand their logic. Paintings have their engravings, sculptures their plaster copies, all art photography, all language. There is imitation and appropriation, forgery and plagiarism, and the more benign translations of influence and quotation. Why then this emphasis on authenticity, this devotion to the original? Behind every image is another.

Being and Sleeping

Her bed was never left empty, not for eight days and nights. And though she placed clean linen on a nearby chair few people paused to change the sheets. The pillows were always warm, the duvet heavy with sleep. There were twenty-nine sleepers, some friends of the artist, or friends of friends, a brother, several strangers. The artist and an agency babysitter filled in when needed, slept when no other sleepers arrived (five failed to keep their appointments). The artist spoke to the sleepers when they came, sat beside the bed, kept them company until they drifted off. She wrote notes on each visitor and photographed them at intervals.

Stone Cold: Alfredo Jaar’s ‘Men Who Cannot Cry’

Alfredo Jaar’s ‘Men Who Cannot Cry’ is an elegant exhibition with few works, coolly conceptual and restrained; an antidote to the summer shows that mark the season. It takes as its central motif the cairn Nelson Mandela and his fellow ex-prisoners made by the roadside when they returned to the prison island five years after their release. To Jaar, the pile of stones is both a spontaneous and ‘extraordinary public monument of reconciliation’ and a metaphor for the precariousness of South Africa’s post-apartheid identity.