Ukuzilanda ngobugcisa:
When Rain Clouds Gather: Black South African Women artists, 1940-2000
Art[1], n. (creation or expression of what is beautiful) umsebenzi wobugcisa/wobuchule; (skill or aptitude in expressing what is beautiful) ubuchule bokudala izinto ezintle…the fine arts (painting)ukuzoba; (drawing) ukuyila; (sculpture) ukuqingqa…
Ukugcisa[2]: ukwenza into ngobugcisa, ngobuchule, ngobunono, ukucikiza umsebenzi ngobungcibi obubalaseleyo, ukucoselela, ukuchuleza.
With each visit to the When Rain Clouds Gather: Black South African Women Artists, 1940-2000 exhibition (curated by Portia Malatjie and Nontobeko Ntombela), I learn and experience something new. I have had to rethink my relationship with the practice of paying attention. Which is to say I am learning to become more alive. This exhibition is umsebenzi wobugcisa/wobuchule as captured in the definitions above. It is a labour of love by the curators and the artists themselves. There are over 40 artists with over 150 works featured in the exhibition. In their opening remarks at the opening night on 9 February 2022, Ntombela and Malatjie contextualised the exhibition within the ongoing work they have been doing. Ntombela made the point that this work is a “comma and not a full stop”. This work is not exhaustive but rather an invitation for more work to be done about the artistry of Black women in South Africa.
Figure 1 ' When Rain Clouds Gather: Black South African Women artists, 1940-2000' curators, Portia Malatjie and Nontobeko Ntombela at the exhibition opening posinging in front of a Regina Buthelezi tapestry. 2022. Natalie Whitehead Photography
Ukuzoba, ukuyila, ukuqingqa: “painting, etching, linocut, photography, sculpture, ceramics, drawing, installation, textiles and tapestry”[3]: the curators’ choice to include this expansive form of artistry points to the conceptual demand and practice of ubugcisa which does not make the distinction between art and crafts where the latter is “used to dismiss many sites of creativity by Black women [which] is a historically inflected expression of power, not the simple matter of discernment it is often paraded as” (Gqola, 2022)[4]. Given the scale and “monumental” nature of the exhibition as Pumla Dineo Gqola writes, this exhibition challenges the nature of erasure and marginality. It is possible that there can be this much art by black women but it takes the painstakingly careful labour of Malatjie and Ntombela to curate this work which is finally possible in 2022. There are well known and celebrated artists such as Esther Mahlangu, Mmakgabo Mapula Helen Sebidi, Noria Mabasa alongside artists I had not heard about before this exhibition such as Sophie Peters, Valerie Desmore, Dudu Cele amongst others.
Figure 2 Installation view of exhibition entrance. 2022. Photograph by Anthea Pokroy
The exhibition is historic for many reasons. It covers “an approximate period of six decades…a cross-generational communion”[5]. Communion evokes a Christian sacrament which is a ritual of remembrance. It is about the body, the spirit and community. In isiXhosa communion is known as umthendeleko. Walking through the exhibition I rethink umthendeleko as remembering:
umthendeleko
Vula amehlo
Zola
Ujonge
Ujongisise
Khongozela
Isipho sobugcisa
Isondlo somphefumlo
Uvimba wobuchule
Selani nonke kuyo
Kwenzeni oku xa niselayo
Nisikhumbule
Figure 3 Installation view of the section in the exhibition showcasing prints from artists such as Nombeko Mpako, Sophie Peters amongst others. 2022. Photograph by Anthea Pokroy
This exhibition connects visual art with other forms of cultural production by black women through a timeline that locates each artists’ journey of becoming together with their births and political moments beginning in 1940. The timeline in the Itinerant Archive room features the works of Bessie Head (from whom the title of the exhibition is borrowed). There are covers of Noni Jabavu’s memoirs, Drum magazine covers with Miriam Makeba, the cover of Miriam Tlali’s Amandla (1980), Ellen Kuzwayo’s Call Me Woman (1985), SPEAK magazine covers[6] alongside newspaper clippings and posters announcing exhibitions. This room points to the archival element of the exhibition. While there is a visual experience, there is an archival practice and a lived expression of the archive that the curators are explicitly engaging.
Figure 4 Part of the exhibition includes an 'Itinerant Archive' Room. 2022. Photograph by Anthea Pokroy
Together with this visual archive, the curators are deliberate about names and listing. The introductory statement is accompanied by two lists on either side: the list of the women featured in the exhibition as well as “artists whose artwork could not be sourced for the exhibition.” They continue that this latter list “form(s) part of a larger, more comprehensive list of artists who were not part of the current curatorial vision”. I am more curious about this second list which acknowledges the gaps in the exhibition. There is an integrity and honesty in the exhibition which does not seek to be complete. An acknowledgement of more names challenges erasure which seeks to exceptionalise a few women at the expense of a community.
This listing points to a feminist ethic which has a long intellectual and cultural lineage. Britney Cooper stretches this idea of listing in her work on the legacy of African-American women in the early 20th century who were part of creating the intellectual histories which are attributed to the ‘Great Race Men’. These women wrote and published lists documenting each other’s work and achievements. Cooper explains that these lists became “genealogies of Black women thinkers. I do not think of these lists as mere lists. Instead, the intentional calling of names created an intellectual geneaology of race women’s work and was a practice of resistance against intellectual erasure.” Cooper[7] refers to this as listing:
These lists situate Black women within a long lineage of prior women who have done similar
kinds of work, and naming those women grants intellectual, political, and/or cultural legitimacy
to the Black women speaking their names.
Listing also refers in the fashion industry to an edge produced on a piece of fabric and applied to
a seam to prevent it from unravelling. In similar fashion, Black women’s long traditions of
intellectual production constitute a critical edge, without which the broader history of
African-American knowledge production would unravel and come apart at the seams.
This practice of listing is political and psycho-spiritual as it is a calling out of names. A roll call of women who would otherwise remain forgotten. This listing is also about the integrity of the exhibition which demands a paying attention. While lists always run the risk of leaving someone out, their purpose is to acknowledge and invite an extension to that list. In the past few years I have leaned into the idea of ukuzilanda, fetching oneself in relation to the past. I see this exhibition as an embodied practice: ukuzilanda ngobugcisa. Through this exhibition, the curators invite us into the past which is deeply embedded in the present and is constantly crafting the future. Therefore, the exhibition is about time travel as it is temporal, spatial and corporeal.
Ukujonga: ukuqwalasela, ukumisa ingqondo, ukuphulaphula
When Rain Clouds Gather: Black South African Women Artists, 1940-2000 demands that I not simply look, ndijonge, but rather that ndijongisise. It demands that ndiqwalasele, to look closely. Ukujongisisa is the verbal extension of ukujonga. In this exhibition, it is impossible ukujonga nje, uyajongisisa. Standing in the corridor which is dominated by images of landscapes I can walk into the Love/Pleasure/Intimacy room; or to the Black African Feminism; or to the Sketchings in Photo and Print room; or towards the light of the room with Wrestling Traumas; or into the Spiritual and Religious Conjurings room on the left. These choices have changed at every visit to the exhibition depending on my mood, who is accompanying me or where I wish to direct my attention. These choices demonstrate the complex nature of the exhibition and the choices made by the curators. These choices also demonstrate the need to ukumisa ingqondo (steady your mind) as you navigate the exhibition. This is a demanding exhibition.
Figure 5 One of the artists, Ruth Seopedi Motau, featured in the exhibition, standing in front of her work. 2022. Anthea Pokroy
Ukuphulaphula: ukumamela, ukunika indlebe, ukubeka indlebe, ukuva
Spiritual and Religious Conjurings demands ukuphulaphula, to listen to the artworks. At times I can hear the prayers of amaZiyoni in Ruth Seopedi Motau’s photography. The swirling bodies create movement in the images even while the image is still. It is impossible not to ukunika indlebe, to give your ear, to this section of the exhibition.
Having grown up ndihlohla iintsimbi (beading) under my mother’s tutelage I am always struck by beaded wraps: Venus Makhubele’s “Nceka (decorative wrap) “The Lord is my shepherd, c. Late-20th century”; a beaded cloth depicting angels and the biblical scripture from Psalm 23 written in Tsonga and Letisa Mashawu’s beaded tapestry “Nceka (beaded wrap) alongside Makhubele’s Nceka. They are both extravagant expressions that make use of distinct fabrics which layer the beads and the images. It is impossible not to notice Allina Ndebele’s “Nqakamatshe and His Muti Magics, c. 1998-99” a tapestry of Karakul, beads and thread. The tapestry is about five metres wide and three metres long. I wonder about space and time to make such creations. Where does a black woman store such a magnitude of art? Does she have a studio or work from home with all the regular domestic affairs moving around her? Do the images appear in dreams in order to be captured in the textiles? The room is not only dedicated to Christian iconography as Faiza Galdhari’s three images evoke Islam. It may have been the fourth or fifth visit that I noticed the embossed paper in the artwork “Depths of Devotion, 1999” which induced a gasp at the beauty in the paper.
Spiritual and Religious Conjurings continue in the next space which is flooded with light. The eye is directed into this space by Bonnie Ntshalintshali’s “Ukuzalwa kukaJesu, 1995”, a screen print of Mary and Jesus who are black rather than the white-washed images which dominate Christian iconography. The animals are not the usual donkey or cow of the bible story but lions with wings. Jesus is not in a manger but wrapped in colourful cloth suckling on Mary’s bared breasts. From Gladys Mgudlandlu’s Sangoma (1965); to Mmakgabo Mapula Helen Sebidi’s A bone thrower talking to the bones near Skilpadfontein (1981) which is alongside Henrietta Ngako’s Forefather Spirits (1996) that is a painted ceramic of multiple figures on top of each other .
Figure 6 A section of the 'Spiritual Conjurings' room. 2022. Natalie Whitehead Photography
Spectaculative Spectacular is a space which always takes me by surprise as it is disturbing while it is “fantastical and speculative via allusions to the mythological”. This positioning of the mythological after having experienced Islam, Christianity, ubungoma and Christianity ventures deeper into the aesthetics of black spirituality in all its fullness. It is not clear where speculative spectacular begins and ends as it bleeds into another room which mixes Christian iconography in Nombeko Mpako’s “Adam and Eve, 1988” which is linocut on fabric which sits alongside Valerie Desmore’s “Injecting, 2000” and Sophie Peter’s linocut “Boy curled up in the shed, 1994” all of which evoke Wrestling Traumas. This circular gesture which connects images that are about interiority at its most gruesome and sublime. I mention these rooms in more detail deliberately as it holds the hybridity of African spirituality which is layered by ubungoma, amaziyoni, abathandazeli and Christianity. The space itself is not large however it has the ability to hold a layered narrative of spirituality of which women are often the custodians. These rooms also hold the layered experience of ukuva which is about feeling as much as it is about listening:
Ukuva (1): ukuphulaphula, ukumamela, ukuthabathela ingqalelo, ukuthobela oko ukuxelelwayo
Ukuva (2): ukuba nemvo oyifumana ngeminwe nezandla njengokuguda okanye uburhabaxa bento, ukuthamba okanye ukuba lukhuni kwento; okanye uyifumane ngolusu okanye nayiphi na indawo emzimbeni njengobushushu, iintlungu, isivubeko, ukurhawuzela
The bleeding into each other of the rooms can also be thought of as a flow. This flow catches my attention as I sit at the entry way which connects Black African Feminisms with Love/Pleasure/Intimacy which allows me to experience both spaces simultaneously. Walking into Black African Feminisms room with the full wall of Ruth Seopedi Motau’s image of two women in the hostels lying and sitting on the bed I am confronted with an intimate moment. While sitting between Sebidi’s “Modern Marriage, 1988” and “Celebration After Initiation, 1995” my eyes can dance between Desmore’s “Red Madonna, 1985”, “The Hunger, 1985” and Mgudlandlu’s “Bathing Woman, 1963” and “Xhosa Women Smoking Pipes, 1970” situated in the Black African Feminisms space. As my eyes move into Love/Pleasure/Intimacy where Motau’s two photographs of a woman relaxing (“A woman relaxing on her bed after a long day’s work at the Alexandra Women’s Hostel, 1991” and “A woman relaxing at the Alexandra Women’s Hostel, 1991) which are followed by Sebidi’s “A free woman, 1987” I am reminded that the body’s sensuality has an intimate relationship with space, with power, with liberation, with vulnerability and with pleasure. These two rooms capture the embodied nature of ukuva in the second definition above. The artworks make demands on the body. The artworks evoke a language of knowing as expressed in Makhosazana Xaba’s poem “The language of knowing”:
it's the language of looking
of looking and seeing
seeing then knowing
knowing without evidence
beyond the looking
Figure 7 Another exhibition view. 2022. Anthea Pokroy
Walking through the exhibition in solitude with my own thoughts is rare as on many occasions I have shared this experience with friends. Walking through the exhibition alone leads me to thinking about these artists who would have spent hours alone with their thoughts and imagination. They would have had to carve out and curate the time needed to be with oneself in order to create. This is also the legacy of this exhibition, expanding the tradition of women who create and recreate in solitude and communally. I leave the exhibition wondering about the hands of these women.
[1] From Oxford English-Xhosa Dictionary
[2] Isichazi magama
[3] When Rain Clouds Gather: Black South African Women Artists, 1940 – 2000 catalogue. 2022. Norval Foundation.
[4] Gqola, P. D. 2022. Black women artists in a monumental exhibition. New Frame. Available: https://www.newframe.com/black-women-artists-in-a-monumental-exhibition/ [2022, November 13]
[5] When Rain Clouds Gather: Black South African Women artists, 1940-2000 catalogue. 2022. Norval Foundation.
[6] SPEAK magazine was started in 1982 as a platform for women to voice their opinions and concerns about the future of women’s rights in South Africa. The magazine was founded by activists such as Sandy Africa, Monica Algulhas, Sheila Jalobe, Gugu Mji, Pregs
[7] Cooper, Brittney C. Beyond respectability: The intellectual thought of race women. University of Illinois Press, 2017.
