糖心Vlog

Uncontained: Opening the Community Arts Project Archive

The archives of an apartheid-era arts centre shed light on creative as well as political forces, writes Matthew Reisz from Cape Town

Published on
January 3, 2013
Last updated
May 26, 2015


Black, white and beyond: Velile Soha鈥檚 Housewife Making Grass Mat

Uncontained: Opening the Community Arts Project Archive

South African National Gallery, Cape Town

Until 12 April

There has been much talk, across the universities of the world, of 鈥渁 crisis in the humanities鈥. In an edited volume that accompanies this exhibition, the Centre for Humanities Research at the University of the Western Cape boldly claims to be 鈥渄edicated to the reconstitution of the humanities in Africa鈥.

Western Cape was established under apartheid for 鈥渃oloured鈥 students, says exhibition co-curator Heidi Grunebaum, 鈥渢o produce a small class of black and brown administrators who would serve the state as teachers, theologians, city planners and so on鈥. Yet in 1987, continues CHR director Premesh Lalu, 鈥渋t opened its doors to all students irrespective of race, took up a position on the democratic Left and engaged in a vast experiment in changing curricula and altering the politics of knowledge鈥t largely remains a black university, or what we in South Africa call a 鈥榟istorically black鈥 university, though with a small minority of white students, especially in the sciences.鈥

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The centre, set up in 2006, has responded to the Department of 糖心Vlog and Training鈥檚 Charter for the Humanities and Social Sciences, which was designed to develop a new generation of scholars, as well as to concerns across the continent about higher education鈥檚 increasingly vocational focus.

Grunebaum, a senior researcher at the CHR, points to a couple of the centre鈥檚 projects that underscore those aims. The musician and composer Neo Muyanga will use sound archives to create 鈥渟omething which could be called a contemporary liberation song鈥. And the Cape Town-based Handspring Puppet Company, most famous for its work on the stage production of Michael Morpurgo鈥檚 War Horse, works each year on a 鈥渃arnivalesque鈥 procession and show with children in a remote rural township who 鈥渞arely even see a national road鈥.

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A similar mission of engagement underlies the current exhibition and book.

The powerful linocuts on display make clear the crucial role of art in bearing witness and mobilising resistance. The Community Arts Project was set up in the wake of the 1976 student uprisings in Cape Town, just across the road from a police station, and it soon formed both a focus for opposition to apartheid and a 鈥渇ree zone鈥 of creative expression for those who would otherwise have had little chance to develop their artistic skills. After the 1994 national elections it was transformed into a training organisation, but it closed down altogether in 2008. Its long-neglected archival collection of more than 4,000 paintings, prints, posters and other artworks was acquired by the CHR the same year.

Particularly during the 鈥測ears of emergency鈥 in the 1980s, linocut prints were one of the most significant means of conveying the reality of township life. They were cheap to mass produce, deploying the recycled scraps of a material used for patching up shacks, and often adopted a starkly appropriate black and white colour scheme.

The introduction to the book (also titled Uncontained: Opening the Community Arts Project Archive) even paints an amusing picture of how the prints became significant tokens for those visiting South Africa: 鈥淵oung people travelling abroad, who engaged in political tourism, could take home an authentic ideological souvenir without breaking their budget, and could flirt with, and seduce, one another in metropolitan centres by transacting narratives of ostensible danger through gestures of proximity to 鈥榯he struggle鈥 because of a print attached to the living-room wall above the hi-fi.鈥

The collection not only includes vivid scenes of official violence against the townships and rather generic images of noble suffering, but also attempts to portray complex individual psychologies, in a rebuke to apartheid鈥檚 reduction of racial groups to homogeneous categories. Billy Mandindi鈥檚 1988 Cape of Storms shows black cherubs tearing down a 鈥淲hites only鈥 sign. Yet they are also holding aloft a 鈥済arland鈥 in the form of a tyre, of the kind notoriously set alight in killings by 鈥渘ecklacing鈥. Down below we see the historic roots of the problem with the colonial ship docked below Table Mountain.

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Yet Grunebaum is keen that we should not 鈥渓ock such works into the category of 鈥榮truggle art鈥 or 鈥榓nti-apartheid art鈥欌 when they can also 鈥渟peak in very interesting ways to current questions about politics, society and post-apartheid citizenship鈥. The 31 academics, artists and creative writers whose reflections have been brought together in the book elaborate on such themes. Although the prints are often harrowing in their subject matter, they stand as 鈥渢estimonies to an era in which there was a strong belief in the idea that marginalised people could empower and humanise themselves through creativity鈥.

Contributors also point to the ambivalences found in the works, particularly in images of women and home. 鈥淎nti-apartheid politics鈥, writes Desiree Lewis, associate professor in the women鈥檚 and gender studies department at Western Cape, 鈥渆stablished a fairly clear distinction between heroic urban black women within, or engaged with, the public sphere and those (often rural) women who stoically endured in 鈥榩rivate鈥 and domestic domains.鈥

Yet she also detects in other Community Arts Project pieces 鈥渁 romanticism which seems at odds with their depiction of harsh social injustices鈥. So we find women 鈥減ortrayed as symbols of pastoral sanctity, the essentialised 鈥榤other Africa鈥 from whom apartheid modernity severed black people鈥, with artists and writers imagining 鈥溾榟ome鈥, 鈥榝reedom鈥 and 鈥榮ecurity鈥 through [the] iconised portrayal of black women鈥檚 stoicism, innocence or traditionalism鈥.

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Something similar applies to the notion of home itself. Ben Cousins, Department of Science and Technology/National Research Foundation research chair in poverty, land and agrarian studies at Western Cape, notes how apartheid discourse depicting rural areas as 鈥渟ites of authentic African-ness, where 鈥榯ribes鈥 lived in accordance with age-old traditions鈥, was used to justify 鈥渢he infamous homeland (Bantustan) policy that stripped people of their South African identity and made them citizens of fictitious 鈥榠ndependent鈥 states鈥.

All this, continues Cousins, made it essential to critique 鈥渢he ideology of tribal Africa鈥, yet it was also true that communities often provided an important focus of identity, with 鈥渟ocial networks of 鈥榟ome boys鈥 from your village help(ing) you keep alive in the harsh world of the city鈥. This created a striking discrepancy, with the rural seen as 鈥渁t once emakhaya, 鈥榟ome鈥 - a place of plenty and the source of authentic being - and a site of profound alienation and despair, stripped bare of all but the minimum means of life鈥.

Reality is carefully untangled from myth in the images of Cape Town, a spectacular city that has long had its own strong colonial and touristic iconography. Rike Sitas, who is studying for a PhD on public art at the University of Cape Town, examines how another powerful linocut by Mandindi, City with Table Mountain, shows it as a place 鈥渂uilt on death鈥, with a cemetery at its foundations, and how 鈥渢his speaks profoundly to [the city鈥檚] history, and especially the burial site of District One, where thousands of bodies have been exhumed, boxed and, in many unfortunate cases, just covered in concrete鈥. Since it is also manifestly 鈥渟till marred by vast鈥nequality鈥, she rightly suggests that such works continue to raise crucial questions about the gulf between 鈥渆lite and people-centred representations鈥.

More generally, playwright Mike van Graan sees today鈥檚 South Africa as 鈥渁 society still racked by enormous racial, class and gender divisions鈥, but where there is 鈥渓ittle use of culture as a weapon of struggle against new tyrannies, and rather large-scale co-option by more market-driven (rather than human-rights based) cultural policies and self-censorship through fear of being marginalised by a ruling elite sensitive to criticism鈥. To that extent, the Community Arts Project print collection represents not only 鈥渁 reminder of our recent past鈥 but also 鈥渁 challenge to contemporary artists鈥.

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