Nashen Moodley
Halfway through my interview with the creators and editors of Sheet, Durban’s newest, funkiest independent publication, I was politely informed that they refused to have their names published in this article. I became suspicious. The creative forces behind Sheet resolutely refuse to sell the publication or accept advertising, so there’s no money to be made. Surely, I thought, there is nobody out there who is so committed to the idea of independent media that they’re willing to eschew not only financial rewards, but fame as well. Well, as it turns out the creators of Sheet are such people.
Sheet is just that, an A1 sheet of paper. One side of the sheet is a large poster, while the other is divided into 12 blocks. Each block is taken up by a contributor who is free to fill up that space with a graphic or with words. Sheet Issue No 0, the “Freedom of Expression” issue, was distributed on October 1 during a subversive invasion of RedEye, the city’s monthly attempt at drawing young people to the Durban Art Gallery.
Sheet is an attempt to encourage people, many of whom are marginalised by an incestuous and closed Durban arts scene, to express themselves. Says one of the three “creatives” behind Sheet: “We want to give people a forum to promote their work without censorship. There are a lot of people out there who aren’t necessarily working at what they’re good at. We’re looking to draw those people out.”
The beautifully designed first edition of Sheet manages to incorporate innovative graphics and diverse copy. A poem by Hendrik van der Merwe, A Poem by a White Man in Africa, is a cynical look at the “rainbow nation” illusion. With daring honesty, the poem articulates the frustration of a white man yearning for the days of yore when he was “one notch below the Almighty”, when Riaan Cruywagen and Wielie Walie graced South African television screens and when “there was no window-dressing in the Springbok side”.
Other contributions include Siobhan Gunning’s superb short story, the dark and disturbing Malice, Rike Sitas’s polemic against the unquestioning acceptance of free speech as a positive ideal, and a manifesto of an intellectual property renegade. While the diverse contributions testify to Sheet’s openness, the editors are committed to only publishing material that meets with their standards.
Sheet’s editors justify their uncompromising insistence on anonymity by saying: “We’re just providing a service, we don’t want it to be our personal voice. It’s not about promoting us, we’re promoting people.” In addition, the editors refuse to relinquish any of the blocks to advertisers: “We’re prepared to acknowledge sponsors but we’re not willing to give them ads or allow them to whinge at what we put in.” Independence and integrity do not come cheaply, of course. The first edition of Sheet was financed by one-off sponsorships and the publication requires unobtrusive sponsors to ensure its continued existence.
In a city where mediocrity has become the acceptable norm in virtually every mode of creative production, Sheet is refreshingly unpretentious and irreverent. Sheet’s editors have an uncompromising and optimistic vision that is at once endearing and frightening. Endearing because it is this vision that undoubtedly powers the publication; frightening because it is this very idealism and creativity that Durban is prone to ignore.
Sheet Issue No 1, around the theme “Freaks”, will be launched at a party at Cuban Pete’s on November 5. All proceeds from the party will be used to cover the costs of the edition.
Sheet can be visited online at www.sheet.co.za