Coloniality of Access in the Visual Arts

Anthropological exploration of the meaningful access and contribution of black

people in the Johannesburg visual art industry.

FOR 108TH CAA ANNUAL CONFERENCE CHICAGO, FEBRUARY 12 -15 2020.

BONGISA MSUTU
 1. Introduction

Visual arts is perceived as a number of different things, but fundamentally as something to be

enjoyed by people of a certain socio-economic and educational status. The modern
functional colonial framework within which the museum and/or galleries, art fairs and art
education exist, serves and functions for those in society who are privileged through colonial
education while significantly excluding those who are disadvantaged through it. According
to Cline (2012:3) exhibitions act as a catalyst, of art and ideas, to the public; they represent a
way of displaying and contextualising art that makes it relevant and accessible to a
contemporary audience. This audience, however, is limited in their difference as accessibility
is limited. Webster (2010: 35) cites Pierre Bourdieu in his opinion on how this dispels the notion
that museums and galleries - their structure, rituals and forms - are ‘open’ to everyone.
Galleries and museums are strategically located where artists, their works, art institutions and
a particular class of people intersect. In this way, according to Cline (2012:3) exhibitions
associated with large institutions can further the goals of those institutions, which are to bring
in viewership and generate revenue. Leroke (2006:104) states that western interpretations of
social phenomena are based on the logic of capitalism. Accessibility is determined by
capitalistic gains and this excludes the poor. Such an exclusion is testament to Matarasso’s
(1998) definition of poverty, according to Moore (2009:55), in that it is not only lack of an
adequate income to live on, it is being classed as of little or no value to society and as such,
having one’s capacity for self-fulfillment – and contribution - crippled from birth. One is not
seen as one who is able to make a significant contribution in society.

This paper explores access and significant contribution of black people from within and with-
out the visual arts fraternity. In that, inevitably highlighting the coloniality of the visual arts
industry in Johannesburg, South Africa.

As a rough and frank description, coloniality is the ongoing survival, promotion and
maintenance of the principles of colonialism during a time when the formal system of
colonialism has been outlawed and abolished.
 2. Research and Contributors

The research for this paper was conducted through three anthropological methodologies,
namely one-on-one structured interviews, focus group discussions and a minimal amount of
participant observation. The contributors and knowledge producers for this paper are as
follows:

Interviews:

• Dr Same Mdluli (SM): A curator, an educator, gallery manager and head curator at
the Standard Bank Art Gallery. She has extensive experience in art education.
• Nthabiseng Mokoena (NM): A chartered accountant with a passion for visual arts.
She has spent a number of years working full-time at different galleries: Nirox
Foundation, Goodman Gallery and curated an exhibition at MOAD (Museum of
Modern Art and Design).
• Banele Khoza (BK): An internationally-acclaimed artist, curator and founder of Bkhz -
an art gallery based in Johannesburg.
• Ruzy Rusike (RR): A gallery manager and head curator at The Melrose Gallery, based
in Johannesburg.

Focus Group 1 (FG1)1. Contributors live and work in Johannesburg and Pretoria, but are
originally from Nelson Mandela Bay – New Brighton, Kwa Zakhele, Motherwell, Kwa Magxaki
and Lorraine – and Cape Town – Gugulethu. Contributors in FG1 have been assigned
participant numbers (P1, P2, etc).

• Lukhanyiso Banzana – P1
• Lubabalo Banzana – P2
• Monde Banzana – P3
• Nontuthuzelo Mzileni – P4
• Nandipha Ngomana – P5
• Nolukhanyo Mazonda – P6
• Lutho Msutu – P7

Focus Group 2 (FG2)2. Contributors all live in Delmas, a somewhat neglected mining township
just outside of Pretoria. They all have an interest in fashion and are part of a group of fashion
creatives based in Delmas. Contirbutors in FG2 are not assigned participant numbers and do
not appear in any order below.

• Thandeka Dlamini
• Sizwe Ratau
• Lindokuhle Mahlangu
• Mandla Masango
• Banele Hlophe
• Richard Moganedi
• Lerato Motshabi

I am eternally grateful to these individuals for availing themselves. This paper would not have
been possible without their input and knowledge. The focus group contributors are
individuals who are outside of the visual arts industry.

1 Focus Group 1, Interview and discussions with author, 23 November 2019

2 Focus Group 2, Interview and discussions with author, 14 December 2019
 3. Coloniality of Access from Without

Many of the individuals participating in the focus group discussions – largely disadvantaged
by colonial education - have a very limited understanding of visual arts as it is positioned in
the functional colonial framework. Consciously, they exist outside of this framework but
unconsciously they are within. Thus, every discussion had to begin with an explanation of
what visual art is. I explained to them that visual art is what you would typically – but not
exclusively – find in an art gallery or museum: paintings, drawings, photography, sculpture
and installations. I posed a number of questions to them related to their access, to get the
discussion going.

3.1. Access to Visual Arts

B: What do you think is the idea behind art galleries and art museums?

P1 (FG1): Galleries are cool spaces for someone already in the visual arts. But someone like
me outside of it… when I walk in, there’s already an atmosphere that’s not very welcoming.
Everyone seems to know why they are there – ina bantu bayo3. It’s elitist and I don’t feel
welcomed as an outsider. The moment you ask a question, I get a sense that I am being
judged: “How can you not know?” It is very closed off. Even the black people in the industry
are snobs. Elitist and pretentious.

P2 (FG1): I don’t understand it. I wouldn’t even know who or where to ask. If I am looking at
the art works, what do I look at? How do you get the message the artist is trying to convey?

P1 (FG1): I don’t go because I don’t know what to expect. When you go to the Apartheid
Museum, you know what to expect. I don’t know if it is the same for art galleries.

B: Somewhat. The curatorial statement and curator or artist walkabouts elaborate further on
the works. The curator or artists do walk-abouts with the viewers and explain each art work.
Do you think this would assist in understanding?

FG1: Yes! But how often do the walkabouts happen and how do you find out about them?

P1 (FG2): I have never been to an art gallery and museum. I do however go to the Tshwane
University of Technology (TUT) often, the Arts Campus where a friend of mine studies and see
what he is up to. Not an art gallery, though.

P6 (FG2): But I understand that you have to get out there to see for yourself. To not just
research from your phone and computer – that’s not enough. You have to have first-hand
experience of galleries and not just assume I won’t fit in.

Moore (2009:67) identified that three of the most common reasons for not attending art
exhibitions are lack of time; lack of awareness and lack of interest. Further attitudinal barriers,
according to Moore (2009:61) are disinterest, talent (perceived inability to understand or fear
of not understanding), anticipated discomfort and image barrier (it is not for people like us).
These are the views of some of the focus group participants – especially that of discomfort
and image.

3 Translation: only certain people belong

 3.2. Relating to Visual Arts?

P3 (FG1): For me if you’ve drawn Mandela, at least ndiyam’bona uba nguye4. Though, if
you’re going to draw stripes… hayi!

P1 (FG1): They’re taking chances! Some look like scribbles.

P5 (FG1): There are some artworks where you can see what is happening. Then there are
others where faces are disjointed… then people have deep discussions about that. Hayi! I
feel as though I can do some of these works myself. I wish I understood where the line of
questioning and discourse comes from when you’re standing in front of an art piece.

P1 (FG1): For me it’s not even about being able to recognise – its access. The works are not
everyday items you’d find off of a shelf at Pick ‘n Pay. Everything that is done creatively is an
expression of self at the time and if they are not there to explain it, then I won’t know. There
are other works where I think: “but this is fraud!”. It’s just that someone respectable came
along and said: “I like it”, and no one wants to dispute that. Picasso, for example… what is so
special about his work? Compared to other scribbles?

The value of African art, according to Dr Windsor Leroke (2006:105), lies in its aesthetic
dimension. That African art finds value when it is seen and appropriated through its aesthetic
form. The manner in which art is displayed – exhibitions as catalysts of arts and ideas – should
also reflect this. The aesthetic form is the opposite of the functional (social, political,
economic) aspect of art: the function of art is its aesthetic. Through the aesthetic, Leroke
(2006:105) continues, one is thus able to understand historically-specific work and art is able
to transcend the functional limits imposed by social and political readings. That should be the
starting point in viewing and consuming African art: reading it for what it is, and being
comfortable in not knowing its meaning.

3.3. Access granted through Education, Socialisation and Finances

One cannot deny that there is a solid relationship among education, socialisation, income
and visual arts attendance. It is because of this knowledge that one understands that there is
a difference between allowing access and enabling meaningful access: privileged colonial
education and socialisation, and high socio-economic status enables meaningful access.

P1 (FG1): EMotherwell5, if you open idumpy6 and start drinking it, by the time that bottle is
finished, you would’ve found another spot along the way to buy another one. That’s what
we, in the township, have access to: plenty of bottle stores, no art centres or galleries. That is
our everyday – our socialisation. A gallery is not one of those places - unlike a bottle store or
tavern - where you just happen to be walking past, and think: “Mandingene apha”7. That is
not our reality.

P3 (FG1): KwaLanga8, on the other hand, abantu bapha9 are more artistic because
everywhere you go, people are busy with some form of art. So even the big names in art go
there to cultivate and educate. Imagine growing up and being exposed to that? Their

4 Translation: I can see it is him

5 A township in Nelson Mandela Bay
6 340ml bottle of liquor
7 Translation: “Let me just pop in here”
8 A township in Cape Town
9 Translation: people from there
 socialisation is different. EBhayi10, we don’t have that.

P7 (FG1): Some of my friends who studied art are able to recognise certain styles and
techniques in different art works. It is things they talk about on a regular basis. It makes it
difficult for those of us who didn’t study art, to contribute. It’s that education.

P1 (FG1): Not even just education – it’s about the financial privilege, because the supplies
are expensive. Umntu othi i-hobby yakhe yi-art11, you’ll find that they fall within a certain
financial bracket. Those who progress further in art are those who can afford to buy those
supplies.

P5 (FG1): You’re able to be a struggling artist if you have the financial backing of a financially
comfortable home. Art is really a privilege. If I come from a family where one of my parents is
unemployed, as talented as I am, I can’t go to my mother and ask for art supplies when my
brother doesn’t have school shoes. Art is not a priority. It’s survival first.

P2 (FG2): If it were to start at school people would understand, but there’s no art at schools.
The Arts and Culture subject teaches you nothing. They also don’t have an art school here at
Delmas – and in most townships. You’d have to go outside the area for that. At school there’s
no encouragement of one’s artistic talent.

P1 (FG2): They get us while we’re still young. If expression were to be normalised in our
communities and taken seriously from crèche, it would be a different story.

P3 (PG2): Some of us are gifted in art and can’t relate or do well in other subjects because
we are more wired towards artistic expression. The mainstream education system does not
cater for all of us.

P5 (FG2): In comparison to white people… if as a white person, you’re really good at art, they
invest in you and support you. With us black people, not so much.

Participants here refer to the privilege of colonial education and how that has enabled
access for some. Of course, those who are privileged by colonial education are the
descendants of those who imposed colonialism on black people – white people, through
whiteness.

3.4. The Relevance of Art

I asked the contributors what they think the relevance of art is. Both groups hesitated in
answering this question – I had to keep asking.

P2 (FG1): It is relevant because it tells a story.

P1 (FG1): Artworks are expressions and that will always be relevant. It is the location of this
expression that determines who it is relevant for. For instance, if it’s tucked away in some
affluent suburb, and only certain people see it then it is only relevant to them, but if it’s
eSeysi12, that’s different. It also can’t be a once-off. It must be constant and continuous.

P2 (FG1): For me it is a way to educate on one’s history – that’s my interest. Relevance differs
and it’s relative depending on what you want to learn. It can also be a form of protest.

10 Nelson Mandela Bay

11 Translation: one who claims their hobby as visual arts
12 Part of Kwa Zakhele township in Nelson Mandela Bay
P4 (FG2): Our economy right now is in a bad place. The only thing that can save us is art.

P2 (FG2): Art is everything, but people don’t see that.

Dr Leroke critiques the notion that African art’s relevance is defined primarily through the
notion of social function. Leroke (2006:104) argues that this is unrelated to the lives of the
majority of Africans. It is an idea that emerged from the political elite who came to
dominate African politics from colonialism and apartheid to today’s coloniality. It is this
political elite who demand that art in Africa must have a function, and that function must be
to advance political transformation. Further, Leroke (2006:104) states that reducing African
art to the value of functionality, has stifled its development and engagement from and by
others.

3.5. Representation

Forms of representation are very important in the way we see ourselves, and in the ways
others see us. Eventually how one is represented becomes what society believes: the western
perspective renders representation as true and universal. In light of this, I asked the
participants what they make of the manner in which black people have been represented in
this colonial logic of functional framework that is the visual arts.

P5 (FG2): Poverty!

P2 (FG2): Poverty-stricken; carrying children – just suffering and violence. That’s the entry-
point of most artist – the negative portrayal of black people. We don’t want to see ourselves
suffering. We don’t think our suffering and inflicted violence is art. It’s not all we are. We are
boxed in poverty (and labelled as violent) then we settle for crumbs while we reminisce on
how far we’ve come. It’s as if we just want to survive, not live.

P5 (FG2): I didn’t even know you could be anything else other than an artist in the visual arts.
All these other careers are new to me. I don’t know anyone or any black person who is
anything else.

P7 (FG2): I feel as though to get out of this box (of poverty, suffering and violence) that we’ve
been locked in, someone outside of my environment and socialisation has to come along
and take us out so we can understand that we can live outside of this box. I struggle to do it
for myself.

P4 (FG1): I think all the artworks I’ve seen portraying black people - everything is
exaggerated, perpetuating incomplete and sometimes incorrect narratives.

P5 (FG1): While white people are made to look good.

At this point I showed the focus group an image of Kerry James Marshall’s ‘Untitled
(Underpainting)’ 2018 and asked them to describe what it is they see. The following
observations were made:

• Everyone is black and they are in an art gallery;

• They look like us. They are normal
• We can recognise everyone because they’re not scribbles.
• They all have shoes on - even heels on some. It’s not portraying black people in
poverty or them suffering. They’re just living.
• It’s a significant amount of black people occupying a historically white space.
 B: So it’s not that you do not understand what is going on, perhaps you don’t think you have
the language for it.

FG1: Well, yes. But we can also recognise that these are people – black people – not
scribbles. Imagine indaw’ enjeya elokshini13!

(The group exclaims in awe.)

4. Coloniality of Access from Within

This section deals with the positions and opinions of black visual art practitioners within the
visual arts, a fraternity that was born and functions in a functional colonial framework. The
professionals weigh-in on the coloniality of access from within. They have been educated
within the colonial framework and are now full-time visual art practitioners in their roles as
curators, educators and artists. Nthabiseng Mokoena, however is not a certified practitioner.

Jeanne Moore, in her paper “Poverty and Access to the Arts: Inequalities in Arts Attendance”
(2009), when speaking to the notion of access, asks: Access to what? Access for Whom?
Access granted by whom? What is meant by access? Whether it is the amount, the quality or
the diversity that is critical? And who are the arts for? In attempting to answer these questions
and exploring access from within, I ask:

4.1. What does it take to access the visual arts industry?

SM: So, David (Koloane)14 becomes very important. One of the things that he did in
becoming an artist, and then working in this mode precisely was because he was creating a
space for himself as an artist. (…) Institutions (in apartheid times) were not allowing black
students to study, museums were not allowing and neither were libraries. So, he creates the
Thupelo Workshops, FUBA and Bag Factory. The Thupelo Workshop – the first one was in 1985
and was attended by both black and white artists. Creating grey areas for artists who were
not supposed to be fraternising with one another to interact. David Koloane navigated these
grey areas. The point was to create an equal playing field to exchange ideas… in the 80s.

David was obsessed with this notion of space – physically and figuratively. He used to walk
from his house (near Parklane Clinic) to his Fordsburg studio: +/- 5kms. Another point David
emphasised was education – specifically art education. (…) Louis Maqhubela15 took him to
his first art gallery. He spoke about having to go more and more to galleries. He started
reading books – art books.

John Koenakeefe Mohl16 had what he called “The White Studio”. At his studio in Soweto, John

13 Translation: a space like that in the township

14 David Nthubu Koloane is a South African visual artist whose visual vocabulary and aesthetic inclination is
described as interrogating the socio-political and existential human condition. He passed away on 30 June 2019
15 Louis Kehla Maqhubela is a South African artist whose work is characterised by bold colours and his heritage.

Currently lives in London with his family.

16 John Koenakeefe Mohl was a South African artist and teacher, based in Soweto. Passed away in 1985.
 used to sit outside and paint, so that people could see him as they passed by. He was
conscious and deliberate about it. Durant Sihlali17 and Sydney Khumalo18 did the same.

NM: All the biggest galleries in Johannesburg are in the same place: Rosebank/Parktown
North (northern suburbs of Johannesburg): Goodman, Stevenson Kalashnikov, Gallery Momo,
LizaMore, David Krut, Keyes Art Mile, Everard Read and Circa. Stevenson’s moved (from
Braamfontein) to this area to be closer to collectors. I remember hearing a (white) collector (I
think) at the opening party remarking: “This is so much better. I can now drive and park
here.” (she chuckles). Where Stevenson’s was before – in Braamfontein - it seems she was not
comfortable to do so. Whatever!

All these places are free to enter into but are only open during working hours or on a
Saturday between 8am and 1pm. I remember being asked frequently about the entry fee to
exhibitions and openings. (…) People don’t know that it’s free. Transport for those who live
outside of the north of Johannesburg and rely on public transport is not cheap – this is a huge
barrier to access. I have a cousin, who lives in Soweto, and had art throughout school until
matric but he had never been inside an art gallery. It’s just too expensive for him to travel. I
took him to WAM (Wits Art Museum) – he was fascinated. It doesn’t occur to him that it is
here (in Johannesburg) and that it is accessible. It’s so removed from his every day.

Another barrier is applying to get into the arts programs. A lot of the Universities require a
portfolio. My cousin is applying to several institutions, which means several portfolios – that is
money! University of Cape Town requires one to post their portfolio! Money! Art education is
important to be able to access the industry. I don’t know if people know that you’re able to
learn about art even if you don’t go to university. For instance, Jabulani Dhlamini19 – the
photographer - runs a photography workshop in Katlehong20, weekly. You can still go to
Artists’ Proof Studios, Market Photo Workshop and the Bag Factory Studios. All these places,
however, are in the CBD. Can one afford to travel to the CBD on a regular basis?

For senior curatorial staff, they tend to employ someone who has a persona – someone who
can network. It’s not only your level of experience and academic achievements, it’s also a
question of likability: “Are you likeable to white people?” Playing the good black.

RR: You definitely have to be (formally) educated – one way or another, as well as have a
social network. Once you’re in, it’s constantly reminding yourself why you’re doing what
you’re doing. The only reason I decided to be a curator was because I could see that so
many doors were shut to artists – black artists. I’ve always felt that if anything, I must always
give those artists a platform, meet others halfway and lead others in how to navigate
themselves in the industry. I once worked at an art foundation that facilitated an incredible
amount of residencies for artists. I realised that residencies were important for artists as it
helped them grow. At this particular foundation, there were mostly white artists collected
and a definite lack of black female artists.

BK: I’m aware that my experience is not the same for everyone. I grew confidence a long
time ago … where I knew I could do it. (…) Where I was raised in Swaziland, I never felt black
or felt that tension of racial divide. Only in South Africa did I experience this. (…) In Swaziland

17 Durant Sihlali was a South African artist who started off in watercolour then moved onto sculpture using metal
from car wrecks. He passed away in 2004.
18 Sydney Khumalo was a South African sculptor, painter and teacher. He passed away in 1988.
19 Jabulani Dhlamini is a South African documentary photographer. Born in the Free State and is now based in

Johannesburg.
20 A Township in the east of Johannesburg.
where I grew up, everyone was black. I always knew when I was younger that I was a
creative and for me I never associated that with a particular people. (…) My parents never
fostered any doubts in me. Had I grown up in South Africa, maybe I would’ve felt as though I
have limits. I look at my (black) friends and I hear them speak and it’s as if there are limits that
they are aware of. Interestingly, my mom as well. I remember a one-time conversation with
her where she responded: “What? You can’t do that. You’re black.” She didn’t impart those
doubts in my formation and that helped a lot. This conversation was later in my life, so it had
little effect on me.

4.2. Prioritisation of access to visual arts

Leroke (2006:105) states that the power of art, aside from its aesthetic function where African
art is concerned, lies in its ability to make us reflect on our present social conditions without
making us prisoners of them. Leroke also encourages South Africa – the state and citizens - to
view African art outside of how the visual art institutions perceive it, as the functional logic of
capitalism – which is a function of coloniality. According to Moore (2009:54), lack of access
to cultural and arts activities may make the experience of poverty worse. Arguably, that
access to the arts is more important to those living in poverty because through creating art
and creative expression, they feel an increased self-esteem and in turn challenge their
experiences of marginalisation and exclusion. As it stands, this is not widely understood –
especially not by the state.

SM: 25 years down the line we now have these private art institutions mushrooming up
everywhere: The Zeitz Mocca, The Norval Foundation, The Javett … all these private
institutions, our government still hasn’t built a national contemporary gallery. They’ve built
museums showcasing our pain and traumas, and that’s it. Nothing that speaks of or is
dedicated to our freedom, our ‘liberation’, our everyday and our aspirations… nothing. They
are hanging onto the JAG (Johannesburg Art Gallery) that was built by Lady Phillips who
came here on a ship. I’ve asked: What if we were to build a national contemporary art
gallery – similar to the Tate Modern? We then take these colonial statues, such as Cecil
Rhodes, Queen Victoria and store them there.

B: State-sponsored museums in South Africa have become repositories for black pain and
trauma. This explains why some black people do not want to go to these places. One lives in
the township which – spatially – is a constant reminder and trigger of trauma. Why would I, on
a Saturday morning go out of my way to visit one of these museums - aside from it being too
expensive to travel to these spaces? What would have to happen for a gallery or museum
exhibiting our contemporary lived experiences and aspirations of this new dispensation, to be
built?

SM: We (black people and practitioners) would have to build it ourselves, the same way they
(white people and whiteness) are building these private art institutions.

BK: The arts are already being cut from schools – so the basic education aspect is being
taken away. We need to teach parents that visual arts can be something lucrative,
especially now with technology and this 4IR (Fourth Industrial Revolution) buzz - visual arts is
not at risk of being replaced. As much as you can program a machine to create, it would
not feel the same way as it would if it were to be created by someone. The space of the soul
cannot be replicated or replaced.
 4.3. Role of practitioners in facilitating access

SM: The first exhibition (A Black Aesthetic: A View of South African Artists 1970 – 1990, a 20-
year retrospective of black South African artists) I had here (Standard Back Art Gallery) was
proof that black people do want to participate in visual arts. The number of black people
that came to view … record-breaking! It’s not that they don’t want to visit the gallery: some
didn’t know of the art gallery, others were not interested because it is a ‘white space’ and
nothing in here appealed to them. I also understand that me being here, as a black female
curator, makes black people feel a little safer to come in. I am aware of that.
Within the black art fraternity, women practitioners are undermined by some misogynistic
black and white male practitioners. Being a man, in this industry, supersedes being black.
Being a black female art practitioner making in-roads for a black cause in the visual arts, one
is constantly being questioned. For the black aesthetic exhibition, I was referred to as a co-
curator. How?

We met as art practitioners: Khwezi Gule from JAG; Kabelo Malatsie from VANSA; Molemo
Moila from Johannesburg Contemporary Art Foundation and Lekgetho Makola from Market
Photo Workshop. Here we are as young and black practitioners heading up these big art
institutions: How do we start controlling the narrative? How do we, through programming, set
the tone? Then there’s the issue of facilitating access to artists archives. For instance, how do
we assist those photographers – especially black photographers - who have archives upon
archives of their works, in storing it? Where do they take their works to be archived and have
it be publicly accessible? You find, as well, that galleries are not interested in (black) artists’
written work, just in their artworks because they can make money off of that. The gallery that
represented David (Koloane) is not interested in his writings, but where do we take them?
There is no institution to sufficiently archive these artists’ writings and safely store their
archives.

Benele Khoza on his normative position within the arts:

BK: The main thing was understanding that I can do anything I put mind to. As an artist I
realised that curatorial practice was something I could delve into. Just being able to bring
other people into a gallery space. Looking at the people I studied with who were more
talented than me but never had the opportunities: How do I bring those people into the
space I am also in? When I opened the gallery… I knew it was a gallery but in my mind I
played it down, calling it a studio: “Ag! I’m just opening a studio!” Deep down I wanted to
have a gallery of artists I look up to or I believe in. That’s what it has become. It was about
the economy: How do I generate a creative economy for others as well? It’s about sharing
resources, because it’s not just about me – it’s about community.

B: You mentioned that you downplayed the gallery when you first opened it. Why? Do you
think the idea of a gallery – a white cube - is what intimidates people to think they can’t
access it in a way?

BK: It’s more than that. It’s the intention of the space. The intention of the studio was always
to be home, for myself primarily, but for everyone else as well. Being able to build a home for
my creativity… whatever is happening there is easily shared with the next person. Whatever
relation I had with the space, it would be something I could share with other people: a space
of love and care, and everyone feels it. In the beginning we had a couch and people would
be there for hours. It felt like a home away from home – a space that caters for one
emotionally. It wasn’t about the art, primarily – it was about the people. The space has to
greet you before the people do.
Bkhz is a gallery space unlike the traditional. The walls are a warm pink - mauve, perhaps.
Exhibited artworks are not framed and their labels are hand-written on yellow postads rather
than printed and cut to exact sizes. The postads give one the impression that, as a viewer,
one could write on them as well - to contribute. The artworks do not have the prices
attached to them either. The rationale behind this was to not intimidate viewers and to not
necessarily forward the narrative of profit (Khoza and his team are aware that a profit must
be made to financially support the gallery). Bkhz's sense of incompleteness lends to the
notion of process - the exhibition and subsequently the space is still caught up in the creative
process rather than being a finished product. Any creative process is laborious, requiring love
and commitment for it and the end product. That is what Bkhz feels like - a space of love and
commitment.

RR: My dream has always been to have my own space – not just a gallery but something
that’s also educational, like a lab. (…) What has kept my momentum going is just realising
that in the spaces I am in, I find myself being the only black person: here (South Africa),
abroad, at art parties, etc. There are hardly any black collectors. They basically need black
artists or practitioners that they (white people) can relate to. Others are kept out. This has
been the norm for a while.

B: How would your experience, do you think, would compare to a white person in your
position?

RR: There’s a certain anxiety that you carry. (…) It’s as if you always have to be very good.
Your ideas always have to speak to the demand or desire. With some of the walk-in
collectors, you can see that they’d prefer to speak to a white person. The same can be said
of black people. We think what is better and knowledgeable is white.

Another thing is that white practitioners only allow you in up to a certain point where
conversations and significant contributions are concerned. They’ll switch to a language they
know you don’t understand– Afrikaans – to exclude you. Most times it’s nuanced and not
physical. There are certain layers of conversation you’ll be excluded from by language.

I also see that unless I know someone, I will not be invited to be part of a panel – not even by
black organisers, no matter how good my work is. White people, however, will definitely be
on. The act of exclusion is not so overt: white people institute it, while black people sustain it. I
went to an African Art exhibition once. Look… they would rather listen to foreigners instead of
the Africans in the room, in talking about African art: “Writing and commenting about me in
front of me, without my input”. I thought it was intimately violent.

What Rusike refers to here is violence perpetrated against the human dignity of the Africans
in the room by the white people and whiteness. An imposition of their ideas of Africans, on
Africans. This is a symptom of coloniality.

“Much of African art has no relation to the immediacy of culture, politics, struggle and
economic activity. True African art is not African; it appears to communicate a message
from the other-world. (…) Art in Africa appears to be the imaginary relations people have to
an imagined world. This is its spiritual dimension. Africans have long problematized the
question of the functionality of art. The heirs of colonialism and apartheid have pushed the
functionality of art forward, wanting everything to be relevant and to serve the post-colonial
and post-democratic state. Anything short of this, they argue, does not advance the interests
of the people.” – Dr Windsor Leroke (2006:109).
B: Part of me is inclined to believe that there’s something white people or whiteness does not
understand about the works produced by black people - Africans. Our lived experiences are
different and so is our spirituality. In fact, it does not have to be understood: just
acknowledged and respected. To not conclude that it is illegitimate just because it is out of
their realm of understanding.

SM: He (David Koloane) talks about how, in the beginning, he would take his work to gallerists
and some would not believe that he made the works. It didn’t look “African” enough.
Meaning it wasn’t depicting the township scene. At least not in the way they were
accustomed to and recognised.
RR: There are so many cases where a black practitioner has written about a white artist and
their work, and were successfully understood. In white practitioners trying to preserve (and
control) their culture of high art, they (white practitioners) try to box black artists. Once black
artists decide to not subscribe to the idea of the box and the box is lifted, white practitioners
suffer from a certain amount of anxiety.

B: What do you make of a white international audience (or just whiteness) interpreting art
that comes from Africa, produced by Africans?

NM: With David Koloane, I remember a French museum wanted to show his work in the late
2000s. They then wanted to meet him to talk about his works. They asked him to talk about
apartheid: “Tell us how tough it was for you to get your work out there during that time?”
They were fascinated by the narrative of a black person’s experience and overcoming or
exposing the horrors. (…) They were very interested in his street dogs, and not so much his
cityscapes – those were not politically charged. (…) It’s either black suffering or a criticism of
race issues and hierarchies – overtly and covertly – that appeals to them. A part of me thinks
that white people enjoy being taught about their racism. They want to learn about it, and
are interested in how it’s portrayed through visual art.

This brings to mind Toni Morrison’s quote on racism, where she says:

“The function, the very serious function of racism is distraction. It keeps you from doing your
work. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being. Somebody says
you have no language and you spend twenty years proving that you do. Somebody says
your head isn’t shaped properly so you have scientists working on the fact that it is.
Somebody says you have no art, so you dredge that up. Somebody says you have no
kingdoms, so you dredge that up. None of this is necessary. There will always be one more
thing.”

This is what explaining racism to whiteness is – a distraction. It is a deliberate and an absolute

distraction.

4.4. Societal perception of visual arts culture.

Bourdieu (2011:34) dispels the notion that art galleries are ‘open’ to everyone. They are not.
Their structures, rituals and forms are foreign to those in society who are not colonially
privileged nor reared within that culture and tradition. As a result, these members of society
tend to exclude themselves. Further, Bourdieu (2011:35) states that the capacity to
appreciate or read art is not a “gift” but a competence acquired through colonially
privileged education and socialisation. Of course, this competence is presented as being a
natural understanding by those who possess it as a means of claiming superiority. This is a
symptom of coloniality.
B: Do you think that this idea of a ‘white cube’ that is an art gallery, with all its characteristics,
rituals and forms, is intimidating to the excluded majority of black people?

RR: You should never allow a space to dictate your movements. You should just walk in. Do
not feel as though you need to reassemble yourself for different spaces. If you do that, every
uncomfortable position you walk into you’re going to have to adjust – you can’t do that. You
have to make sure that that space adjusts itself to you. Even if the colour of the walls must
change – that is an adjustment. (…) A space cannot determine how you walk into to it - as
idealistic as it is – otherwise you end up carving out a bit of yourself for different spaces each
time. I cannot compromise myself like that. We cannot relinquish that responsibility of self to
the space.
B: I think we have had to adjust ourselves so often for certain spaces that it has become
second nature.

RR: We have to stop doing that, or else we’ll always be the ones on the walls, rather than at
the dinner table.

A perception we still battle with within the black community is that visual arts is not a viable
career, but rather a hobby. This is a view that is not only held by previous generations but by
some youngsters as well, having been socialised to think this way.

P1 (FG1): To us (as black people of a particular class), art comes across as a hobby. Those
who take it seriously, are from a particular class.

P3 (FG1): We grew up knowing that art is for the rich and for those abroad.

P6 (FG1): When you’re at school, in your quest to become an adult, the first thing you think of
is to eventually generate an income to live off of. Drawing something…? You don’t know
how long it’ll take for you to sell it, as opposed to work as a till packer – your money is
guaranteed month end. I’m going to school to learn to survive. Art is a fantasy and a dream.

P5 (FG2): The struggle for us here (in Delmas) is that most people don’t understand art, so
they criticize the way we are and the way we dress. There are a lot of budding artists we
know of but are living in the shadows because they’re afraid to fail, and to ultimately face a
resounding “I told you so!”. It really makes one want to get out of the township to go live
elsewhere. Our environment is not conducive to artistic production. It is not conducive to
failure and process.

P3 (FG2): Art here (Delmas) is not taken seriously. The question always becomes: Where are
you going to work? As far as our families is concerned, you need to find work and get a
monthly income.

P2 (FG2): Here at home, we’re constantly being told that we don’t measure up – that we’re
not going to be great at this art thing and that we don’t belong in those visual art spaces. So,
at home and as you leave the house, you’re being laughed at; in the street, you’re being
laughed at. You end up believing that perhaps you don’t belong.

P5 (FG2): The discouragement starts at home, where there’s a very narrow understanding of
art. When you stand out and are different here (in Delmas), you’re labelled as crazy and are
isolated.

P2 (FG2): And whatever questions asked – most of them – are asked to delegitimise rather
than to understand.
 P6 (FG2): This is why a lot of people/artists who make it out of the township don’t want to
come back. They refuse!

B: What is your contribution, as a practitioner, in dispelling these societal perceptions?

BK: I’ve had to treat myself as a role model. Honestly, every day I dress up. I come to my
studio in what I would wear to meetings, to show that dress is an important vehicle of
communication. This is work. Other careers are so appealing (to black parents) because of
their dress: a suit represents success. It’s being mindful of how we construct ourselves and our
success.

The Red Location Museum21 snuggly nestled in New Brighton – the oldest township in Nelson
Mandela Bay – was shut down in 2013 due to the residents’ protests over the delivery of basic
services (specifically housing) that they were not adequately receiving. The museum,
however, had no such problems. The rationale behind protesting against this tourist
attraction was that as residents, living a stone-throw away from this ‘pride’ of the township –
which houses a history of their traumatic lived experiences – whose housing issues are not
being met, how is it that this newcomer museum and its needs is being prioritised? Seemingly,
it matters more than the lives of the residents.

RR: You cannot do that, as it ostracises the community into thinking that these kinds of spaces
are not for them. It fails to resonate with them.

Who are these people that it resonates with and why are they being prioritised? The idea of
the museum is linked to capitalism and capital, once again, was being prioritised over
people’s lived experiences and issues. This is a symptom of coloniality and it others excluded
black people.

4.5. Significant and altering public contribution

A Few years ago, Kemang Wa Lehurele’s “The Knife Eats at Home” (2016), a solo exhibition,
opened at the Stevenson’s gallery. I was at that exhibition opening. One of the viewers – a
black man – upon completion of his viewing of the exhibition exclaims: “You know what? I
just don’t understand art!” Everyone in the room roars with laughter. The artist, is a black
male, whose works are about black people and yet some can’t seem to recognise
themselves in that particular body of work. What do you make of that?

RR: And it’s ok. My handwriting won’t be similar to yours. It’s also about language. That
curatorial statement should not only be in English, it should be in an indigenous language as
well. As an art practitioner, I don’t understand all exhibitions I go view. This is why I have to
read the curatorial statement first – it’s a valuable source. If you have this statement in an
indigenous language that can be understood widely, you don’t have people throwing their
hands up in the air, and just in general our people feel included and considered. It’s about
constantly educating. One will never understand it until you understand where the artist and
curator are coming from. It’s good that that man did that because he is challenging his
accessibility. Kemang needed to understand (and interrogate) why he resonates with
certain people, and not with others.

21 Designed by Neoro Wolff, a white male-headed architecture firm, the Red Location Museum is a tribute to the
liberation struggle against apartheid.
Language is important.

I watched Mdluli conduct a walkabout, of the David Koloane exhibition22 at the Standard
Bank Art Gallery, with a group of black youngsters and a few adults. She made use of a
mixture of colloquial, indigenous languages and English to make the exhibition more
inclusive. This encouraged the viewers to ask questions and actively interact with her.
Language - the use and choice thereof - is very central to people’s definition of themselves in
relation to their natural and social environment (Wa Thiong’o 1981:4). Understanding the
power and value of language as an art practitioner is very important. Language is a mode of
access.

Zwelethu Mthethwa, a black South African male artist was convicted and sentenced to 18
years in jail for murdering a black female sex worker. He is currently incarcerated. A few
months ago, after the official opening of The Javett Art Centre – a private art institution
situated in Tshwane and associated with the University of Pretoria – it was noticed that one of
Mthethwa’s works, “The Wedding Party” (1996), was part of their opening exhibition: ‘All in a
Day’s Eye: The Politics of Innocence in the Javett Art Collection’. As a society riddled with
femicide and ill-treatment of women, this naturally rubbed salt in an ever-gaping wound:
how and why do we celebrate a delinquent murderous artist? There was an uproar on social
media, prompting the head curator Gabi Ngcobo – a black female academic - to release a
statement in an attempt to explain the rationale behind the exhibition of this work. Part of the
statement reads:

“Our intention with showing Mthethwa’s work is with the sole purpose of presenting it as
“evidence” that highlights how misogyny has played out in his work over time. We can see
through his work, the perpetuation of violence against women. We therefore elected to
utilise his work to present a psycho-social analysis that exposes his violent actions as not
emerging out of the blue. This work stands as another piece of evidence that exposes his
misogyny and toxicity.” Gabi Ngcobo; October 2019.

No other statements by any other senior member of staff from this white-owned art centre
were issued in support.

The public was then invited to participate in a discussion later in the month, as part of the art
centre’s public and educational programming. As a first point of barrier, the entrance fee is
R150 – which is quite high considering the country’s economic crisis and high unemployment
rate. Unfortunately, not all members of the public who wished to participate in the discussion
were permitted to enter. A group of sex workers belonging to SWEAT (Sex Worker’s Education
and Advocacy Training) desperately wanted to participate in the discussion, but were not
allowed entry. They requested that the discussion happen outside under the entrance
canopy, to avoid being excluded due to the entrance fee. This was also refused. Ultimately,
they were left out of the discussion. I stood outside with them and waited until the discussion
was over and the participants left.

Thembinkosi Goniwe, a curator, art historian and educator writes, in his article ‘The Sour
Pleasure of the Art Industry’, (2018) Mail and Guardian, that despite the increasing black art
professionals in significantly high positions within the visual arts world, many “are still wrestling
with white scrutiny, approval and certification…” The pervasive white gaze is always at work
policing, haunting and traumatising young and established black professionals. He points out

22An exhibition at the Standard Bank Art Gallery titled A Resilient Visionary: Poetic Expressions of David
Koloane, curated by Dr Thembinkosi Goniwe. From the 4th October to 6th December 2019.
that as a young and black art professional, selling out your own people (black people) is not
completely unheard of. In fact, it is expected in order to be approved and belong in this
industry that functions within a colonial framework. This incident also prompts me to ask if the
South African visual arts industry allows for significant and altering contribution from those
outside of the fraternity.

RR: The visual art scene (in South Africa) doesn’t allow for the significant contribution from
outsiders, that is why curators are so important. We curate a narrative – we curate a story,
then take exhibitions to different spaces and make sure that these exhibitions speak to the
different spaces, and artists speak to the lived experiences of people.

BK: To be honest, the creative economy in South Africa is still being developed. We are not at
a stage where we can experiment. Though, it should be understood that there is not much
required to run programs that include people who are not of the fraternity. If you play
around with that and have other people contribute, it then becomes more about social
awareness. The art takes on the role of being a social activity.

5. Conclusion

When exploring and addressing the coloniality of access, one should start by asking and
answering the following:

Access to what? The visual arts industry in its entirety. Access granted by whom? In an
industry characterised by coloniality, the heirs of colonialism grant the access – whiteness.
What is meant by access? The amount, the quality and the ability to contribute in a
significant and altering way. Who are the arts for? As it stands, the arts is for those who have
benefitted and are privileged through colonial education – white people and whiteness. The
industry is their construction, in as much as race and racism is. Whiteness dictates the terms
and levels of engagement, especially for black people – from within and without. The lived
experiences narrated by the knowledge creators interviewed for this paper prove as much.

As art practitioners, in practicing inclusivity and looking to decolonise the industry, one must
start with the gallery space - its rituals, characteristics and form- as it is an important
contributor. As Banele Khoza says: “The space has to greet you before the people do”.
Khoza’s space – Bkhz - is one of process, and the creative process is a labour of love. It is a
space that doesn’t require one to re adjust themselves to occupy it, and it is evident in the
viewers not wanting to leave. It must be a space that gives direction on how to physically
navigate it, especially for those who are not regular visitors so they don’t feel out of place.

Language is so significant: the language of the curatorial statement and that which the
curator uses during walkabouts. Both language and artworks are a form of communication –
with the audience and the spiritual realm, in the case of African art. The statement and
walkabouts should be inclusive of colloquial and indigenous languages, or perhaps, at times,
take precedence over English. Language is how people make sense of their existence in
their natural and social environments.

Education is important in eradicating the perceptions of the excluded of visual art and artists.
That education should start, in a very serious and considered way, quite early and not be
confined to the traditional schools of art. Communities of excluded black people must
normalise artistic expression.
As Africans, we must figure out what function the visual arts serve for us. What are we
communicating and with whom through our visual arts? Leroke (2006:105) is clear that
African art has an aesthetic function that transcends the limits of history, social and political
readings, to that of communicating with one another and the spiritual realm. In re
conceptualising the visual art industry and spaces that we do not have to adjust ourselves
for, and that can be found wherever black people are concentrated, this must be
considered. Whether these spaces are communicating our stories of triumph, failure or
oppression, they can never be more important than the people telling these stories. They
cannot exist without the knowledge creators, which include black people and the poor that
is intentionally excluded from the fraternity. They must be consulted and credited as such. In
our attempt to understand what function the visual arts serve for us, also attempt to answer
why it is, if this colonially-framed visual art industry and these gallery spaces are triggering
such anxieties, a need to re adjust ourselves and deliberately excluding us, that we want to
participate and be an integral part of them?
 6. References

• Art First Contemporary; [n.a]; Louis Maqhubela: Biography; Accessed Online on

14.04.2020: https://www.artfirst.co.uk/louis_maqhubela/biography.html

• The Artist’s Press; [n.a]; David Koloane; Accessed online on 14.01.2020:

https://www.artprintsa.com/davidkoloane.html

• Cline, A (Supervisor: Fitzgerald, M); 2012; The Evolving Role of the Exhibition and its
Impact on Arts and Culture; Trinity College Department of Art History: Hartford

• Goodman Gallery; [n.a]; Jabulani Dhlamini; Accessed online on 14.01.2020:

https://www.goodman-gallery.com/artists/jabulani-dhlamini#bio

• Leroke, W; 2006; Autrui, Tragedy and the Aesthetic in Dumile’s Art; in Dumile Feni
Retrospective; Johannesburg Art Gallery (JAG): Johannesburg;

• Masuku, S; 2018; A Painter of Real Life: On the Work of Durant Sihlali, in Artthrob;
Accessed Online on 14.01.2020: https://artthrob.co.za/2018/08/21/a-painter-of-real-
life-on-the-work-of-durant-sihlali/

• Moore, J; 2009; Poverty and Access to the Arts: Inequalities in Arts Attendance; The
Arts Council/Combat Poverty Agency: Dublin

• South African History Online; 2019; John Koenakeefe Mohl; Accessed online on
14.01.2020: https://www.sahistory.org.za/people/john-koenakeefe-mohl

• South African History Online; 2017; Sydney Khumalo; Accessed online on 14.01.2020:
https://www.sahistory.org.za/people/sydney-alex-kumalo

• Wa Thiong’o, N; 1981; Decolonising the Mind: The Politics of Language in African

Literature; James Curry: UK

• Webster, H; 2010; Bourdieu for Architects; Routledge: London;

Unpublished Interviews:

• Dr Same Mdluli, interview by author, 24 October 2019

• Nthabiseng Mokoena, interview with author 15 November 2019

• Banele Khoza, interview with author, 22 November 2019

• Ruzy Rusike, interview with author, 01 December 2019

• Focus Group 1, Interview and discussions with author, 23 November 2019

• Focus Group 2, Interview and discussions with author, 14 December 2019