Looking After Freedom in the South

L A F O F R O T E K E E I R D N O G M IN THE SOUTH

LOOKING AFTER FREEDOM IN THE SOUTH a compilation of reviews on two exhibitions in Stellenbosch

Content

Introduction by Valeria Geselev............................................................................. 2

Part 1: Looking After Freedom Stéphanie Pereira.................................................................................................................. 7 Kate Schärf............................................................................................................................... 9 Nericke Labuschagne......................................................................................................... 13 Rushda Deaney...................................................................................................................... 15 McKayla Carstens................................................................................................................. 17

Part 2: In the South Simone Verfaille..................................................................................................................... 23 Tatem Marais........................................................................................................................... 27 Estèe Skein............................................................................................................................... 30 Jessica Kapp............................................................................................................................ 31 Chelsea Young........................................................................................................................ 33 Captions..................................................................................................................................... 39 Credits and Acknowledgements.................................................................................... 41

Valeria Geselev INTRODUCTION created exclusively by artists of colour, and reviewed (almost) exclusively by white students.

This publication was an unplanned child of a brief affair. The Visual Arts Department of Stellenbosch University agreed to lend me their third year students for a seminar in Art Writing.

After four dates I realised that this short relationship left us pregnant with a baby.

I was reading assignments submitted by the students and could not help but feel that the voices expressed were worthy of a bigger audience. The texts seemed to be of greater value than merely an academic assignment. I felt that they captured a moment and a place. And the idea of this publication was born.

Here is where this collection starts gaining its value as a public publication.

The texts presented to the reader are the first reviews these ten young students have ever written. Their voices are fresh and honest. They are not yet held captive by silencing taboos. The texts address what the students see and feel directly, without avoiding the complexities.

An exhibition review is never about the exhibition; this was the argument I tried to convey to the students. I see art as a conversation opener. When one student, Stéphanie, describes her inability to write, I see a sincere social commentary: a confession. She and her classmates raise in their texts concerns that are not for artists only. When another student, Estèe, wonders why she must be quiet in both churches and museums, she is questioning codes of behaviour.

Here the reader deserves a bit of background. The texts gathered in this collection were written in September 2017 by ten students who were asked to review one of two exhibition: a solo show by Zemba Luzamba at the University Museum; or the group show Looking After Freedom at the University Gallery, GUS. Both institutions are unique spaces on the local art map, for they are non-commercial and thus prioritise the educational value of their offerings.

This publication offers the reader a meeting point between the complexities of the town of Stellenbosch, the university and its art spaces, and the virginal voices of student writers. It is historiography disguised as art criticism. It can serve future generations and contemporaries in understanding better the nature of Stellenbosch in 2017. It is the blunt sound of transformation.

Another common thread between the two spaces is the fact that they seek to balance their inherited colonial baggage – clearly vivid in their architecture – by developing Afrocentric content. This point is a central one in contextualising this project: to the reader unfamiliar with this small university town, I will quote artist Lhola Amira: “It’s a strange place, Stellenbosch, you see colonialism and apartheid sitting here, comfortably”.

To the reader unfamiliar with identitypolitics in the South African context, I will state it clearly that the two exhibitions are

Valeria is curator of GUS and facilitator of Art Writing seminar at Visual Arts Department, Stellenbosch University.

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Part 1

Looking After Freedom

Stéphanie Pereira AN INVALID REVIEW

Silenced by my colour, I feel unable to comment. Disallowed to comment.

You see, growing up as a white female in the current South Africa, a post-apartheid South Africa, my voice is not very loud to begin with. With my skin colour being the colour of privilege, of “white privilege” they say, any opinion of mine is seen as invalid. I feel as though my thoughts and feelings regarding racism, and South Africa’s past, and South Africa in general, are dismissed and humiliatingly regarded as ignorant.

I no longer feel qualified to have a say, due to the many personal encounters of racism that have seen me targeted and victimised solely based on my appearance – even before I was able to speak or act. No words or actions of mine will ever be able to match the volume with which my skin speaks.

From years of being silent because I don’t have the correct inheritance to back up my feelings, and by trying to ignore the obvious and vicious racism – from both parties – between white and black in this country, I have developed somewhat of a numbness towards anything that concerns ‘black South Africa’.

When I enter the Looking After Freedom exhibition at GUS Gallery, I am pleasantly intrigued by the columns in the middle that consume the room. Their size, detailed reconstruction and accessible material of familiarity appeal to me, but the rest of the room keeps me out. I don’t feel much when I look at the other pieces because I have been programmed to block out matters that concern race. I don’t feel like I have the right to an opinion. I don’t feel like I may be provoked to a reaction by the pieces. My immediate response towards the works is to merely look at them from a distance and acknowledge their presence.

Please do not misunderstand; this is not a condemnation against the exclusion of whiteness from this exhibition.

It is merely my interpretation; a mere interpretation of a white South African girl. How invalid. So I remain silent and unable to comment. Unable to comment, but mostly disallowed to comment and disallowed to look, as my eyes only see colour.

Keeping this barricade in mind, I find the title of the exhibition interesting as they are no longer looking for freedom. They have already searched for, and found, freedom and are now trying to hold onto their freedom by looking after it. A question that immediately comes to mind is: whose freedom?

I definitely do not experience freedom or liberation when confronted with this exhibition; I quite honestly feel a sense of seclusion and confinement. Given the context of apartheid and the fact that every artist in this exhibition is a person of colour, I feel that a fair (but assumed) answer to my question would be: the freedom of black South Africa. Given the history and the evidently strong feelings of hatred and hurt towards each other amongst us in our nation, I cannot be involved in this preservation of freedom as it is not something that I feel myself a part of.

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Kate Schärf Looking After Freedom Of Speech

pastiche of one of the most recognisable symbols of colonial rule.

On a cool, spring morning in September, I make my way to the Stellenbosch University Gallery. I admire the sights on the way there: the tourist shops and the ancient oak trees, the hustle and bustle of people from all kinds of different backgrounds.

By drawing “inspiration” from an iconic feature of classical architecture, made famous by the Romans and the Greeks, this installation also makes reference to the Rhodes Memorial that received much attention as a symbol of oppression.

Stellenbosch is criticised as a place where racial tensions run high; where there is a great disparity that demarcates one area of the town from the next based on its history and economic background.

The vicinity in which I visit, however, is extremely prestigious. I am always overwhelmed by the sheer number of stores, tourist curio shops, as well as upmarket restaurants, not to mention a surprising amount of small galleries, many of which are privately owned.

Created by MADEYOULOOK, this piece stands out above all other artworks in this exhibition due to its sheer size, sublimity, and craftsmanship. It is conceptually provocative as it makes a point not only regarding colonialisation, but also art history and the colonialisation within art history itself.

Ancient Greek architecture, as well as ancient Greek art, has always been held in high esteem. Aspects of this design, such as the Ionic column, have been used in buildings all over the world, including South Africa. How and why have these aspects of design been historically so entrenched? Why, for example, has Afrocentric design not played more of an important role? If history is always “written by the victors”, then surely the same could be said for art and architecture?

In the confusion caused by the concept of decolonisation, an ongoing question of mine is: how does one decolonise art? When art has become so vastly institutionalised, how do (previously) disadvantaged individuals create art without the influence of colonial rule? I am interested in the Looking After Freedom exhibition partly due to this reason.

It is important to consider the exhibition within the context of South Africa, and especially Stellenbosch. As I walk through the glass doors into this quaint, renovated church, I am immediately overwhelmed by a collection of tall, Ionic columns skilfully and meticulously fashioned out of cardboard. This piece functions as a

From a material point of view, these columns would have been made out of proper building material, whereas MADEYOULOOK use cardboard – a cheap substance that is disposable and degradable; something that has very little material value.

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some of which are very small and appear to be hiding away from the main area of the gallery. MADEYOULOOK definitely takes centre stage, and even detracts attention from the smaller artworks, such as 50 Niggaz by Mawande Ka Zenzile – a bowl of spoons nestled in a corner on the floor.

Another work that catches my attention is Buhle Mbambo’s Black Tax VS Dreams, a large mixed media drawing on Fabriano paper. Beautifully framed, it speaks to the columns due to its scale and boldness, conveying the idea of financial burden on impoverished families and the debts that these individuals incur. Visually it depicts a young man sitting on top of a tall pile of rubbish bags, making the piece overwhelming to look at. It seems to function as a successful metaphor for the problems that many black families experience in contemporary South Africa.

While historically art has always been dictated – produced and institutionalised – by the victors, by producing works that encourage their individual expression these artists are looking after their freedom through mere participation.

Looking After Freedom welcomes and encourages a space in which people of colour can express themselves and further become catalysts for future artmaking endeavours. This is true freedom of expression.

Above the entrance of the gallery hangs a flag of red, yellow and black. Closer inspection reveals imagery of a female goat mounting a ram. This, I believe, speaks of disorder: of something reversed. For its artists Sugar-Free///PUNGWE, this work conveys a sense of disharmony.

The rest of the exhibition appears a bit lost due to the great variety of pieces, 10

Nericke Labuschagne The Scene

The scene looks clean, without the mess of an actual crime. At the very back of the space is the lonely body, black on black against black. There is an overwhelming sense of blackness, a harsh contrast to the vulnerable dismembered body. The pitch-black mannequin arms and legs lie there, dislocated from the rest of its body, without a heart, head or identity.

The uniform underneath the body with its protruding wooden bones seems brand new. Supporting the body is a usually shielding stretcher in the form of burlap – a material commonly used as a form of torture. The roughness of the hessian is felt on my own skin even from a distance, making my stomach turn.

The very silent crime scene screams at me and I immediately look away, building up the courage to do further inspection.

Repulsed and nauseated, I turn away.

An unsettling scene of mannequin bodyparts, a burlap stretcher, a soldier’s uniform together in a basin left behind.

The same thing happens when I am faced with the uncomfortable truths in our surroundings.

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Rushda Deaney Saturday Shift Reflections

Opening the heavy church doors is a task I do every Saturday. I allow a fresh morning breeze to flow into the main hall and greet the current exhibition Looking After Freedom.

Picture toilet paper rolls. But imagine them standing upright, tall, almost monumental, dominating the main hall of the church/gallery. In the centre they stand – tall and proud. I need to walk up the narrow gallery staircase to gaze at the highest detailed shapes.

A pillar of strength? But the material is not cement, so I know a strong wind could knock them over. Does it mean that this is a non-monument? It serves a purpose but the context is lost – there is no audio to listen to what the columns are saying.

Big in stature but lost in translation. So what am I looking after? The toilet rolls?

The shit of the country?

Freedom has so many meanings. Also it has different meanings to different people. To me freedom is the freedom of speech, the freedom to walk around anywhere in South Africa and be proud that apartheid is over. Or is it?

For some or other reason the rolls keep attracting my attention. Many things come to mind. What uses such long and tall rolls? Where was the material sourced?

Why did the artists use inexpensive matter to make this installation?

Who is looking after freedom? More importantly am I looking after freedom?

As large as this non-monument is it has made me think of what my parents and grandparents did for their freedom.

Every time I look at the installation I am in awe. No matter the material or the height of the piece, the value lies in its ability to capture one’s gaze. It is captivating. It holds its ground and asks for attention.

I witness six young teenagers walk into the gallery, stand in between the pillars, take selfies of each other and walk out the church/gallery door. I see the next generation walk right past me, only concerned with social status and their picture for the day. Who is looking after freedom? I who is guilty for not looking after freedom.

To take care of something can be understood as “looking after”, to keep safe or to be responsible for. Who looks after monuments? Do we realise their history? Do I know what these columns represent? I know what I see. So I allow my eyes to answer my questions.

I thank the artists for being a tall monument that I could reflect upon because I am the future of tomorrow.

I observe and walk between and around the columns, I touch the columns, I go upstairs to understand their height.

These columns resemble a monument.

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McKayla Carstens Who Will Help Me Get A Job

We walk along a road in Stellenbosch on the way to GUS. On one side of the road stands an ornate Victorian building, on the other side of the road stands a woman asking for a job. Both are ignored by people passing.

piece attempts to articulate how humans seek stimulation, but remain passive in reacting to political unrest.

Walking into the Looking After Freedom exhibition, we are affronted with tall Greeklooking cardboard pillars. Colonialism shouts from the ceiling to the floor.

In the next room, we find another of Ka Zenzile’s artworks: two canvases painted with cow dung and oil. The words “4 children for sale” and “Who will help me get a job? I do not want charity” shout in red.

Crime Scene by Mawande Ka Zenzile is too disturbing to write about.

This piece by MADEYOULOOK is an anti-monumental piece inspired by the “Rhodes must fall” campaign that attempted to decolonise problematic dialectic and physical spaces. We walk through this installation, leaning closer to the small holes in the cardboard. The work claims to speak to the importance of oral history, but this meaning is rendered lost by the silence.

These pieces call our attention to the remnants of colonialism that we otherwise disregard. The exhibition highlights the real message of the woman in the street who we had passed earlier, and looks into the reasons why such a message exists.

A red flag hangs near the ceiling and wags an image of mating goats at us. The

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Part 2

In The South

Simone Verfaille The Mystery Of The One-Way Gaze

It’s one of those mornings. There is no time to finish my coffee as I am evidently running late. I rush off along the streets of Stellenbosch, taking all the backroutes, cutting both corners and time.

Stellenbosch may seem so small that nothing could be more than ten minutes away, but it is not the case on this particular morning. I finally arrive at the University Museum in a flurry and push through the expressively painted glass doors. I am asked to sign the register.

before I am expected to return to the real world, and with it my classes. Luzamba has a bold and dynamic manner to his realistic painting style. Solid-coloured backgrounds, bright red and dark green, stand out in contrast to the life-like bodies in the foreground.

I notice that in each one of the works the gaze of the subject is directed away from that of the viewer. This interests me greatly. We as viewers gaze and analyse the paintings, yet Luzamba’s subjects do not engage with us. It feels as if they do not refer to actual people, as though they were mere forms of memory or imagination.

Once inside, I am met with peace and quiet – quite the opposite to the hustling and bustling of the cold outdoors. Turning the corner into the exhibition-space, I am faced with many bold paintings of many bodies. The feeling I get when walking in is one of curiosity. I walk alongside realistically painted studies of bodily form and gesture, following the storyline told by artist Zemba Luzamba.

I wonder whilst gazing at these works if they are his memories of the Congo, or are they of South Africa? The lack of specificity and temporariness of the subjects depict a sense of otherness.

Are these mere observations or are they critiques of his experiences? Is the lack of eye contact and the ‘turned away’ body language due to restlessness of the memories or experiences? I have yet to discover answers to these questions.

The forty-four-year-old artist grew up in the Democratic Republic of Congo and has lived in South Africa since 2000.

The stories Luzamba tells in his paintings appear as if from his memory. His experience as an African migrant in a country that has vicious relationships with the rest of the continent is the message he seems to convey.

The unseen gaze is what captures my attention. It is as if the paintings do not want to be looked at or analysed – as if they are someone else’s stories that, in fact, do not want to be seen. This idea baffles me. The artworks are on display to be viewed, however, interaction with the subjects is limited as they do not gaze back. In contrast, the everyday context in

There are chairs set up in the middle of the exhibition space, where I sit and analyse from a distance. I take a deep breath after the rush of the morning and try to take in as much as I can 23

which the subjects are engaged makes it easy to examine them for as long as one’s heart desires.

As I walk out of the gallery, longing for the cup of coffee that I did not have time to drink, I wonder if the gaze of the subjects within the paintings still stares ahead in captured recollection. Or do they follow me as I walk out onto the streets of Stellenbosch?

Tatem Marais Stones Through The Souls Of His Shoes

I’m not sure if you would agree, but I think that all human beings on this planet inhabit two worlds: an internal world and an external world. The internal world is a space where an individual makes sense of everything that has happened to them or what they have experienced on a personal level. Every individual’s internal world is unique and it can never be exactly the same as the internal world of another.

as they are often beyond our control.

It can be extremely frustrating when our internal world screams “Hey! That is not right! That doesn’t match the way I see the world! We should do something about this!”

It is never easy to get our two worlds to reach a balance. When we reach this point, we may feel exhausted and without options of solving the problem. Or that’s what it feels like. So, the next thing to do is for an individual to express the problem they experience in a language that makes sense to them. Once expressed, that internal point of view may challenge the viewpoint(s) of others. This is what allows for the possibility of equilibrium – a state in which opposing forces are balanced – to take place.

After processing information according to how the individual makes sense of the world, the information is then expressed in a more tangible form in the external world in order to be understood by others.

Information can be expressed in music, words, numbers or painting. Everyone can contribute any kind of information in the external world where it can be understood and processed.

It seems to me that Zemba Luzamba has used the language of pictures and the medium of painting to express the challenges of the external world that he faces on his own. In the space of the Stellenbosch University Museum strong emotions ooze from his artworks as viewers are confronted with the still moments of Luzamba’s experiences.

The external world is a difficult puzzle to decipher as there are pieces that can be quite challenging to understand. A single piece of the puzzle cannot determine how the bigger picture will turn out. It takes every piece to solve the puzzle.

There are many things that we as individuals may come across that are difficult to comprehend. We often battle with cruelty, discrimination and injustice.

Sometimes these are never dealt with

The ripping motion of barbed wire seen in The Other Way South series makes my skin burn. I am left with the feeling of being cut and my nerves being left vulnerable

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volume of this voice is balanced by the circular hole in the museum’s roof, acting almost as a palette cleanser while one encounters the paintings. This gives the viewer a chance to collect oneself after experiencing the artist’s personal world that is so very raw and loud. We sometimes need a neutral and open space where we can allow thoughts to spread their wings and stretch a bit.

and exposed to the cold, crisp air. The paintings are still and immobile, yet they are moving through an introspective eye, the eye of the internal world, the eye that sees the turmoil within these captured moments on display.

In Cycle Journey, a painting depicting an adolescent riding his bicycle, the thickly applied paint is mixed with what seems like earth – a combination that takes me back to the uncomfortable emotions of undergoing change. Although I do not know what this adolescent might be going through, I cannot help but feel my stomach turn when I see someone experience change; never an easy process. I do not know his story, but intuition tells me that his life will never be quite the same again.

There are many puzzles that we must face and solve, whether internally or externally. Even though I have not a single clue of what Luzamba has experienced as an individual, his work allows me to walk in his shoes. All I can say is that his path was a bumpy one; and I could feel the stones through the souls of his shoes.

The very fact that this exhibition is placed within Stellenbosch reminds us that there remain some external worlds that need to be shaken up and brought into equilibrium with our internal worlds – and vice versa.

Although not many people can handle the volume of the emotional noise coming from his paintings, Luzamba’s work possess the ability to shake the external world, allowing for debate and puzzle-solving to occur. By addressing the many issues he may continue to face, the artist seems to have found his equilibrium through creative means of expression.

Luzamba’s paintings shout and scream at the viewer, even though they do not have mouths to speak with. And yet the

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Estèe Skein We Wisper Here Out Of Respect

“Sorry miss, you are not allowed in, it is still five to nine.”

here out of respect; this is not your house it is the Lord’s house”.

“But sir, your lights are on, the works are up and it’s raining outside. Can I not just have a quick look?”

For some reason I felt that I was not allowed to touch the walls in the University Museum either. Out of fear for the man by the front desk, I also did not dare say a word.

“Sorry miss, we open at nine o’clock.”

Why this space felt holy I do not know.

It’s quiet, it’s clean and you’re not allowed to touch.

After waiting my five minutes in the rain, I am beckoned through the window that I am now allowed to come in to the Stellenbosch University Museum, sign in at the front desk, and look at the artworks of Zemba Luzamba.

Luzamba exhibits a series of works that offer a narrative of his experience of “the South”, be it South Congo (where he was born and raised) or South Africa (where he currently lives). The work is open-ended. I cannot tell where these events take place. The backgrounds are all colour and do not indicate location.

As I enter this building, bursting with Western architecture, I cannot help but think that Luzamba’s work does not fit in. Why? Because he is a man of colour exhibiting paintings with people of colour as subject matter. The fact that this thought occurs to me almost instantly is something worth investigating.

The splatters of colour interrupt the terribly overwhelming white walls of the space and causes one to ask “why isn’t there more colour in this colossal place?”

This building officially opened its doors as a museum the same time democracy came to play in South Africa. Ever since then the management has tried to make up for the fact that it is a colonialist space. But as the space includes Khoisan artefacts, African masks and all kinds of what one would call “indigenous memorabilia” as part of its display, the museum seems to emphasise a colonialist gaze.

The fact that Luzamba’s exhibition is only on show for a few months is a symbol of how our country tries to fix the remains of colonialism in short attempts, then simply returns to a previous mind-set and old habits.

This experience reminded me of the effect colonialism and apartheid had on the town of Stellenbosch. Even though the wounds might have healed, the scars are still clearly visible.

The big pillars and wide staircases remind me of the old NG church I used to go to with my parents as a kid. “Don’t touch the walls Estèe, it is a holy space. We whisper 30

Jessica Kapp A Speech Not Given, A Question Unanswered I am greeted by Stellenbosch University Museum’s local entourage as I take a right down Victoria and then a left onto Ryneveld Street. He gazes at the floor and asks “Do you have any money ma’am?” A fairly unusual way to start out any exhibition walkabout.

The whole experience is amplified.

It seems even more twisted when looked at in relation to Zemba Luzamba’s exhibition In The South, narrating his experience of being an African migrant in a place that violently expresses these kinds of relationships.

The exhibition really engages its guests – both due to the artist’s subject matter and the curator’s choice of the space – and provides a well-narrated story

by Luzamba. As I walk around I realise how easy it is to view the work; having it displayed at eye level lets me engage fully while the large boards create an immersive experience.

I feel uncomfortable.

I feel like an intruder trapped in a space, forcibly confronted with an uncomfortable truth.

Upon entry into the University Museum I am greeted by a friendly museum staff member who takes my presence on a card to record the number of feet that visit the venue for the day. The centre of the room is packed with rows and rows of empty chairs that sit almost as witnesses, interrupting the space. A speaker and a podium stand as if awaiting a press conference or information session with the artist. But no such speech is given.

And there is the interaction that I had with the man upon entering the space.

Not the friendly museum staff member.

In hindsight it was a testimony to my contrasting experience of the exhibition.

I couldn’t help but see things in relation to one another and understand what new information their relationship inscribes onto their combined meaning.

After making my second loop around the room I find Luzamba’s work to be loud and inescapable. Even the exhibition room appears to reinforce the concepts that he is dealing with; it echoes as if with a strange reminiscence of the sounds that were once made within it.

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Chelsea Young Short Displacement For Breakfast It was a Tuesday morning after a long weekend. After convincing myself that I could ‘nap’ later, I headed out of my sunlit room and into the fumes of morning traffic. There is something about walking the streets of Stellenbosch in the morning that is awakening and energising. On my way I felt a knot in my stomach remembering that I had forgotten to write a review. My pace increased and I headed towards the University Museum.

judgments started to take shape, I stopped reading the statement and began to create an opinion from my own experience of the work. I saw realistic paintings of people, mostly black people, dressed in outfits that indicated various events. These people looked out of place and uncomfortable.

Were the chairs put here on purpose to speak to the displacement felt In The South? Either way, I felt myself displaced as my view was restricted to what was in front of me. This limitation allowed me to gaze straight into a scene of men climbing through a barbed wire fence.

I didn’t know who was exhibiting or what medium they prefer, but rather assumed that I could find something enjoyable about visiting an art space so early in the morning. Initially, I thought the exhibition was closed, until the penny dropped: it is a push door instead of a pull. I walked in.

Glancing down and seeing the last line of the page “Zemba Luzamba remains in South Africa where he continues his quest as an artist” really stuck with me. Surely someone else wrote this statement for Luzamba? Someone who is sensitive to the idea of a quest to become an artist, or the journey of being an artist.

The room was filled with eye-level-placed paintings on the walls and the floor was lined with chairs in a semi-circle, all facing one direction. This may have been part of the aesthetic or remains of a talk, however, I felt like I had been transported back into a school assembly.

I took a deep breath and checked my phone to see the time. I had ten minutes to walk to the session. I got up and hurried in an awkward walk-run across the street.

I sat down and felt a bit lost. I didn’t know what to think or where to begin looking. I had to sit down. I noticed a small pile of printed papers at the front of the room that I assumed were meant to be read.

I picked one up and started to make my way through the paragraphs of text.

What an interesting thing to realise that someone can create a conversation and such a stir in an audience member in absolute silence. Although these conversations weren’t voiced with anyone, but myself, they did occur. There is an artist walkabout due in a week’s time. I’ll attend it and my opinion may change.

“Zemba Luzamba was born in 1973 in the Democratic Republic of Congo”.

Instantly I used my prejudices and placed Luzamba’s work into a box of typical pan-African art. As my stereotypical 33

Captions Cover – Collage of two exhibition posters: Looking After Freedom [originally

designed by Carlos Marzia] and In The South [image from Scapegoat

by Zemba Luzamba]

Page 3 – Gallery University Stellenbosch [GUS] outside view, photographed by Rushda Deaney

Page 5-6 – Non-Monuments Programme: against forgetting edition [2017] by

MADEYOULOOK, installation view from Looking After Freedom exhibition at GUS, photographed by Valeria Geselev

Page 7 – Dog sleeping [2015] by Kemang Wa Lehulere, detail, photographed by Rushda Deaney

Page 10 – SUGAR FREE: A MOVEMENT IN A FIVE PART DISHARMONY [2017]

by Sugar-Free///Pungwe, artwork for a flag

Pages 11-12 – Black Tax VS Dreams by Buhle Mbabmbo [2016], installation view, photographed by Rushda Deaney

Pages 13-14 – Crime Scene [2016] by Mawande Ka Zenzile, details, photographed

by Rushda Deaney

Page 16 – Non-Monuments Programme: against forgetting edition [2017] by MADEYOULOOK, detail, photographed by Rushda Deaney

Page 18 – UNTITLED POSTER I [2015] by Mawande Ka Zenzile, detail, photographed

by Rushda Deaney

Page 19-20 – Stellenbosch University Museum outside view, photographed by Ulrich Wolff

Page 21-22 – In The South exhibition by Zemba Luzamba, installation view at Stellenbosch University Museum, photographed by Ulrich Wolff

Page 24 – A Very Honest Man [2016] by Zemba Luzamba Page 25-26 – Jumper 1 [2015] by Zemba Luzamba, detail

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Page 29 – Man on a Mission [2017] by Zemba Luzamba Page 32 – Mastermind [2016] by Zemba Luzamba, installation view, photographed

by Ulrich Wolff

Page 34 – Moves of Sapeurs [2017] by Zemba Luzamba Pages 35-36 – Students of Art Writing Class discussing Zemba Luzamba’s

In The South at Stellenbosch University Museum, photographed

by Rushda Deaney

Pages 37-38 – Students of Art Writing Class discussing Looking After Freedom exhibition at GUS, photographed by Kamiela Crombie

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Credits Concept and Editing: Valeria Geselev Project Manager: Estèe Skein Texts: McKayla Carstens, Rushda Deaney, Jessica Kapp, Nericke Labuschagne, Tatem Marais, Stéphanie Pereira, Kate Schärf, Estèe Skein, Simone Verfaille, Chelsea Young

Photography: Rushda Deaney, Valeria Geselev, Ulrich Wolff, Kamiela Crombie Graphic Design: Estèe Skein Graphic Design Editor: Nadene Reignier Copy-Editing: Michaela Clark Printed: SunMedia Published: Yalla Shoola Publications Print Run: 400 ISBN: 978-0-620-78089-6 Online Version: issuu.com/yallashoola/docs/looking Contact: yallashoola@gmail.com or +27(0)218083489 ©2017 for texts: the authors | ©2017 for images: the artists

Acknowledgements Zemba Luzamba for the art and the inspiration Nkule Mabaso and Raél Jero Salley curators of Looking After Freedom exhibition, for bringing decolonial aesthetics to Stellenbosch

Bongani Mgijima director of the University Museum for the generous support of the

publishing

Ricky Brecht education officer of the University Museum, for coordinating between the institutions

Ulrich Wolff curator of the University Museum for supporting the project Elizabeth Gunter head of the Visual Arts Department at Stellenbosch University for supporting the project Ledelle Moe for making the Art Writing course a reality 41

A COMPILATION OF REVIEWS ON TWO EXHIBITIONS IN STELLENBOSCH Chelsea Young Estèe Skein Jessica Kapp Kate Schärf McKayla Carstens

Nericke Labuschagne Rushda Deaney Simone Verfaille Stéphanie Pereira Tatem Marais

Edited by Valeria Geselev

ISBN 9780620780896

9 780620 780896