Mysteries From Antiquity - On African Sacred Artefacts (Lydenburg Heads)

Collections are vital assets for museums, offering insight into the artistic and historical trends of a given era. They act not merely as historical artifacts but as living agents of yearning that bridge continuity and transformation. 

Making their collections seen and accessible is a crucial role of museums, one that is fundamentally bound up with their very function. The Cabinet of Curiosities in 16th-century Europe, regarded as the origin of the museum, displayed rare and exotic collections, providing audiences with novel experiences and opportunities for intellectual exploration. 

With the rise of the modern nation-state, the definition of “public” expanded, and works of art that had once been privately owned became accessible to wider audiences, ultimately evolving into the modern museum.

In Africa however, the rampant pillaging of cultural art and the theft of art meant a far more sinister project was unfolding; one that was characterised by erasure and displacement of an entire people from the annals of cultural history.

During colonial rule, African people lost thousands of cultural artefacts through the brutish plunder by colonists. These works addressed an entire psychological ecosystem of an oppressed people, in response to the censure experienced under guise of missions to “civilise the natives”.

Now that museums are calling for restitution and repatriation of stolen African artefacts, the overlooked question is that of a contemporary people who are grappling with the instability of meanings drawn from their vague past, when they have been denuded of any knowledge about these sacred objects and their worth.

When one observes what is often termed as macabre artefacts from arcane history, we come to question whether these artefacts are haunted objects as they’ve been known to cause all sorts of mayhem and social chaos.

These sacred objects found throughout the African continent for instance, are fundamentally associated with knowledge and are secretly preserved. Owning them or knowing about them commands attention and silence from those who cannot have access to them.

But I have often wondered what secrets lie behind the rarest and most treasured African artworks? The kind of pieces imbued with the weight of history, culture, and spirit all at once.

These creations weren't made just to be admired, they served purposes—spiritual, social, political—and each one has a unique tale to tell.

Sadly many of these rare artworks are hidden away in vaults, galleries, or private collections, far from their original homes. Some have been lost and found again, while others remain mysterious, sparking debates about ownership, legacy, and cultural pride.

A vigorous dialogue between heritage and contemporaneity is essential if the past is to preserved by contemporary generations for posterity. 

Only by revisiting sites of memory, can these reclamation expeditions infuse new modes of recollection and (post)memory, viewed through the lens of the contemporary social and cultural landscape.

And in light of this urgency, the post-1994 democratic government has made it a priority to restore dignity to those who were dehumanised by colonial and apartheid-era practices; a laudable effort in the face of rampant corruption within the art world in regards to illicit antiquities trade.

Recently, through the the Exile Repatriation Project and the Reburial of Khoi and San Ancestral Human Remains Initiatives, the government has spearheaded a revolutionary approach to reclaiming lost heritage by returning the remains of 58 ancestors.

There remains a vast array of misrepresentations and artefacts that remain to be repatriated, for instance the The Lydenburg Heads; a set of seven terracotta heads accidentally discovered by a ten-year-old boy in the South African town of Lydenburg. 

Should contemporary historians and artists reposition The Lydenburg Heads in their authentic African cultural  context, and repatriate from Iziko Museum in Cape Town to their communities whilst renaming them appropriately without disputes? 

Would this approach open old wounds or foster an inter-generational dialogue between those who shaped our cultural landscape and those addressing today’s urgency to redress falsifications and erasure thereof?

Excoriating The Wound and the World: On Khahliso’s ‘At Virtue’s Zone’

At Virtue's Zone

It is not helpless, it is not hopeless, it is just being portrayed that way. Without us paying attention, they will have nothing. Without us paying them for our attention, they will earn nothing. Without us bending over backwards to please them, they will break. Without us wanting to be just like them to be just like them to be just like them, their self image will shatter. Without us affording them the quality of anothers discomfort, there palaces will crumble. Without us conspiring and conforming with them, shelling out our cold finger cash to fund the completion of their high rise egos, there will be no more theaters of war no more cinemas of celluloid pain no more carbon copy shopping streets of fat ass consumers suffering from diminished muscle mass no more websites wiping clean our consciousness no more playgrounds for political savagery no more selling us choice when we realize that there is not much to actually choose from Without us being present they will be left to bite their fingernails down to the cuticles. Without us attending their feast they will still continue to be cannibals but will have less meat to pick off the bone. Without us they, the providers of helplessness and givers of hopelessness will be confronted by a new found silence one where the only sound to be heard will be that of their own heavy labored breathing alone and without us.

***

Joshua Baumgarten 

Re(Thinking) Artistic Praxis - NEW Imagineers (Jalal Toufic)

 

Jalal Toufic in (Vampires), proposes that death is not a future event but a condition in which we already exist while physically alive. He also asserts that we constantly receive signals from versions of ourselves dwelling in the realm of the undead.

Politics, religion, social phenomena, colonialism and its irrevocable gestures, incisions that transform man without the possibility of reversal, and the instincts that arise from them, continue to inspire artistic practices of many artists of colour. 

This seems more attuned to what Jalal Toufic calls “the withdrawal of tradition past a surpassing disaster,” when grief and care of many beings who have crossed the boundary between life and death have taken a spiritual dynamic and reverence.

What then, is death when there are the un-dead?

Is death a state of continuous life at a level of decay, an inversion towards the negative, a way of undoing the orchestrated linearity of being?

The Unnerving Politics In Ayanda Mabulu’s Art

When do artists express their disdain for political systems governing everyday existence with extractionist impunity and nihilistic tendencies of self-gratification and enrichment? Do artists slash their canvases in rage or somber contemplation of ends, to the means by which devastation is crafted and executed?

A first encounter with Ayanda Mabulu’s work at Kalashnikov Gallery in Braamfontein left my senses unruffled by the splattered angst, and that iconic work depicted none other than the messianic Nelson Mandela laying dead on Winnnie Mandela’s matriarchal lap. 

Her maternal posture, devastated about the loss of sites of their intimate lives, detached from their own historical significance within the hierarchy of political importance; attest to the tone of the artist’s temperament when it comes to shattering social taboos.

The gallery was then dominated by this work amidst the cluttered walls of its miniature maze of rooms that felt more like an underground bunker partitions, and among other were further examinations of the state of a nation in disarray.

And what unnerved me was the artist’s interpretations of the South African mourned stalwart, as a helpless naked lump of ageing flesh slain in a political circus depicted in the assumed meaning of other pieces staring the situation in the countries political trajectory.

 

His many works detailing the fragilities of political egos, their mangled reflections bearing infinite witness to a world in which people and their ideas are captured, stand as testaments that art can jar and rip open scabs of a sedated yet wounded menial populace, faced with indignant barbarity. 

But, there is also a seductive immediacy of a graffiti like improvisation that lingers in paintings such as the LUCKY STAR series, delivering subversive political idioms, dissecting social complexities of this country with a non-hypocritical yet indignant eye.

As it seemed to offer insight into our infamously sycophantic leaders with a distinct penchant for disgust, his works often expose dysfuctionalities of political systems and their violence as the overarching theme that characterise SA in recent years.

The near collage technique that repurpose inherited emblems of power, speaks from framed voices that are personal, yet equally shaped by collective experiences of a despondent populace watching the vulgar comedy of errors engulf the state and the continent at large.

Somewhat a hybrid of western pop art, the art is not conciliatory in any sense but a critical one, shaped by political as well as religious iconography juxtaposed with the ongoing class struggles and mass media violence.

The somewhat multiplied images, amplifying messages that challenge the populist status enjoyed by figures in power, these lucky stars undimmed by scandals are probed by the artist who dares pull the veil from their bare asses.

Within the lineage of dissident art that is politically charged, Ayanda stands as an obscurely relevant artist at the pinnacle of sobering critiques on contemporary climates marked by wars and genocides, curt leaders and exploitation of many by an elite few.

Politically charged yet playfully vulgar gaze, bearing the unseen on canvas as instruments upon which memory relies, these indispensable bodies of men and women of history are laid bare for their nativities and controversies.

Often, his work makes caricatures of struggle stalwarts pitted against the backdrop their other present incarnations, these altered icons of martyrdom (as Winnie and Nelson Mandela were viewed), are slightly vilified by their seemingly unflinching defiance of death and their uncanny stealth for corruption even at old age.

What seems to concern Ayanda is the proliferation of laudatory works that resemble propagandist images of dictators, given undue credit for heroism in the glaring face of starved orphans leering through electric wires around mansion of “liberators of the people”.

Zuma is a perfect muse of imperfection in posture and self-aggrandising actions, his popularity immortalised by his penchant for indigenising mediocre strategies under guise of traditionalism, or the “people’s way”, and Ayanda peels through the facade, exposing cracks in the somewhat enamoured posture of post-apartheid leadership.

His work undeniably presents a microcosm of black Africa as championed by the affluent who passed into their oppressors’ shoes, clones into replicas of western colonial posture without any preamble to make their “new whiteness” comfortable.

Ayanda’s visions become a vessel for the world’s untold, hidden behind decorum and protocols, the sordid betrayals of liberation ideas by men standing on the shoulders of giants whilst pissing the revolutionary tradition down clogged drains.

Each image’s inter-subjectivity cannot be understood solely through habits of subjective references and analysis, the normative recognition of semblances, but only through delving into each figure’s concealed characters. 

Pigments of moral decay and obscene displays of uncensored and callous gluttony, pseudo-machismo suited and seated on pedestals overlooking entangled realities of wealth and poverty; these theme of access and inconspicuous consumption function both symbolically and practically.

Englobing the conscious and the unconscious rebellions aroused by continued plunder by these elites, there are renditions of presidents satirised as the joker or the vampire, images that require a poetic imagination to dissect their meaning.

Resonant meanings are dispersed throughout his work, with newspaper clippings lending factuality, and commercial brands replicas outfitted to expose ulterior, not as outpours rage alone but forms of atonement for being willing victims to the domination of our collective psyche as black South Africans.

Far beyond those serenely majestic landscapes of rurality, this artist seems obsessed with inner mounds of debris left looking like calcified skins on bones exhausted by culling, each painted stroke of a sinew stretching across vast bodies decomposed by greed.

Through his work, the artist reveals diverse metamorphoses of revered personages in light of their current collapse into treachery and self-deification. The characters in his paintings elude traditional thought patterns and categories because they seem other-worldly, although each bearing recognisable resemblance to known figures.

Inspired by mythology, pop, and everyday culture, as well as cultural-historical references, Ayanda continues to carve a niche for art that unravels the seams of those gowns of power, clad by clown in castles usurped through other people’s blood.

 And this uncanny visual device also serves as a microscopic view of the persons concerned, activating their pasts, interweaving it with the present; the artist questioning the art world's rules of engagement with subjects while simultaneously challenging expectations and interpretations.

 

***

 

Images Sourced Online 

Writer

you art a lone figure violently slashing pages

writing a bridge between messy souls

a diary of conflicts and absurdities 

a metaphor for a congregation that is suspended between devotion and restraint

Art In (COLOUR)

 

Much of history left profound emotional scars on the historicity of many cultures and any research on African values, creativity and ancestral practices aligns with a desire to reinvent the misconception and conservative notion that people of colour lack the spiritual acumen to conceive and comprehend art.

The common narrative has been that sites of memory such as museums should only be the preserve of white supremacist history that is both personal to many white and universally resonant with other projects of colonial displacement of various people of the land.

It become essential for any thinker to begin probing the boundaries between the mundane and the mystical as created by the artefacts in these places, the images, the antiquated furnishings and models clad in garments thought to reimagine the past.

Instead of indulging nostalgia, many artists of colour endeavour to reactivate marginalized cultural memories, backdropped by a vision of "ancestrality”, continually navigating a plethora of coaxed memories, others replicated and censored by veneers of self-illusory joys.

This act of artistically re-imagining sites of memory is a mode of inquiry into the intersection between physical and psychological impacts of such sites; a form of séance in relation to how spiritualism permeates art as a tool that captures times and spaces.

Falsifications of historical events and the ways in which identities of black people have been staged over time are falling apart at the seams however, and this mirrors how our silences are instruments and sites of racial anxiety which must be destabilised by confrontations, academic or artistic.

This cultural annexations of the past have left dissent perspectives on the value of monuments and other colonial sites of the oppressor’s visions of the past, yet it remains upon the shoulders of artists to examine how colonialism has shaped the ways museums, archives and other institutions of knowledge are perceived and understood, revealing the immaterial (and lack of material evidence of the colonised) scars imposed by systemic violence.

Debates surrounding the restitution of cultural heritage taken during colonial periods have intensified, accompanied by a growing recognition of persistent social injustices in society, yet while academics and museum professionals have led much of the discussion, artists  must play a role in expanding conversations around decoloniality, restitution, and reparative justice. 

In a time when traditional values are being lost under the pressure of consumerism; class, ethnicity, gender and many other factors that all too often result in social exclusion emerge. Those subjected to intersecting forms of discrimination such as racism, colonial trauma and brutality, perceive the role of colonial monuments, museums and their artefacts as entrenching memories of oppression, where blackness is confronted on all side by erasure.

Concerned with these entrenched hierarchies and their invisible role in shaping the world around us, artists of colour continue to forge connections between non-Western cultures and erased cultures of colonised people, often in ways that challenge conventional delineations and the Eurocentric gaze.

These artists provide examinations of the psychic conflict which results from the desire to both belong to and resist a society which denies blackness even as it affirms its inferiority, exploring boundaries between environment, politics and the personal which are constantly shifting.

 

Their work often leans toward forms of reprieve, towards possibilities of uplift after downfall, often in the context of the historic and ongoing oppression of Black people and the politics of their representation at the centre of global monoculture. 

Their work even dares to examine propensities for self-hate among people of colour (the oppressed), their self-destructive habits, and other patterns of social activity to analyse the nature of individual personalities. 

Yet, this form of solidarity with the oppressed is increasingly corroded by discriminatory practices and rhetoric that promote western monoculture, and only dissent and the generative potential of collective resistance can be the sole mode of confronting our collective mis-representations as obscured identities.

Often, these artists turn to atmospheres and residues that social practices leave behind; probing what persists in shadow, where light and darkness intertwine with notions of both individual and collective memory.

Like a poet reciting their words, the act of reading is a declarative gesture of presence, reclaiming the notion of memory as a dissident mode to critique norms of memory, conveying a sense of both precariousness and vulnerability, experimentation and ingenuity.

And contending with memory’s resistance to categorization, artists, writers and poets of colour often invoke alternate temporalities, amplifying their creatively transgressive voices and fostering critical conversations around identity and dissent.

Theirs is a sensitive attunement to histories that remain excluded from official narratives, but that are contained and conveyed by nature, buildings, and landscapes and gravesites where unnamed ancestors are buried. Through words and other crafted methodologies of reflecting on memory, artists often have to summon histories of colonial resistance,

Vandalising the status quo and its foundations. Yet these acts of ruination constitute a quiet defiance, a deep confidence in the poetics of lived experience, deeply rooted in the history of the land and those to whom they belong.

What counts as truth as espoused by science, for instance? Science is not a conclusive system but a subjective construction—a temporary attempt to impose order on something that ultimately remains unknowable.

But in what ways can art expand and safeguard the language of truth and the process of truth-telling in an era of falsifications and non-truths?

To safeguard this reverence of truth as a spiritual force, fostering psychological and physical healing simply through presence and exposure, artist use various rituals, resurrecting diverse cultural matrices shaped by resistance and creativity, narratives that are languorous, humorous and somewhat melancholic.

The fault line between what we think we know and what eludes our understanding, tests our perception and dismantles its boundaries, and it is precisely in not knowing that the imagination begins.

Often reworking popular formats into speculative, allegorical forms, the artist new trajectory is now towards investigating how built environments embody histories of forced migration and displacement and exploring colonial intent and possibilities for infrastructures of knowledge that evolved into falsities that haunt today's rediscovered truths.

And as the global discourse around reparations maintains a negotiation between museums and other governmental bodies and communities for the return of cultural objects, artists question the intent of mechanisms of contemporary preservation. Are museums best places for the looted heritage of victims of colonial plunder?

Although there have been several instances of successful returns made possible by these inter-institutional collaborations, there remains a vast array of valid and legitimate criticisms of their shortcomings in addressing the wishes of affected communities, who are often left in the margins. 

Museums have long been recognised as custodians of imperial legacies, eliciting sustained critique and repeated calls for their deconstruction. Attempts to address these entangled and often contested pasts have generated both significant critique and meaningful collaboration. 

The dissident artists seeks to critically engage with this paradox, posing the question of what further strategies and frameworks might be developed to advance the transformative potential of museums in the present.

Crucially, these disparate creative practitioners take a comprehensive and obsessive questioning of why there aren’t any architecturally resilient infrastructure created for intellectual and cultural heritage of people of African descent?

Colonial artists produced some of the earliest depictions of Indigenous and enslaved people of Southern Africa —idealised scenes that obscure the violence of colonialism. They also painted elaborate hunting still lifes and portraits of patrons whose fortunes derived from imperial trade and slavery, which populate many museum walls, exposing the operations of the white gaze.

And as whiteness often seems a reactionary society strongly influenced by the church and the fascist past rooted in white supremacy, it begs one to confront the dissolution of this myth at all its enclaves; from the monumental churches and museums, to the states littered across landscapes of usurped lands.

But to prove the non-durability and bad craftsmanship that goes into projects that purport to commemorate collective memories of black folk, it has also become essential to investigate these meagre spaces in contrast to the vandalised monuments erected under the auspices of the colonialist historian and religionists.

For the dissent artists confronting dissonant heritage, a number of pivotal questions should be addressed to reimagine the realities of division and colonial oppression from the lens of conquest, as the past remains a contested space where we can exist not as conquerors or observers, but as participants in an ongoing dialogue of meaning. 

But to sense anew the pulse of the present that flows through every living thing, dissident art should transform into an agent of self-definition and resistance, it must transform personal longing into a public cultural expression; a moment suspended between past and possibility, where the act of creation and recreation mean the broken bits of an illusive past and its truths.

And in order to respond with these colonial artefacts and images from our own archives as people of colour is a collective project of confrontation, confronting erasure and censure, creating a space of resonance within the past through the present, where the past and future exist in communion with the deep rhythms of the possible.

It is a confrontation of grief that often forces art to return to the traces left behind by what is lost, striving to combine empathy with the impossible. This creative ritual is a critical process of mourning that embraces both the personal and collective dimensions of traumatic experiences, akin a family archive and the collective dimension of a shared heritage.

***

 

Art By: Harmonia Rosale 

Video Art And The Decline of “History”?

The word “history” came into being, because our events were told and written down thereafter. Now history is being recorded in images or video. Therefore from now on there is no more “History”, but only “Imagery” or “Videory”. 

• Nam June Paik, Binghamton Letter(1972)

“We live in an age where truth is constructed from images, not from facts.” 

• Simon Fujiwara

As we live in a post-narrative condition, not the end of storytelling but its overflow into new forms. Stories appear between what we choose and what chooses us, across screens and devices, beneath conscious thought.

Through video art, I undertake journeys into the limits of our perception and imagination, triggering images and ideas that, in turn, point towards new realities

and the self-involved thoughts transformed into surreal playgrounds.

It is often said that a document is a record of fact-based information, traditionally in the form of words but more recently also as images such as photographs and moving images. The word “documentary,” meanwhile, has come to be used not only as an adjective meaning “factual” or “consisting of documents,” but also as a noun referring to a film expressing facts.

But my video poems are NOT fact based as much as they deal with the hyper-realities of the mind conjuring their self-destruction and re-assimilation in the real and natural realm. These video poems is are interplay between deliberation and intuition in art practice.

  

Let's begin first by dissecting and reassessing the unofficial history of imagery as found in sculptures, mosaics and buildings; unfolding those lesser-told layers of its vibrant evolutions until contemporary manifestations. Memories and their counter-memories are fragments upon which I construct visual interpretations not bound by traditional definitions or criteria for artistic representation, but used as a lens that looks at both personal and collective memories.

My video art therefore is a porous network of cultural dialogue and engagements, and it stems from an insane and very profound distrust of imagery, which in turn roused the need for orality and at times textualization of narratives in most of my projects. Through the use of “hijacked” images from popular culture, mainstream movies and publicity materials, the forensic-poetic work is affirmed by inner questions raging from faces of nameless objects and individuals reduced to symbols.

The underlying critical question is what the art can imply for life through suspension of genre-specific boundaries and redefining a new synthesis of the disciplines that explore the collective, the ephemeral, the occasional and yet psychotic engagement with a traumatising world. These video artworks are hence articulated as material testimonies to trauma, using cinema as the language of conflict , to expunge history from corruption. 

Video art has always been to express different forms of resistance to dehumanization and interrogate the social fascination with memory erasure and contemplate the conditions of collective amnesia, where the marginalized and nameless, embrace their fluid identities through multiple possibilities of narratives.

This gelatine based pathway into dreams, recognizes the human in the abysmal, the timeless in the archival and the true in the alienated observations of light shed on obscurities. And “Human" here, is etymologically related to the word "humus," which is soil. 

This cinematic art is far from representational or unambiguous. There are always ‘tipping points’, ambiguities and multiple meanings, less concerned with a concrete reproduction of reality than with “interpreting existence”, sometimes utilizing technical glitches as tools, and rewriting visual narrative paths in atypical ways.

Rather than follow predetermined paths, video art moves across shifting contours, layered fictions and shifting realities, lead us down unanticipated paths.

These appropriated manipulated images subjected to a series of physical alterations and even macabre that they portray, they have been penetrating deeper into the unconscious of technological society

Blending storytelling with critical and dissenting narratives, the video work subverts the polarising structures shaping our understanding of the world, and, explores the anxieties provoked by the uncertainties and social injustices of our time.

By examining the perpetuation of systems of classification through the continuation of colonial tropes in cataloguing and conserving historical events through various media, evoking a metaphorical resonance between land privatization histories and the process of memory.

Video Art therefore embraces incompletion as a generative method for pushing inherited fragments and unresolved ideas into motion, juggling a paradoxical dynamic of gazing while being gazed at, offering sensorial testimony to the historical traumas, and the fragile and illusory nature of social systems we live in.

Within a contemporary visual climate in which images appear to precede reality, an era where reality is thought to be the outcome of images rather than images being an outcome of reality, how do archival images lay claim to representing truth?

And as modernity’s separation of the mind from the body is damaging to ourselves and the planet is apparent, how will technological modes of recording reality alter our recollections of reality?

Video art therefore embraces glitches and errors that are treated not as failures but as methods. They create cracks where new meanings slip through, moments where the story branches unexpectedly into fault lines point to the politics of narrative: who gets to tell the story, who is written in, and what is left unsaid.

Interweaving the personal and the collective, in other words, a holistic unfolding of memories and socio-cultural associations., video art is a contingent process of creating meaning of identity and collective biography.

Video art practice includes appropriating museum collection audio-visually and representing them in a new formulaic symbolism, allows for an ethical approach to retracing the traces of various voices and images that have been constructed and erased throughout history, bringing the repressed and overlooked to the forefront, inscribing them into the local context, thus opening a dialogue between time, place and history.

The archival artefacts alluded to include sound-based and silent works, yet within which sound is always present—sometimes heard, sometimes only imagined - yet retaining and relating to the partially obscured histories of human reality.

The resultant visual experiments recreate visual narratives that draw on stories that resonate with the current resurgence of discourse about archival truisms and heritage preservation. Furthermore they employ montage to juxtapose appropriated images, generating new meanings, offering a careful reflection on appropriation and collaboration, foregrounding the artist’s role as art historian, documentarist, and archivist.

This archives-based video art practice therefore operates at the intersection of cinema and historical research of heritage of absurd histories and rituals as varied as cinema screenings, psychoanalytic sessions, and experimental theatrical performances are model for exhibitions: they are mediated experiences by which to access worlds beyond the everyday and connects these emancipatory practices to anti-colonial and anti-capitalist movements in the present.

Video art becomes the ever more refined messenger for a modern world that might be seen beyond appearances, it announces new orders of vision, it gives the future something more than an image, embracing the idea that everything we think we know is, to some degree, a constructed narrative.

This Is What Cinema Is All About.

Images, sound, whatever, are what we use to construct a way which is cinema, which is supposed to produce effects, not only in our eyes and ears, but in our "mental" movie theater in which image and sound already are there. There is a kind of on-going movie all the time, in which the movie that we see comes in and mixes, and the perception of all these images and sound proposed to us in a typical film narration piles up in our memory with other images, other associations of images, other films, but other mental images we have, they pre-exist. So a new image in a film titillates or excites another mental image already there or emotions that we have so when you propose something to watch and hear, it goes, it works. It's like we have sleeping emotions in us all the time, half-sleeping, so one specific image or the combination of one image and sound, or the way of putting things together, like two images one after another, what we call montage, editing - these things ring a bell. These half-asleep feelings just wake up because of that - that is what it is about. This is not to make a film and say: "Okay, let's get a deal, let's tell the story, let's have a good actress, good-bye, not bad," and we go home and we eat. What I am dealing with is the effects, the perception, and the subsidiary effects of my work as proposals, as an open field, so that you can get there things you always wanted to feel and maybe didn't know how to express, imagine, watch, observe, whatever. This is so far away from the strong screenplay, the beautiful movie, etc., that sometimes I don't know what I should discuss. You understand, this is really fighting for that "Seventh Art" which is making films.

Agnès Varda 

 

ECHOES OF HISTORY BETRAYED

 

ECHOES OF HISTORY BETRAYED

The 1980s was a decade which became a turning point in South African history. Popular protest by masses of ordinary South Africans against the apartheid regime reached its height in the 1980s, and the government responded with extreme brutality and repression.

On July 20, 1985, faced with the collapse of its authority in the townships, the continuing prospect of spreading violence, and an increasingly uneasy white population, the government responded with its first state of emergency over many parts of the country. 

The State Of Emergency was re-introduced in 1986 when the elimination of people who were considered the enemies of the apartheid state was deemed of confidential importance.

At no time had apartheid been resisted by as large and united a constituency as in the 1984-1986 period, in spite of PW Botha’s vicious and repressive reign.

It was during this time that a number of activists disappeared under suspicious circumstances, many of whom were never found. Boikie Tlhapi, was one among the many voices that continue to haunt the present from the unresolved past.

The story of Boikie Tlhapi is undeniably full of contradictions, and those emerge with all recollections about the man and his activism from those who were closely related to him, either through the struggle or familial relations.

His death in the hands of the apartheid police continues to haunt the community, more so, those who were once incarcerated with him and those who were part of the protestation he spearheaded within the community of Ikageng.

These unsung heroes and now persons relegated to obscurity are people who are memory-keepers of how the struggle transpired in the late 1980’s.

As protagonists, they speak about their experience and motivation for joining the resistance, and their stories and memories that continue to build an incredible narrative of the history of resistance against oppression as expressed by activists in Ikageng and the Western Transvaal during those time of the infamous State Of Emergency of 1986.

The documentary thus unearths some living activists of yesteryear, who have unfortunately been overlooked by the current democratic dispensation and its beneficiaries. 

Nduduzo Makhathini

 

 

Nduduzo Makhathini’s music has always intrigued me since my first encounter with his sound at The Johannesburg Art Gallery in 2015, when he, together with Tumi Mogorosi, Mthunzi Mvubu, Robin Fasciae Kock, Ariel Zamonsky mesmerised music loveers with compositions and renditions which reinvigorated by belief in the hauntingly unrequited quality of South African Jazz. 

Over the course of the following years, I witnessed a serene evolution that embraced spirituality in all its sonic metaphors that linger to soften even the staunch hearts of those who denigrate African virtuosity. 

Read more: https://anirrationaldiary.blogspot.com/search?q=JAG

And in the tradition of sounds that merges the uneasy traumas of our collective past with the present, the IKHAMBI sessions at The Pan African Station in 2017 struck a chord in my soul that left me bereft of breath. It conjured up a a pervasive sense of interrupted transmissions from the spiritual, navigating the plane of the flesh.

 

Music that brings the mystical into the suspended space of memory, perfectly crafted yet imperfectly translated through nuanced flaws, broken scales irregular in form, with proportions that lend an uncanny effect of improvisation and mishaps.

What is spirituality in this case, because often this seance with the unknowable is relegated into realms of mystery, but here I infer to the living soul of a song that knows a language forgotten, melodies that seem like chords struck from primordial keys embedded in genes of current listeners.

I recall an artist inferring that we enter the world through our eyes, and it enters our inner worlds through our ears, and listening to Nduduzo’s Ikhambi felt akin to a reawakening, whence my inner contemplation is invaded by a foreign entity pent on inducing visions and memories buried with a thousand murdered ancestors. 

Compelled to the unthinkable splendours of imagined utopias of the soul, the song in its compositional complexity is unwoven by The Cure cCollective in ways that can only be deemed ingeniously mature for these young musos at play.

And though obscuring their intended catharsis, they narrow their improvisational excursion to a minimum, allowing for each instrumentalist to reinterpret and invigorate new meanings to the composition, guided by Makhathini’s pianistic elegance cognisant of the gravity of the proverb in their song.

Ikhambi left me amused by its eccentricity which roused my personal dissonance of feelings suspended between two worlds,  furthered through and located in the disorienting headspace between the two, hence I found myself intreating its essence through video art.

Paul Zisiwe

 

Video Art - Khahliso Matela Portfolio