Chris Roper
REVIEW OFTHEWEEK
Damn, that Brett Murray is a funny guy! The unveiling of his Africa sculpture in Cape Town last Friday was a delicious occasion, marked in equal parts by mirth and blank incomprehension. The 3-m high statue, an Ivorian curio figure with Bart Simpson heads growing out of it, occupies a space at the intersection of St George’s Mall and Waterkant Street, where the bustling office troglodytes of the Cape can greet it every day as they go to buy lunch.
A good part of the art community turned out to commemorate, slag off or jealously defend Murray’s intervention into public space.
Some people I asked said it was a waste of money, others acclaimed it as a witty visual metaphor. Most of them opted for the obvious, saying the work comments on the incursion of a colonising Western culture, conveniently labelled American. A few thought a little more deeply, and decided it was about a syncretistic African culture, where a positive cross- pollination is taking place.
The city council had tried to renege on their agreement to erect the statue, fearing that it would offend people. Hardly anybody seemed offended, though, and the expected demonstration by a group of irate Afro-Americans didn’t come off. This bunch, claiming (falsely) to be from the United States embassy, had apparently confronted Murray at the opening of his show, I Love Africa, which complements the sculpture.
They threatened to disrupt the sculpture’s unveiling, accusing Murray of racism. Their no-show was disappointing, as the irony of a bunch of Americans telling Murray that his work was racist would have been almost as much of a laugh as the art works themselves.
And they are a laugh. Displayed to good effect at the new, elegant Brendon Bell- Roberts Gallery in Loop Street, they consist of multiple executions along the theme of multi-culturalism, with Bart Simpson as the leitmotif.
The works are accessible, in that there is always one easily perceptible meaning that you can carry, nicely wrapped, back to your loft apartment with you. To limit them to this meaning, though, would be a mistake and an insult.
For example, the piece that seems to have caused the most furore is entitled Crisis of Identity, and is a metal cartoon depicting a pith-helmeted white explorer, talking to an African chief sitting in front of his hut. The caption reads, “If your work romanticises poverty or uses the shack as metaphor, you’ll be on my next show in London.”
Is Murray saying that the only reason some of our black artists get exposure is because they pander to European ideals of Africa? Possibly, and he might even be right about that. If this was all he was saying, he’d be in an invidious position. But the companion piece to this is Crisis of Identity, which shows exactly the same figures, except that, in a Borgesian inversion, the African chief looks like the person talking. The caption reads, “If another white artist brings me a portfolio of guilt, crisis of identity and memory, I’m going to throw up.”
This could be a criticism of Murray’s art itself (is the Africa statue a self- portrait?), and changes the way the message of “shack as metaphor” is delivered. Instead of an attack on black artists – and instead of reading Crisis of Identity as an attack on white artists – we are seeing a subtle deconstruction of the way the art industry, and the guilt industry, in South Africa works.
As the two identical art works testify, it’s all about perspective. It depends who is looking at whom – if Afro- Americans call Murray racist for addressing issues of race in South Africa, it’s funny because of the way Bart figures in the show. The Bart symbol isn’t there to blame America, it’s there to laud the valuable parts of colonialism.
If black South African artists call Murray’s work racist, well, that’s a more serious thing. The charge would be false, but it would indicate that his work is not easily subsumed into the conventional South African value system of good art, relevant art and bad art.
Perhaps we’re paying too much attention to race here, though, at the expense of giving Murray the applause he deserves. When you visit the show, or when you hop lightly with joy over an irascible bergie in front of the “Africa” statue, you’ll discover that pleasure is the driving force of Murray’s art.
He doesn’t always get it right. His Ouma series, for example, shows the Ouma on three rusks boxes as a black woman. Plaques pose the question, “Mommy, why is Ouma getting browner?” The answers are “Politics, darling”, “Economics, dear”, and “African renaissance, skattie”. This is simply snide, without any of the nuances of the other works. It’s a small quibble though. You’ll find I Love Africa a rich show, beautifully executed and shot through with humour.
Chris Roper is the editor of www.worldonline.co.za. I Love Africa is at the Brendon Bell-Roberts Gallery, 199 Loop Street, until June 5, and at the Goodman Gallery from June 10