Palesa. S. Motsumi : You studied at the Pasadena Art Centre, having had that experience, how do you navigate your own journey as a relatively young artist in the U. S.?

February James : I don’t believe that going to school makes you an artist.  School can’t teach you how to be an artist, we’re all born creators of something.  For me school is a personal goal – that’s why for the most part I’ve held it close to my chest.  My younger brother is a mathematician.  He’s  currently pursuing a PHD and is the only other person in my family who has graduated from a four year program and beyond.  I say this to point out to the fact that I don’t come from a family of scholars.  Getting a job after receiving your high-school diploma was the bar.  So, school and furthering my education has always been a personal goal whether I was painter or a plumber.  I live in perpetual state of curiosity and I’m always looking for ways to challenge myself.  

The figures in your works are quiet complex in the way you have articulated them and have a real sense of familiarity of people we may encounter in our daily lives, anywhere. What comes to mind when creating work of such significance in your studio?

I’m not the type of artist who has a notion and then seeks materials to carry it out.  There is a motif and then I lose it.  It’s almost as if I’m constantly in pursuit of the portrait.  I don’t sketch out ideas first, I’m horrible at that. The essentiality of my paintings is the evasiveness and that there are questions unanswered.  I find out what’s happening through the work.  To some extent trying to write about the work is quite arduous at times,  as what I make can happen before the meaning springs up and out.  It’s like hearing a joke and getting the punchline later.  It’s a process that I respect and I’ve come to love and honor about my practice.  This is why experimentation is very important to me.  I’m challenged to learn through failing, to move through it, too discover and to be play.     

What has been your biggest challenge as an artist in the times we are experiencing, right now?  

I would have to say the grief that knowledge carries with it.  Hearing about all the front-line workers; families that are facing the threat of losing their home ; families who’ve lost loved ones.  The devastating weight that this pandemic carries. 

You work within the company of mixed media. Was this a choice that you initially felt drawn to while studying in Pasadena? Or was it a decision taken later?  

My studies at the Art Center are as recent as 2018.  I’ve always worked simultaneously with water color and oil pastels and traversed through other mediums.  With the oil pastels, I’m really drawn to these swells of color and gesture.  With watercolor and ink, I feel nurtured and seen as the faces emerge from the page.  Working with clay is my most recent endeavor and that did pick up at the Art Center.  The manipulation of clay involves a lot of manners of tactile and gestural experiences that can be considered primal, relational ways to make contact with others and the world.  What I’m unable to say with paint I can say with clay.  

The subject of family and connections is quite personal and political in many ways – what can the regular or new online visitor to 1 : 54 Art Fair expect from you, this year?   

I think we’ll all be surprised; me included.  I am more focused however on breathing more life into the characters.  Who are they?  Where are they?  What do they have to say?

Now, when I learn about artists in other parts of the world, I always wonder what kind of artist they are. What kind of artist are you?

I’m still figuring out what type of artist I am everyday.  I am grounded in who I am and my craft, yet with each new body of work I find out new things about myself, as an artist – what I want to say and why I want to say it.  Then, there are times when I’m left searching through movement.

This article is part of the Interview Series 1-54 in partnership with Artskop3437.

The works of February James will be presented by  Luce Gallery  as part of of the 1-54 online edition on Artsy, available to all on 6 May 2020. February James can be followed on Instagram @februaryjames

The post February James : Unanswered questions in Portraiture appeared first on Artskop.

Christa Dee: Your work unpacks and offers viewers a prompt to critically consider South African mass media and problematics related to its independence and the relationship established with ‘the people’. Could you please share more about this kind of uncovering and form of disenchantment present in your work?

Lawrence Lemaoana: I intuitively became aware of the political use of the term ‘the people’, ‘our people’ and ‘the masses’ as South Africa only gained democratic status in 1994. As a child of the 1980s I spent a portion of it in a small and ‘politically sheltered’ gold mining town of Welkom. As this was conceptually unbeknownst to me at the time, a period where Apartheid South Africa was waning in power over the lives of black people. 

I did not know what state instituted segregation was, despite me only seeing white people on special occasions when we ventured into the ‘city’ and on television. I was furthermore clueless of what an Asian person looks like in real life as the province of the Free State banned their entering. In those days walls, as determined by the likes of Donald Trump, were purely conceptual but had the might of physical manifestations. My world was purely black to the point where even in plain speaking ‘human beings’ were SeSotho speaking people. The ideology of Apartheid corrupted the sense of self in relation to others by manufacturing a solipsistic definition of the term ‘the people’. The invisible bars over the mind were supplemented by an education system of Bantu education ¹, which determined that I as a child could only imagine my adult self as a hostel dwelling gold digging miner. 

In his book Homo Sacer Giorgio Agamben’s interpretation of the people spoke of fixated station for so many in South Africa as “the poor, the disinherited and the excluded”. The contemporary use of the term has become “the previously disadvantaged” who were the bodies to maim and shoot at in marches and protests in Apartheid South Africa. 

Sloganeering became a useful way of fueling protest marches; I grew up on a staple diet of the Nguni phrase Amandla! (The power) being dished out on the crowds. The crowd would in turn burp out Awethu! (Is ours) while carrying often misspelled placards determined to say “Power to The People” (2008). Supplementary support to this process was the creation of posters. The Medu Art Ensemble was a group of ‘cultural workers’ who were exile in neighboring Botswana, produced posters through creative workshops and discussions program. Their later released book and catalogue of their work influenced my thoughts.

On the other hand, the post-apartheid condition of most black South Africans or the so called ‘people’ has been one filled with hollow promises. Because of very little fundamental and infrastructural changes in this society, the post-apartheid epoch is infused with disappointment. The media in the form of Naspers, currently renamed Media 24, exemplify the cosmetic changes. The company has apologized for aiding apartheid ideology. 

South Africa experienced a publicized identity as the ‘rainbow nation’ during Nelson Mandela’s term, as the first black democratically elected president. Rose tinted glasses can only describe the writing in newspapers. To which I use this analogy of how pain killer work, it is simply a blocking of messages that alert the brain of the wound, the wound remains there despite this blinding scenario. The reality is that the people are wounded and healing has not been made priority in real or material terms.    

Your use of the Kanga cloth and the words and phrases woven on to the fabric makes your work highly localised on one level, referencing South African socio-political circumstances. At the same time, the Kanga cloth through its own historical journey (its production in the East and how it is sold in South Africa, and it subsequent absorption into important spiritual attire) pulls into your work an awareness of South Africa’s placement within the global economic chain. Please share more about this layering of references in your work, and how your thinking around it has evolved with your practice over the years?

In terms of religious practice, South Africans stands at 86% of the population identifying as Christian. This fact seems to be functional in politics. I often begin processing my ideas with the biblical concept of the “word”, pointedly on the phrase “in the beginning was the word”, to which I add, and the word became text. 

In the journey of my research, I also stumbled upon the link between text and textile, which is that they both mean to weave. This kind of story telling comes into play in a work I titled ‘I put a spell on you’ (2019), which I considered the idea of reading text as a form of spell binding. I was also acknowledging with respect Screaming Jay Hawkins and Nina Simone. Their deliveries of the same song speak to a kind of spirituality. The political link in the work is asserted by the black, yellow and green of the ruling African National Congress (ANC). The color scheme alluded to the liberated black people, the minerals or gold that those masses are entitled to and the green the land that would institute dignity for them. The visual complexity feels heavy as I consider an open audience that would either be lost or find solace in the work. The references stem from politics, theological considerations, visual metaphors, etc.

The kanga as an African fabric became an object of interest when the former deputy president of the ANC was tried in court for rape. In the heat of questioning, the accused indicated that he understood his sexual advances to the woman young enough to be his daughter as consensual since she wore a kanga. 

Further reading indicated that in east Africa kangas are used for many purposes, including as communication device. The kanga has decorative patterns and motifs. It usually has a text that functions as an idiom. The idioms are constantly changing and owe their being contemporary lingua franca and fashionable phrases. The textile companies have been known to scout for these phrases and in a way produce an ecological niche for the circulation of their product. By design the idioms are accompanied by illustrations. 

In all these processes of repurposing, I am brought back to the artistic term appropriation. New life is breathed into an object that is taken out of its ‘natural context’ of circulation, new meanings and metaphors are produced when their function as garment, as a cultural and spiritual object. Purchasing the kanga, augmenting it through embroidery and patchwork, placing it in a gallery space or a museum redefines its parameters as a communication device.

How do you think the transference of oral or written political statements on to cloth in your work shifts and/or directs the way in which these statements are read, processed or revisited? 

Commemorative kangas were produced as early as the 1930s, where an individual’s image was printed on the textile, and patterns relating to who they are decorated the rest of the fabric. As an artist, I attempt to subvert and work with inherent qualities of the objects, meaning that tracking down the history and use of the textile informs my thinking about it. I take cognizance of text-based artworks by artists such as Glenn Ligon, Pope.L and Dread Scott to name a few. I think that these artists’ works place the meaning of words constructively under stress, challenging ordinary uses. 

One of the supporters of the liberation of South Africa from apartheid was the USSR. To this the political culture of South Africa was contaminated. The colour scheme black, red and white that I use in my work references Russian propaganda posters, while at the same time referencing the spiritual colour scheme of Sub-Saharan Africa. My interest comes in transforming the reading of the texts into ambiguous objects that lose functionality but gain new powers. I try to reflect a distilled sense of my contemporary world by unearthing quotes that may spur individuals to actors. 

A work titled ‘Things Fall Apart’ (2008) was a response to the political turmoil in my country in the 2000s. I lifted the title from Chinua Achebe’s 1958 novel. The title was a line taken from a poem The Second Coming by William Butler Yeats. These different forms of writing speak to an interdependence between ideas from different creative zones. My probe is one of a rhetorical question ‘Can an African artist produce conceptual none figurative art?

Your work also offers contemplations on the constructed nature of identity, and the material reality that is attached to specific categories of identification. Please share more about this thematic interest?

I believe artworks are a fragment of the artist’s ego. Experiences, sound clips, gifs inform and misinform the work. I paid attention to the children’s movie Jungle Book particularly Louis Prima and Phil Harris’ – I Wan’na Be Like You (1971) song after reading through Paulo Freire’s book The Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Another work that shook me was Cildo Mereiles’ Insertions into Ideological Circuits: Coca-Cola Project 1970. The work that emanated from these critical engagements was ‘Lay the secret on me of mans red fire’ (2015). I was intrigued by the envy of the orangutan who had ambitions to be a man. This envy was reminiscent of Franz Fanons assertion that “The colonized man is an envious man”. To a more local example, the idea of liberation in my country meant occupying previously illegal positions in our society. The product of this was a sitcom titled Suburban Bliss, which in a nutshell was about a black family moving into a former whites only suburb. All of these cultural productions weave strong narratives about identity. 

What do you think a presence at 1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair presents in relation to debates around the representation of African artists within the larger art ecosystem?

Speaking from a personal experience, the 1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair rescued me from a slump of despondency. The despondency was due to my critical outlook and complicit participation in an art system the seems to have preconceived ideas about what African artists should be producing. I think that the fair opens up a safe space to be explorative and indeed innovative in how to read and make art for Africans. I think in this way African artists have the opportunity to be artists as opposed to ‘performing as specifically African artists’. I think that the anthropological term ‘native informant’ becomes useful here in that in the general art world African artists are often tasked with continually explaining themselves and their biographies often placed paralleled with their work. 

In similar fashion to the feminists and people of color (the Other) of the 1960’s in the West, who entered museums not in the way that they were previously represented, but by speaking authentically of themselves through their work. In those processes presented expanded concerns and interests in their art making. In a nutshell their mediums are imbue their messages. I find it impressive that 1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair creates a similar and equally important task today. 

This interview is part of the 1-54 Interview series in partnership with Artskop3437.

The works of Lawrence Lemaoana will be presented by Afronova Gallery as part of the 1-54 online edition on Artsy, available to all from May 6 2020. Read also the first interview of the series: Sungi Mlengeya.

The post Lawrence Lemaoana: Threaded Histories, Textual Subversions appeared first on Artskop.

In light of the current pandemic, Ellen Agnew for Artskop3437 spoke to Mlengeya to find out more about her work and practice – especially during these trying times.

Ellen Agnew: Your works focus primarily on the lives of black women, specifically on the “ties between women and the roles unity, support and friendship have in re-constructing their position in society”. Could you perhaps expand on this – how do these ‘notions’ inform women’s societal standing?

Sungi Mlengeya: I know how important it is to be close to people who share the same views as I do, or – more importantly – people who inspire me. 

If people believe in a certain way of life religiously because that is what was passed on to them, without having any instinctive insights nor influence of a person who thinks differently and questions these practices, they will continue to practice that way of life without question and also pass it on to others – it is difficult to change. 

So, when a person in a community is brave enough to question norms, and is backed up by likeminded people and they inspire others to think differently, it becomes easier to achieve movement towards a better standing, through their unified voice.

E.A: Working in acrylic paint on canvas, you explore ‘space’ in a minimalistic manner. What is your thinking behind this, and how does it relate to your focus on black women’s lives?

I stumbled into the minimalist space in one of the earliest paintings I made, and I remember how free I felt knowing that I could choose to paint or leave out anything I wanted, and that I could still be bold by being simple. Using negative space makes me focus more on my subjects, and the high contrast it creates makes it difficult not to pay attention to them.

For the longest time, black women have been associated with hardship and suffering. In my paintings, they rise above all this and become just themselves, giving them the focus that they deserve to be glorified for who they are. The white space becomes a place where these women can be their true and free selves without distraction.

Your body of work, titled Optimism and which was recently exhibited at the Investec Cape Town Art Fair in Cape Town, South Africa, focused on the notion of hope and remaining optimistic. Now, as the entire world finds ourselves in a space of immense uncertainty due to the spread of COVID-19 – would you say that this body of work – or perhaps your work overall – has taken on a whole new meaning?

In these uncertain times, my paintings carry the same meaning, stronger now more than ever; which is to remain strong and optimistic and continue to work towards achieving our desired state – being able to get back to the everyday lives we chose. 

In exploring ‘space’ in your work, you’ve mentioned that this space represents “a place of calm, free and detached from social norms and restrictions, real and imagined, that have altered complete liberty”. With the current limit of both movement and space – a complete alteration of our physical understanding of liberty – how are you navigating this concept within your work?

The space in my work refers to a place that we are longing for. It refers to a freedom of movement and space that we are currently missing – and so can be included in this state that is desired. 

Although this freedom can only be achieved in the future, we are doing what we need to do today to achieve it tomorrow. One of the things I’ve come to learn is that there are certain freedoms that have to be sacrificed in the short term so that they can be enjoyed more sustainably in the long term. 

The space referred to in my work could therefore also be a place of action to include things that are being done now for the future, that is sacrificing our freedom of movement and space so that we can continue to enjoy them later, for longer.

Lastly – how has Tanzania responded to the pandemic, and in turn, how has this response affected your practice? Could you give us an idea of what it’s currently like to be a practicing artist, living and working under some form of ‘lockdown’?

The Tanzanian government has closed schools and other educational institutions, and restricted unnecessary public gatherings, but I have been in Uganda during this time and there is more strict lockdown here. I still paint everyday so despite the absence of social life, my routine has not been heavily affected. I’m grateful that I can still create.

This article is part of the Interview Series 1-54 in partnership with Artskop3437.

The works of Sungi Mlengeya will be presented by Afriart Gallery as part of of the 1-54 online edition on Artsy, available to all on 6 May 2020.

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