Hazel Friedman’s new book about Norman Catherine uncovers his unique conceptual space
‘Twas a dark and stormy night …” Actually it was nothing of the kind last week when Norman Catherine celebrated 30 years of artistic output with an exhibition and the launch of the book Norman Catherine.
One almost felt that at any moment the sun might be overshadowed by a storm cloud. Or a lunar eclipse. Dogs would begin baying at the moon. And to the clap of thunder and the strike of lightning, in the true tradition of one of those schlocky, gothic horror films, Norman’s menagerie of primitive-futuristic creatures would suddenly come to life. Yet braaivleis, sunny skies and Indian summers were also entirely suitable weather conditions for the launch of Norman’s Curio-city. After all, Norman had told me that once the exhibition was over, all he wanted to do was to go fishing.
That was what first beckoned and winked at me – his uncanny knack of straddling the dual roles of “everyman” and “outsider”. Contradiction is his undisputed muse and his work constantly inspires opposing metaphors.
His friends and followers don’t simply include former hippies-turned-pot-bellied brokers who’d gotten high at his “happenings” during the 1970s; or die-hard Fookians – followers of the imaginary island conceived by Walter Battiss and inherited by Norman. They also include grizzled bikers with knuckledusters, several card-carrying members of the urban underbelly resembling animated characters from a Damon Runyon tale, and teenagers with tattoos and piercings. The thing is, everyone who knows Norman seems to lay claim to a piece of his personal history.
Yet he occupies a conceptual space all of his own.
When Linda Givon approached me to write a comprehensive book about his work in 1998, I was charmed by the opportunity to chart his trailblazing yet idiosyncratic path in the South African cultural landscape. Two years later, I still feel like a kid who’s recently uncovered a consignment of lucky dips, filled with multicultural trinkets. I see him as both art prophet and anarchist – making and breaking his own rules at whim. He’s velcro and teflon in one. Influences and inspirations attach themselves to him like dust particles. Yet he shakes them off with equal ease.
Initially he seemed the antithesis of his frenzied demons performing dances of dandified revelry against the backdrop of a dissipated empire. Yet as he began to talk about the poltergeists playing havoc with his head – initially in spurts, then in torrents – he let rip with that infectious staccato laugh. The rapier-sharp sense of satire surfaced and the gleam in his eye became a glint.
Researching the book veered between being a labour of love and sheer hard labour. Inevitably, memory blunts the more jagged edges of the process. For example, until a mere six weeks before the “do or die” deadline I was still a wannabe author desperately in search of an editor. Then of course, there were acute bouts of writer’s block, brought on by a lengthy litany of personal and professional shit.
Norman’s frustrations and fears were far more valid: an exhibition that had to be repeatedly delayed because the book wasn’t finished; deadlines that had to be stretched almost to breaking point (of the nervous-breakdown variety) because publishers disappointed us; not to mention of course, the risks inherent in trusting a stranger to serve as the mouthpiece for artworks that virtually speak for themselves.
Yet in retrospect, the framework of the book was a fait accompli a few hours after our first interaction. From the beginning we were virtually in sync on everything, ranging from themes and choice of artworks, to chapter headings. This is partly due to the fact that both Norman and I share a propensity for bizarre accidents and encounters. We are former patients of childhood casualty wards. And we both believe in putting a funny face to rage and fear.
I think Givon sensed this when she commissioned me to write the book. I think her instincts were confirmed when she rented a car for me to travel to Norman’s studio. Before I had a chance to clock up a single kilometre, the car was crushed beneath a tree (I wasn’t inside at the time). Unfortunately the gallery hadn’t insured it against acts of God.
Most of the research took place at Fook Manor. Located in the pastoral setting of Hartebeespoort Dam, it is the home of Norman and his lifelong partner, Janet Walker. A steel framed, primitive- futuristic fantasia – more like a multi- tiered organic sculpture than a conventional domicile – it is filled with a quirky combination of artefacts and fictions . It is the artist’s canvas, theme park and playpen in one.
But while Norman’s creative muse might be contradiction, his lifeline is unequivocally Janet. On December 31 1999 they tied the proverbial knot. But for over 30 years they have been joined by an invisible umbilical cord. Over bottomless cups of coffee and overflowing ashtrays, with the Future Sounds of London, Portishead and Pavarotti in the background, they sat until dawn designing the book from the picture layout to the pagination.
Both compulsive perfectionists, they oversaw every last detail of the process which culminated in Norman flying all the way to Singapore where the book was printed, to supervise the quality of image reproduction.
I grew to love them and their cats. And Janet’s quiche. And the quaint parts of Hartebeespoort where reality does not extend beyond the bookends of the Magaliseburg mountains and the dam.
And now that love’s labour is done, Norman is still making work. It’s a sign which will hang on the door of Fook Manor. It reads: GONE FISHING.
Norman Catherine’s works are on exhibition at the Goodman Gallery, 163 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parkwood, until May 6. Tel: (011) 788-1113