Last week sometime, and during an evening of ‘off our nuts!’ full on Cape Town experience, Andrew Lambrecht (a local art critic and theoretician) asked me one of the weirdest questions I have been asked in a long time. Out of the blue he says: ‘Would you like to come to a crit tomorrow at 9am at the Association for Visual Arts (AVA)?’ I say yes, but am not sure about the very notion of crit nor the time when it will take place. It will probably allow me only a couple of hours sleep, and as we know, during holiday time sleep is one of Mans most prized possessions.
Next day at 9am, after two hours sleep, I am at CVA. I see Andrew walking in just before me, with a zombie-like body language not dissimilar to mine. He introduces me to the curator of CVA, a young lady from Kwazulu-Natal, and we are offered cups of tea. We then have a quick look at the exhibition we’re about to crit and I ask myself once again whether this is a good idea.
Minutes later the artist arrives followed by a collector and an academic from Stellenbosch University. We move back to the gallery space, and after a short introduction by the curator, the collector of Lindiles work takes over. He talks beautifully and articulately about his love of art, excusing himself for not possessing the theoretical knowledge. He’s there in the capacity of collector, as someone who supports artists by buying their artwork. After having purchased a couple of works from Lindiles previous show, and despite voicing high expectations concerning the artists new work, he seems now somehow disappointed in relation to it. His words are measured, somewhat harsh but permeated with honesty. In my view he sets the crit in the right direction and my feelings start to shift from ‘What the hell am I doing here?’ to ‘Thanks for inviting me to a 9am crit, Andrew’.
His artworks are hectic. Far too many layers of narrative juxtaposed, trying to bring art and real life together. Found objects, collected after the fires in the Townships, serve as support for colourful depictions of local scenes. What is Lindile trying to say with this assemblage of real life (burnt objects) and art (rather old fashioned painting)? Why not stick to only one of these two directions rather than formating real life into little specimens of portable speculation?
I have not seen Lindiles previous work but gather from the words of the collector that it somehow lost its freshness. During the next hour there is no positive word about the work. The critic, the academic, the collector and the on-holiday european curator slate the exhibition mercilessly. The artist listens carefully and agrees with most of the criticism. Although he is proud of his work he recognizes the importance of a self-critical approach. He assures us he finds this crit very helpful. His eyes seem to become rather shiny and I bet he is holding the tears. Despite the negative nature of the comments everyone in the room seem rather positive. We all believe we are in front a good artist, and that rather than petting him on the back, it is our responsability to be critical, if a wee bit harsh.
Stepping back and revisiting the situation I realise that I was invited to a crit of work by a black young artist from the Township of Langa, carried out by a white collector, two white academics, and myself. We are in Cape Town, South Africa, and whether we want it or not history lurks over our backs. By blogging about this I know I am entering some dangerous territory. I have recently arrived from Europe in search of my African roots and can choose to approach the situation from two angles. First as a European I can condemn ‘apartheid’ and all the evils perpetrated on blacks and coloureds. Secondly and as descendent of white settlers in Africa I have to assume that my own blood has taken over someones land through money or force. This paradox obfuscates any attempt for objective reasoning and I simply have to hold back from having an opinion.
I notice throughout the crit that there is no tension whatsoever. It is not about money, nor about race or gender. It is about art and an attempt to improve the work and methodology of this young artist. It so happens that the people who are ‘commenting’ are white. Historically priviledged, they had the chance to travel to Europe, America and Asia, study at art schools, buy books and periodicals, participate in discussions and conferences. Historically Lindile and his peers have not had the same luck, but I can see all that is about to change. Why? Because after realising Lindiles talent and hard work, we did not simply look at the somehow unresolved artworks and said: ‘Thats good, boy. Beautifully painted resulting in a nice exhibition of African Art’. On the contrary, I saw five grown up men looking each other in the eye and talking about art. An art which is deeply connected to our condition in the contemporary world, not only to the discourse of African Art in Europe and vice versa.
This was one of the strongest and most beautiful art experiences I have ever had in my life. May be because this time art was nothing more than an excuse to talk about issues that permeate society nowadays. Tired of being European I felt African again. The positive outlook of this encounter shows me that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and that people in this little European enclave in Africa (Cape Town) are still able to look for solutions, not only in government think-tanks but in the tiniest details of everyday life.
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As we were about to leave the meeting the collector and the academic from Stellenbosch were discussing ways to allow Lindele to go and study for a year with a full time grant at the Art School in Kwazulu-Natal.
Curious about his studio and house I asked Lindele if I could come visit him in the Township. We jumped a twelve people taxi and went to Langa. I did not take my camera but the images are etched into my mind. I do not really feel like talking about it, for the same reason I do not talk about people having cocktails on the beach in Camps Bay. There is one thing about it though that I can say for a fact: the recently killed chicken with rice me and Lindile had for lunch was absolutely exquisite.
