Brenda Atkinson: Corporate art
When Cecile Loedolff enthusiastically mentioned “totem poles” over a glass of wine and spinach phyllo tartlett in the Absa Towers foyer, I bit my tongue. Loedolff is Absa’s arts and function consultant, and the occasion was the announcement that the banking group will use a percentage of the building costs for its new R400-million office complex to “adorn it with original South African art-works”.
Of the list of 80 artists invited to attend the detailed briefing by architects T C Design (who were also behind the Gencor revamp), about 50 turned up to take notes, scrutinise the spaces designated for “adornment”, and indulge in some civilised chit-chat with senior management. It was a subdued affair, with just perceptible undercurrents of excitement and mutual suspicion. (Notwithstanding the group MD’s skillful shanghai of the charmingly louche Wayne Barker, for the purposes of a “society” pic.)
Both sentiments are understandable: Absa’s decision to comission original works consolidates its record of support for the arts. Its function in bringing members of the public into contact with contemporary art is progressive and very, very necessary. Two blocks’ worth of building is not something to be scoffed at. And officially, Absa has not been prescribing: artists need only bear in mind that the group “deals with other people’s money”, from which we assume that they would like to retain an element of dignity in the final aesthetic product.
But despite Loedolff’s promises of creative carte blanche, there were not-so-subtle indicators that a particular kind of work is expected. The totem pole suggestion was one of them. Somebody else said the word “mosaic”. The list of invited artists included some of South Africa’s finest – Willem Boshoff, Walter Oltman, Robert Hodgins, David Koloane, Clive van den Berg (fill in the blanks), a large group of unknowns, and only a handful of people who might consider themselves firmly engaged with “conceptual” art. Finally, the judging panel will consist of Loedolff, mysterious “external consultant” Eunice Basson, the architects and senior management. Artists, artists everywhere, and not one of them a judge.
It seems a fact of South Africa’s post-1994 years that, for many artists, corporate support of the arts is a bit like being allergic to peaches. You want the peach. You know it’s good for you. But all that fuzzy stuff on the skin makes your mouth itch. Absa has every right to take care with its image, its brand identity, its message to the millions of “other people” whose money it invests and protects. Most of those people are anyway unfamiliar with the language of contemporary art: they tend to consider painting and sculpture “real”, untainted by modern “pretence”, and wouldn’t know an installation if it came crashing through their window.
The history of the Gencor collection – specifically the company’s decision to make local art a prominent feature of its corporate interiors – is unassailable proof of the fact that the public, and that includes company employees, prefer decorative art. Make the work a little more challenging than a still life, and they see an obscenity behind every pop rivet. But Gencor’s approach to frequent public outrage at some of the works is also proof that these things can be managed, particularly if the company concerned is prepared to accept its role, not just as facilitator, but as educator.
What I’m saying to Absa is this: don’t approach the artists’ proposals intent on extracting sculptures and paintings alone. Do a crash course on local installation art. Bear in mind that the decorative can be interactive, and vice-versa. Don’t miss an opportunity to educate by going for safe, discreet works that people might not see at all. Let the works not fuse seamlessly with the building, and be prepared to be just a little playful. This is no time for totem poles, or sacred cows.