Remembering Aardklop Nasionale Kunstefees

Being one always keen on any impromptu road-trips with my pseudo-bohemian mates, I must however admit that panic clutched me when I discovered we were visiting the Aardklop Nasionale Kunstefees – held in Potchefstroom nogal, a place of frightening conformity and racists tensions. But a sudden rush of enthusiasm and freedom surged inside, induced by the prospect of a short trip outside of the mundane complacency of Fochvile.

I must also concede that it takes a special breed of revelers to endure what at first glance could seem like common place small town monotony, away from the humdrum city life. Potch has undeniably become a haven for reclusive artists, and many who dare extricate their priorities from glitzy nightlife spectacles and gridlocked traffic nightmares. This change often happens during the early weeks of October; when this canonical town is transformed into an art fair congregating farmers and their crafters from the vast landscape of the North West province. Country Lifestyle experts showcase a variety of products, painters providing snap-shots of an agrarian history and a privileged pride through this festival established some years ago.

Aside from monuments of colonial bravado that forged this town’s identity, a myriad of preserved museums are found perched on ancient streets; Reverend Tobius’ house where he translated the Holy Bible into Afrikaans being one of my favorites. These houses are a marvel of historical preservation, carefully curated and transmitting stories which otherwise remain a cornerstone of future cultural developments of the Afrikaans and English communities established here. And Aardklop is their annual platform to celebrate a diverse, and often conflict ridden histories and cultures, while honoring artisans who have molded the creative spirit of this mining region of South Africa and not ignoring pivotal contributions of the many indigenous peoples in the region.

Despite its questionable multi-cultural make-up and supposed tradition of conservatism, this year’s eruption of creative energy was contagious, with a number of group exhibitions being as compelling as the subject matters and themes addressed in various venues. Take for instance, the DEAD BUNNY SOUP group exhibition curated by Neil Nieuwoudt (Dead Bunny Society), which showcased a number of emerging artists exploring a vast landscape of imaginative representations of social realities which ranged from crises of identity, gender politics as well as environmental concerns.

Among the selected works exhibited was an incredible series of photographic prints titled INEXORABLE by Minien Hattingh, which explored ideas of anonymity and obscured identities; while Collen Mashanganyi’s sculptures questioned metaphors around sexual entitlement based on perceived physical differences in a refreshingly prosaic yet humorous style. His wooden quirky carving radiated colors so innocent in their grace. And having always found superimposed images intriguing and offering multiple lives to a single frame in time’s unfixed adventure, roving through Stephanie Langehoven’s watery images of bodies in fish tanks was a starling experience. They possessed a sophisticated, elegant beauty entwined with a feverishly visible riot by female bodies depicted, intentionally deluding one to think that these were mere body parts similar to those carcasses.

Though the atmosphere at the festival often reeked of white esthetics, it was refreshing to stumble across a discussion hosted by Keleketla Library in one nook in the maze of university grounds. This collaborative initiative between historians, musicians and linguists aimed at retracing and locating semantic origins of Tsotsitaal and eventually Kwaito within the evolution of Afrikaans. Though Afrikaans has often been viewed with suspicion by many aware of its colonial legacy, the Voortrekker history is surprisingly well known by the inhabitants of both Ikageng and the town of Potchefstroom, and this knowledge came out during this seminal discussion I attended at the festival.

The NOU DIE LAS – A Kwaitopedia Of Afrikaans Terms And Phrases Ko Kasi, initiated by Keleketla Library under the guidance of artists and historians Rangoato Tseleng Hlasane, Masello Motana, Vuyiswa Xekatwane and Kgomotso Neto Tleane aimed at tracing the origins of Tsotsitaal from the Afrikaans language, which in itself was linguistic creation creditable to the slave of the Voortrekkers. Among those in attendance were elders who hailed from Ikageng Township, personable jazz aficionados and township historians and storytellers with uncanny knowledge of Tsotsitaal. Well-versed in the history of the town and its inhabitants who descended from Voortrekkers through lineages that span decades, they were speaking to plaas jappies crowded in the Alumni Saal on school trips that exposed white children’s affinity to black rhythms.

These sessions unearthed some hilarious koeksuster meisietjie twerkers and khaki shorts and velskoene pantsulas, while highlighting the multi-dimensionality of kwaito as a language. The facilitators meticulously engaged their audiences with critical and masterful presentations, collating oral testaments and devising meanings for a Kwaitopedia that will legitimize a somewhat obscure sub-culture among ever transient modes of cultural expression. And though these sessions formed an inaugural phase of the initiative, many such sessions will be hosted annually by the festival, with the hope that this initiative gunners adequate financial support to expedite the realization of its primary objective of publishing a compendium of words for posterity. I felt that NOU DIE LAS has ignited a divergent flame razing through the otherwise traditional establishment with Aardklop has become, and  in many ways pioneered a trend that will confront challenges of diversification of the festival.

And as we hitchhiked back home, assailed by inclement drizzle and piercing winds - my friend warm and buzzing from stolen wine, I soaked in the last of the images by Portia Port Wig’s darkly hues of blue cast in oily strokes depicting mirages of ocean surfaces. With those landscape memories looking eerie with clouds sparkling with rage, a truck finally veers off-road to give us a lift, an impulse to continue investigating modes of memory germinated in my mind. From that day, I could look at Potch for portraits of cattle-heads and woolen dolls made by housewives and daughters who are sharpshooters and hunters of game. From that day, Potch became a destination for artistic revolutionaries looking to engage audiences out of the box, a place where recluses are not antagonized but revered.

Image by: Kgomotso Neto Tleane