It’s been nearly two months since my new year’s resolution to deal with my addiction. I’ve joined a support group for recovering arts activists. ”Hi, my name is Mike, and I’d like to be an artist rather than an activist.” ”Hi Mike,” the mirror laughed back at me. On both counts. Whatever. This monthly column will be less about having an art attack, and more about, shoo wow, like, roaming the artback. Or maybe not.
What some police spokesperson did for murdered art patron Brett Kebble last week, Eskom does for Cape Town by regularly outing the city. This initiative to give international tourists an experience of ”darkest Africa” has not gone down well with the locals. As cartoonist Tony Grogan pointed out, giving power back to the people takes on new meaning in the forthcoming local government elections. Political parties would be advised to alter their posters that now pollute our city to have greater resonance with the disempowered masses and middle classes. The DA’s poster should read: ”Take back your (electri-)city”. The ANC could promise to ”Build Brighter (rather than better) Communities”, simply by turning the lights back on. And the ID should change its slogan to: ”More Volts (not voice) for your Vote”.
In solidarity with my Muslim friends, I now import my (red) herring strictly from communist China (since herring’s not produced locally anyway). I also refuse to eat Danish pastries, taking my lead from the good people of America who boycotted French fries after France refused to support the invasion of Iraq. At the same time, I’ve taken a stand against the fundamentalist fascists who assault democracy and the right to freedom of expression by boycotting those countries that want to punish the people of Palestine for electing their own government. Terrorists must forsake violence and we should also demand that they close Guatanamo Bay, stop ”extra-judicial assassinations” and refrain from illegally invading sovereign countries.
It’s one thing telling police cars where to get off in a fit of youthful bravado, but quite another for local rock band Fokofpolisiekar to have one of its members write ”Fuck God”. What is it with these musicians? The Beatles thought they were more popular than Jesus. And look where they are today. Now, even Johannes Kerkorrel is being resurrected.
On the first night of what will hopefully become an annual event — the Spier Poetry Festival — the Master of Ceremonies on the main stage (who excelled in inanities after each poet’s performance) encouraged us to come back the next evening as we would be entertained by Johannes Kerkorrel. Live. Turns out he meant Koos Kombuis. Kombuis, Kerkorrel, Krog … Afrikaans poets are all the same, no?
One of the early acts at the festival was a young poet who had us all in tears with an earnest poem about her distress when she read that the poet James Matthews had died. They were tears of incredulous laughter, especially in the eyes of Matthews, who was sitting in the audience sheltering from any bolts of lightning under his trademark beret.
The Visual Arts Network of South Africa (Vansa) was launched in February with the constipated — and visually and artistically challenged — title ”Transformation, Opportunity, Growth” (Tog), which sounded like a left-over from Gear. I suppose that’s what happens when an arts organisation is launched with generous government funding. By all accounts, it was an excellent conference with much meaningful debate and without the usual grandstanding. Must be because of the chemical detectors at the entrance. As a recovering activist, I was proud to resist the temptation to attend various sessions, and concentrate instead on rehearsals, mere metres away from the conference venue.
It took me hours to get to rehearsals once, because the ”city that works for you” closed the two main roads into the city centre for a fashion parade at Parliament. Here were the country’s leaders, about to reflect on the State of the Nation, showing off their latest Chinese finery while the people were struggling to make the economy work because the roads were closed to allow some politicians the freedom to drive to the city centre without the masses clogging up their path. Go figure.
For the umpteenth year in a row, I didn’t get a Valentine’s Day card from the Department of Arts and Culture nor from the National Arts Council, but it’s on my ”to do” list for next year. I’ve already put in an application to the Lottery and, hopefully, a decision will be made in time for me to buy a card or two.
Finally, I must confess that I’ve become a paid-up member of the Tsotsi fan club. What a fine movie! And not an American actor or British director in sight! We have the talent and the technical expertise to tell our own stories. And we can do it in our own languages. And achieve acclaim, locally and internationally, not because of the faux marketing requirement of an ”international star”, but on the merits and the integrity of the story and the technical achievements of the film itself. Tsotsi directed by Hood. Now for Breakout directed by Warder?