THE LONG BLACK ROAD

OK, so I often talk about taking the less travelled road and also the scenic route in my posts. And for better or worse my life as I have lived it and where I find myself is as a result of this inclination to follow these paths. By most accounts I am a huge failure, having not amounted to what most people would consider much. I have no wealth and have received no accolades of any sort. I’m not the CEO of a corporation, I do not own my own business nor do I have a career. I work to pay bills, that’s about it and I hold no illusions about it. I have few friends, no family of my own, that is no wife nor have I ever had one, that is to say, no shared future with anyone. I believe this is because of my less travelled choices. I have lived a life that would be considered “not the norm” by most. And yet I have lived a life!

In one of my favourite movies of all time (definitely on my list of awesomeness), Blade Runner, the replicant Roy Batty played by Rutger Hauer, delivers the iconic tears in rain monologue. The dying Batty delivers the speech to Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford), moments after Batty has saved his life. This is despite Deckard having being sent to terminate him. Enveloped and shrouded in heavy rain, Batty reflects on his life experiences as Deckard witnesses his passing:

I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.

I often imagine myself delivering those lines when I consider my own life; I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe despite living an almost isolated life. Perhaps that’s why I commit myself so utterly and obsessively to my art. Perhaps it is because I fear that all my moments down those less travelled paths will be lost, like tears in the rain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And in a scenic route moment, here is something to wrap your mind around! The movie, made in 1982, was set in 2019! How freaky is that?!!! And now 2019 is almost upon us and I’m still in this factory TCB-ing (taking care of business, paying the bills). Wow, I remember seeing that movie as a teenager and thinking how far away that was…the future! 2019!

Anyway, 2018 has been on hell of a year! And I’m not saying that fondly! I welcomed it in with a ritual performance in a deserted factory space, tearing hair from my face with hot wax. Followed that by commencing an almost 10 month fast, which culminated in another ritual, but this time taking place in a gallery space before an audience. Between and around these 2 performances, January 1st and October 13th…tears in the rain.  I will give you an example of what I mean. On November 2nd at about 3.30 pm I headed back to Durban from Pretoria in a hired panel van loaded with 1.5 tons of salt and my performance installation. I know that have mentioned this in a previous post. What I have not mentioned is how unseasonably cold it was or how filled the roads were with large cargo trucks. The first a result of global warming, and the second a result of this country’s failing parastatals (in this case the railways) pillaged by the ruling political party, the ANC, and their cronies. And of course our rampant consumerism.

The sun was sinking as I left the environs of the Johannesburg metropole and its surrounding towns, and headed into the darkening vast farmlands one has to travel through to get to Durban. Stretching ahead of me as far as I could see, necklaces of taillights and trailerlights snaked and wound their way into the night. Despite my exhausted and aching body I was filled with a sense of well-being. I remembering thinking that in order to observe the beauty of the stars and the moon we need the dark and similarly it is the dark times that bring out the true wonders of life. Around me the music flowed and reverberated through the cavernous interior of the huge vehicle I was traveling in, my senses enveloped with the spices released by the crystal salt. Playing was a good old 80s band, the great Simple Minds. Made famous by their anthem for the movie The Breakfast Club, they are a lot better than that song, as memorable as it is. I was enjoying revisiting them on my trip home.

Above: the final moments of the movie as Don’t you (forget about me) starts playing.

I was making really good time despite all the trucks on the road. That is until just about the halfway mark. Did I mention that it was a Friday night? Well, in these farm areas it seems that for entertainment people tend to gather around the highway petrol stations and restaurants, like moths drawn to the light. These highway oases (yes, that is the plural of oasis) serve as the equivalent of the shopping malls of the suburbs, a place to hangout. And between these nodes the police setup massive roadblocks. And yes, you guessed it, I got pulled over…with my load of arcane accoutrements (magical ritual thingys). Now you must be wondering how did I explain to the police why I was transporting this huge amount of salt, as well as a very realistic looking AK47 and other military equipment. Believe me I don’t know. As I pulled over all I could imagine was how it must look (Durban drug trafficker hiding his merchandise in salt), and I could imagine them making me unload the approximately 50 bags so they could check them all. Even worse, I could imagine them discovering the AK, and me suddenly face-down on the wet, cold tarmac with 20 firearms pointed at me, a sniffer dog’s snout between my legs and somebody’s boot on my neck.

Fortunately I told the truth, entertaining those men and women in blue at the roadblock for at least 30 minutes, which is all I’m sure they’re looking for on a Friday night in the boondocks, some entertainment. So I explained why in my drivers’ licence I have this mass of hair and no longer do, and how the salt and the mirrored installation were tied to that. There was a moment when I opened a bag to show them the salt where it all could have really gone bad. Alongside the bag was a duffel bag containing my AK47 in it. One of the policemen began to feel it, testing to see what was in it. Fortunately I had wrapped the rifle in bubblewrap (let’s hear it for good artist practice) so he couldn’t guess at what it was and soon lost interest! My heart eventually crawled out of the pit of my stomach and back into my chest…but it took a while. Anyway, so after a few laughs I was sent on my way, my story being something they felt I really could not have made up. So an attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion moment, ammarite?

I recently came across the song, Long Black Road, and it made me think about my really tough…well, quest is probably about the best word for it, that I undertook this year, and especially the nocturnal journey/adventure I have just described. The song is a really obscure one by ELO of all people. And what an awesome song too, and totally not like what the band are known for. It definitely finds a place on swany’s list of awesomeness! Electric Light Orchestra (ELO) are probably best known for the Xanadu soundtrack (the Olivia Newton-John movie) so when you hear Long Black Road you’ll know what I mean! What a gem-of-a-find! One of my new favourite songs! Anyway so I’m going to end off with this last post of 2018 with the lyrics of the song. Merry Christmas, dear readers, and here’s hoping for a new year filled with making a difference and changing the world for the better. You gotta get up in the morning, take your heavy load and keep on going down that long black road!

Long Black Road – Electric Light Orchestra:

They used to tell me boy you ain’t goin’ nowhere

With your cheap guitar and your big long hair

You gotta realize all your responsibilities

You gotta get out to work and face reality

You gotta get up in the morning take your heavy load

And you gotta keep goin’ down the long black road

So I drifted for a while down the road to ruin

I couldn’t find my way I didn’t know what I was doin’

I saw a lot of people coming back the other way

So I kept on goin’ when I heard them say

“you gotta get up in the morning take your heavy load

And you gotta keep goin’ down the long black road”

I made a lot of money I was makin’ quite a mess

But they all told me money wouldn’t bring me happiness

“you gotta work like a man in a real man’s life

You’re gonna have to take all the trouble and strife”

You gotta get up in the morning take your heavy load

And you gotta keep goin’ down the long black road

Songwriter: Jeff Lynne

 

TSUNDOKU

Tsundoku: the act of leaving a book unread after buying it; typically piling it up together with other such unread books.

This singularly perfect Japanese word wonderfully describes my present condition. This is not to say that I am not reading. No, on the contrary, I am reading (and writing) in vast amounts. But it has been very selective reading, focused in the world of academia, and on the thinking about the idea of art.

I am certain by now that you, dear reader, must know that I am presently busy with my Masters. I know this is because I go on and on about it! You will have to forgive me for that but please understand that this is what my world revolves around at the moment. I am either working in the factory or on my Masters. That’s what I do aside from the odd run. So it is quite literally on my mind all the time, and has been for virtually 3 years now. I am not trying to boast or say that I am so wonderful. My Masters is all I really have to speak about. I am obsessed! It is a tough proposition and takes serious focus, determination and stamina. You need to be seriously obsessed! But then all good artists do obsession well, so I feel that I am in fine company.

In addition, I have, over the past 3 months, been further occupied with something really exciting. I was asked to be a co-curator of a feminist exhibition at the Durban Art Gallery. I was included to operate as the masculine counterpoint within the collaborative; a beast amongst the beauties. This is a huge honour as DAG is the metro gallery for the region I live in and has a history going back as far as 1892 when it was founded. I have exhibited in this hallowed space before but it was quite another thing to curate an entire exhibition in those spaces. It was an amazing experience to be involved with curating on a scale such as this.

invite BB1

The title of the exhibition was Beauty & Its Beasts and it revolved around the theme of the changing face of female stereotypes in visual arts. It highlighted issues of gender, race and representation through the stereotype. Considering my Masters deals with these exact issues you can understand why I simply could not turn down the opportunity despite my workload. It is safe to say that opportunity knocked and I French-kissed the hell out of it!

Lliane Loots, a lecturer at the University of KwaZulu-Natal, founder of Flatfoot Dance Company and feminist activist, opened the exhibition with a wonderful speech. I managed to get her to forward a copy of it to me and I share a few excerpts with you here:

Her overall impression – I am indeed extremely grateful for the invite as I feel like I have been woken again to something significant. Partly it is the exquisite politics of art making and artists who are unafraid to travel to the heart of darkness, and partly it is the very dedicated collaborative curatorship of an exhibition that left me feeling very emotional as I walked around.

beaded curtain

We are asked to enter the exhibition through a bedroom-like curtain of shiny beads … it is a playful disruption that allows you to catch your breath as the eye moves first to Sibanda and her hounds/bitches, and then to the ghostly  disembodied figures of women’s bodies in portraits and sculpture.

 

 

 

 

Queen Victoria’s portrait (ever present) sits and watches the fury and majesty of Sibanda’s alter ego Sophie as she literally spills her guts, with her hounds (or bitches) at her feet … it is  a brave curatorial pairing but one that makes sense when we begin the dialogue around post-coloniality and the violence of embodied race and gender stereotyping.

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Jane Alexander’s raped “Oh Yes” girl hangs crucified in a dialogue with Fran Saunder’s densely crocheted unravelling cloak hanging from a butcher’s hook – all in recognition of the almost never mentioned plight of the women of Marikana.

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The curators have taken a building and a series of spaces that cannot not reflect its historical coloniality and found ways to ask the viewer to re-position themselves as they engage with, what for me, is an exhibition that resounds with broken bones, broken skin and broken spirits of women. The triumph of course is that some of these women look back and look past you …

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So yes, tsundoku: piles of unread books! All waiting for me to get to them. I love it! So much to look forward to!

swany: Revisited

My final year students are in the process of conceptualizing in order to create a body of work for an exhibition at the end of the year. One of them is dealing with social media and this resulted in me reflecting on my own troubled, ambivalent history with this post-modern form of interaction. I thought I would share with you an excerpt from my own proposal essay to my supervising lecturers and the gallery owners. I have also included some of my (never before seen) experiments for my Proof of Life (2013) exhibition:

touch

In November of 2011, ascribing to Jacques Lacan’s fundamental tenet, “that the self is an Imaginary construct” (Sherman 2006: 19), I created an artist persona for myself whom I named Swany. As a scholar-artist I had encountered Giorgio Vasari’s (1511-1574) Lives of Artists and Roland Barthes’ The Death of the Author during the course of my theory studies. I found the conversation between the two premises when juxtaposed extremely interesting, Vasari centralised the creator while Barthes went as far as to deconstruct him. Catherine Belsey claims that Poststructuralism’s “key term is difference” (Belsey 2002: 12). In other words, meanings develop through the conflict of differences. “The language that poststructuralism advocates is useful to ask uncertain things, and not useful to give a final answer” (Belsey 2002: 107). In very simple terms this means each is illuminated by being compared to the other, their differences quantify them.

I find myself in some sort of middle ground between the two points of view. I believe that both the artist and the viewer/reader share the creative process in the creation of an artwork. It is, in my opinion, a symbiotic relationship, and it is with this collaboration in mind that I created Swany, and the www.swanyart.com site. There I placed all that drives and influences me as an artist, my states of mind and emotions. This is where the viewer/reader can be informed on the artist, to find clues and information which will further develop the creation.  I like to think of this as my own little statement to be added to the Postructuralist discourse, a reaction to the modern (or is it postmodern?) times we find ourselves in. It should be kept in mind that Modernism, expressed at its simplest, is a reaction to modernity; democracy, capitalism, industrialization, science and urbanization. Postmodernism in turn reacts against Modernism, and is anti-modernist, if you will (Barrett 1997:17). Formative of Postmodern thought are “two competing intellectual movements”, Structuralism and Poststructuralism (Barrett 1997:18). What all four disciplines share is this confrontation of the modern world, and their, our, attempts to come to terms with it by quantifying it, or merely reacting to it, or even both.

All of the above reflect my thematic concern for this year, and have informed my choice. My title, Proof of Life, is, in simplest terms, a commentary on contemporary existential angst. My personal watershed moment was when I removed myself from the modern (post?) phenomenon of the social network. I was haunted by this quote from Kurt Vonnegut’s Mother Night:

 “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”

Essentially I committed suicide. It was a digital one, but a suicide nevertheless. I deleted myself; closed my Facebook account and took back my person, my spirit, my soul that was pinned to that social media wall. There is a certain voyeuristic-exhibitionistic hue to the way we interact in our modern society these days. It twists and maligns our relationships, both with others and ourselves, leaving ghostly, malformed, diseased essences floating in the ether and within our minds. We wail and rail, grasp at and grunt at, in lines of digital code instead of in each others’ faces and each others’ arms. The irony of the ease with which we can get in, and stay in contact with anybody anywhere is that we are no longer close. The same social constructs that we think bring us together, in fact separate us, distance us. We remain to each other, pictures in a book, catchphrases and captions…empty and shallow. I wrote this poem as a way of explaining my disappearance from Facebook, which I posted on www.swanyart.com 

zumavszuma

 

Suicide

 

 

 

                                 Today I committed

 

                                  Suicide,

 

                                  I’m no great loss.

 

 

 

                                  I left no

 

                                  Body,

 

                                  No corpse to rot.

 

 

 

                                  Veins, blue veins

 

                                   Opened,

 

                                  No bloody crimson shower.

 

 

 

                                  Throat, scarred  neck

 

                                   Snapped,

 

                                   No black tongue protruding.

 

 

 

                                   No splat of meat, no shotgun blast.

 

                                   No palour, no final medicated slumber.

 

 

 

                                   Not icky thump,

 

                                   Not pumpkin squish.

 

 

    None

 

 

 

                                    Today I committed

 

                                     Suicide,

 

                                     I won’t be missed.

 

 

 

                                    I took back

 

                                    Self,

 

                                    Pinned to social wall.

 

 

 

                                    No more comments,

 

                                     Likes,

 

                                    And status to update.

 

 

 

                                    No list of friends’ recent stories.

 

                                    No ghostly acquaintances on glowing screen.

 

 

 

                                    Not share.

 

                                    Not comment.

 

None

 

 

 

                                    I trust you see,

 

                                     Suicide,

 

                                     Digital that it was.

 

 

 

                                     I only

 

                                     hope

 

wish

 

                                     It is

 

                                     Enough

 

                                     .            

 

                         swany      2013/01/25

4 AUGUST MOVE2

 

 

 In my opinion, Facebook and other similar social network interfaces such as Instagram, certainly reflect our desperate need to quantify and define ourselves, as well as to reach out to others. I think these words of Calvin, addressing his toy tiger, Hobbes, encapsulate the essence of what I am trying to say, “I wish I had more friends, but people are such jerks. If you can just get most people to ignore you and leave you alone you’re doing good. If you can find even one person you really like, you’re lucky…and if that person can also stand you, you’re really lucky” (Watterson 1991: 16). However, and I return to where I began this essay, the cruel irony of our existence is that in order to quantify/define and position ourselves we need other people, even if only to compare and contrast ourselves with them.

move