Academic literature on the topic 'The Art Contre Apartheid collection'

The Michaelis Art Library, part of the Reference Division of the Johannesburg Public Library Service, originated with a collection of books purchased for the planned Johannesburg Art Gallery in the 1920s. Temporarily and then permanently housed in the Public Library, the collection became the nucleus of a growing art library, the largest public art library in South Africa. In recent years usage of the library declined as a result of political tensions, but then increased in parallel with a surge of vitality in the arts which heralded the end of apartheid and the emergence of democracy. During 1995 the Michaelis Art Library was due to move into Johannesburg’s central library building.

The article discusses the history and existence of Konstantin Somov’s painting “Non-Existent Porcelain”: The relevance of the topic is determined by the fact that the “Non-Existent Porcelain” for the first time becomes an object of study as a painting and a collectible. The scientific novelty of the article lies in the fact that it attempts to identify the artistic sources of this work (Titian, engravings from his painting “Venus with a Mirror”) and examines the attitude of K.A. Somov to this master artist. The author uses the method of complex analysis, combining a source analysis of K.A. Somov’s diaries and letters, and a traditional formal analysis of his painting “Non-Existent Porcelain” in comparison with the painting of Titian and engravings from it. The article traces the painting’s creation, identifies the sources from the creative heritage of the artist and European art. There are analyzed the artistic features of the painting, the period when it was in V.N. Gordin’s ownership and in the collection of E.A. Gunst. This study allows to expand the existing ideas about the artist’s visual sources of creativity.The article reveals that Titian’s painting “Venus with a Mirror” served as a source of the figure of a naked bather in the painting “Non-Existent Porcelain”. A hypothesis has also been put forward on the artist’s likely appeal to contre-épreuve reproductions of European masters of the 18th — 19th centuries from this painting, primarily the engravings of Johann Friedrich Leybold. The author concludes that K.A. Somov’s working over the painting “Non-Existent Porcelain” was in line with his working with a variety of sources from the heritage of European art, including his search for sources for depiction of nudity.

La Maison de la Négritude et des Droits de l’Homme de Champagney, petite ville de Haute-Saône dans l’Est de la France, est née dans les années 1970 à la suite de la découverte dans les archives d’un extrait des cahiers de doléances de 1789 rédigé par des habitants de cette commune et demandant l’abolition de l’esclavage. Le qualificatif Négritude provient du parrainage que Léopold Sédar Senghor a voulu accorder à ce lieu, où la mise en valeur de ce « voeu de Champagney » s’articule à une muséographie obsolète consacrée à l’histoire de l’esclavage des Noirs à laquelle est juxtaposée une collection d’« art africain ». Sur le fond de ce patrimoine commun, un ensemble de pratiques et de points de vue différenciés se détachent nettement. Comment s’articulent ces expériences diverses? Peut-on parler de patrimoine interculturel? Ou plutôt d’une situation d’interculturalité en ce qu’elle tient de l’approche d’une altérité subsumée sous le thème de la Négritude. Cette altérité s’y trouve à la fois redoublée par la question de l’esclavage et en même temps incluse dans une commune humanité, sur le registre moral des Droits de l’Homme et au nom de l’héritage du Voeu de Champagney. Cette appréhension patrimoniale de l’altérité coexiste avec une volonté de traduire l’histoire de l’esclavage des Noirs pour en faire une ressource pour lutter contre les dominations et discriminations à l’oeuvre dans le monde contemporain, qui rentre elle-même en tension avec une mise en balance de ses propres souffrances sociales lorsque l’on est habitant ordinaire de Champagney au regard de la distance sociale qui peut être ressentie vis-à-vis des promoteurs de la Maison de la Négritude et des Droits de l’Homme.

Wyatt Tee Walker died in January 2018. Deservedly celebratory obituaries in major newspapers noted his heroic efforts as a leader in the Civil Rights Movement, as an aide and confidant to Martin Luther King Jr., as an internationally renowned activist against South African apartheid, and as chair of the Central Harlem Local Development Corporation. Yet they barely scratch the surface of the networks of accompaniment, instruction, apprenticeship, and affiliation that made his life meaningful. Fortunately, there is a full archive of the rich complexity of Walker’s life at the University of Richmond Boatwright Library. It contains a treasure trove of works of visual art, recorded music, audio- and videotaped speeches, books, miscellaneous objects, and the remarkable Music Tree image that Walker created to depict visually the history of Black music. Kalfou solicited a description of that collection from archivist Taylor McNeilly. We publish it in this issue in the hope that the archive will be accessed regularly and fully by the academics, artists, and activists who read this journal, and that they will find in it ways to appreciate the range and scope of Walker’s achievements and to emulate them through immersion in the plural and diverse activities that make the Black Radical Tradition possible.

I hate being misunderstood. I guess we all do, but it goes with the territory. I use the word coloured, and he seems offended: 'We Brits don't say 'coloured'. It's regarded as patronising. We say black, if we say anything. And if we do it's for reasons of simple practicality. It doesn't matter. ' Of course, what he seems to be missing, is that the word coloured in South Africa now refers less to skin colour, and more to a distinct cultural group, with it's own language (a dialect of Afrikaans), food (of Malay origin), and music. To say black in this context would be inaccurate, and cause confusion. Danya and Kyla attend the Yeoville Community School, situated in a vibrant and culturally diverse suburb of Johannesburg. On returning from school one day Danya announces: 'We have to do something at school about our culture. What is our culture Daddy?'To which her father replies, 'Go and ask your mother.' 'Well…we're sort of New Age, sort of holistic…', Toni fumbles. A few days later… 'So what did you do in the end?' Soli asks. 'Oh, us and all the other coloured kids sang, Daar Kom die Alabama'1 says Kyla. It would seem that children want to know where they come from. 'I want you to divide yourself up into your different race groups', the facilitator says. We are in a Managing Diversity workshop, and he means the old South African race classification system, but of course he wants to see what we do with it. We end up with a group of Blacks (including three 'Asians'); an African group (including two 'Whites'); a White group (two); and the Human Race (two).'Why didn't you join the white group?' Thloki asks the Human Race.'I don't define myself by my race', I reply.'Ha! Wait till there's a war over resources' he laughs, 'then you'll quickly pick a side!' The postmodernist argument ensues: 'There is no such thing as race…all these arbitrary classifications…it's nothing but a social construct!''Well you never lived as a black person under apartheid. It was very real to me!'The facilitator aims to mediate/translate for the rest of us: 'Well yes, it is just a social construct. But one which had very real consequences for people.' 'Nobody goes into town anymore' a woman says. To which Har Bhajan replies, 'When I was last in town, there were lots of people there.' Of course, what she means is, hardly any white people go into town anymore. (And she's right about that.) But what is that, the way certain people become invisible, depending on who's looking? My friend Karima and I attend an Al Jarreau concert. Fairly expensive tickets, and almost the entire audience is black. I'm not sure why I'm quite so surprised. But this is Sandton, the richest formerly white suburb of Johannesburg. Perhaps working in the NGO sector I've missed how much things are actually changing… I wonder how many people in the audience have been into town lately. With the shift in power, and the -- albeit slow -- levelling of the playing field, now it is possible for white South Africans to be at the receiving end of racial discrimination too… I am visiting my cousin. He is 60, and a musician. But times are tough for him now. His brother was shot dead in his driveway while someone stole his car. And it's hard for him to find work. 'I am too white, now', he says. He is not bitter, just saddened. In his day he had probably the most famous jazz club in Johannesburg. Rumours it was called. 'The best little bootlegger in Bellevue' he called himself. He was known for breaking the law then. His club was racially integrated long before it was allowed. Controversial South African artist, Beezy Bailey, has an alter ego: 'The creation of Joyce was born of the frustration of 'increasingly prevalent affirmative action'. Bailey submitted two artworks for a triennial exhibition. One was with the traditional 'Beezy Bailey' signature (rejected) the other signed 'Joyce Ntobe'! The latter now enjoys an honoured place in the SA National Gallery as part of its permanent collection. When the curator of the SA National Gallery wanted to work on a paper about three black women artists, Joyce Ntobe being one, Bailey let the cat out the bag which caused a huge media 'scandale'.' (Carmel Art) I spent three months in London, and I realised how easy it is to be white there. Or rather, how easy it is to not be white. Of course, it 'doesn't matter' there, because it doesn't matter. It's easy to donate a monthly cheque to Worldvision, and read about the latest chaos in Zimbabwe in the free rag on the tube, and never have to look overwhelming poverty and disease in the face. But when you live on the African continent, you are very aware of being white. At the diversity workshop, I realise how white South Africans seem to get to take the rap here for the actions of white people on the planet. It's not just the effects of apartheid that black South Africans are angry about it seems, it's also the effects of the global economy, that cause the rich to become richer, and the poor to become poorer. Oh sure, that's not just an issue of race, but the poorest on our planet remain 'people of colour', and wealth remains concentrated in the West/North. I realise also that the Black and African groups at the workshop have one thing that they agree on quite strongly - the importance of making the African continent one's focus. Though the two of us in the Human Race group have both read Naomi Klein's No Logo -- and care about the effects on the poor of economic globalisation -- our sense of 'internationalism' is not viewed in a positive light, but seen rather as 'elitist'. * * * 'The thing about the Dutch' says Gary, 'is that they're pragmatic. They're not politically correct -- call the prostitutes prostitutes, not sex workers, but tax them, and give them health care. They have a strong human rights culture.' The Afrikaners are descendents of these transparent, curtainless Dutch. Sometimes I can see it. 'It is not words that make for bigotry, but attitudes', says columnist Ira Pilgrim. 'Some of the most bigoted people I have known always used the 'correct' words.'2 I am not politically correct. There are certain words I'd never use, and couldn't bring myself to, not out of political correctness, but because they're invested with hate. But words like 'whitey', darkie' and 'honky', where I sit, are terms of endearment. I'd never use them on strangers, but amongst friends, they're terms of affection and irony, because we're laughing at ourselves, and each other. 'It's hard to explain to anyone' Gary continues, 'what it's like living in a place where -- from the time you wake up in the morning, till you close your eyes at night -- every breath that you take is politicised.' Gary left the country because he didn't want to be conscripted to fight a war he didn't believe in. He's done well for himself in Europe. But he had to give up his homeland. I catch a 'Zola', the mini-bus taxi named after South Africa's barefoot runner Zola Budd, probably most famous for inadvertently tripping Mary Decker at the 1984 Olympics (Finnegan). Zola was little and fast, like the taxi's that 'zip, zip, zip' -- often to the infuriation of other motorists -- hence the affectionate nickname. They're the peril of the road, but the saviour of the immobile masses, with their unique language and hand signals. I overhear bits of Zulu conversation, including 'Brooke…Ridge…Thorne.' Our soaps, too, are politicised. It would seem that even black South Africans watch The Bold and the Beautiful for light relief. Usually I am the only whitey here, but accepted as just another carless commuter moving from A to B. Despite the safety risks of bad driving, I enjoy it. I did a Zulu course a few years ago. I didn't learn much Zulu -- discovered I don't have the tongue or an ear for African languages -- but I learnt a lot from the course nevertheless. 'Tell us about an experience that you've had, that was a result of cultural misunderstandings' says the facilitator. 'I spent much of my first year at University hungry' says Nhlanhla. 'My white friends would offer me food when I was visiting, but I would refuse, because in our culture, if you ask you don't really want to give. We just hand you a plate.' Nombulelo tells of the time she went on a yoga retreat. She was confused when she started to undress openly in the dormitory, and got disapproving looks from the other women. 'Why?' she wondered, 'we are all women together?' But these were Hindu women, whose sense of modesty was different from the openness of African women. For the whiteys, the major confusion seems to come from the issue of timekeeping. 'African time' is often referred to. Though in London, I did hear talk of 'Caribbean time'. Perhaps the concept of being on time is a particularly Western one (Makhale-Mahlangu). We are visiting friends of friends. There's an unlikely combination at the dinner table. She is tall and dark. I am short and fair. 'So where do you two know each other from?' Cairo asks. 'I'm Andie's sister', Kim replies. She reads the dumbfoundedness in Cairo's face. 'What can I say…my line got a bit deviated!' she laughs. She has my father's sense of humour. So have I. I ask my father, when he first became aware of racial prejudice. 'I was about six years old', he says. 'I threw my ball out of the school grounds, and called to the black man outside: 'Boy, please would you throw my ball back to me?' And the man replied: 'I am not a boy. I am old enough to be your grandfather.'' I am thinking about the time in our lives before we become aware of race… A friend tells me a story about how her six-year-old daughter came home from school and asked, 'Mommy, what's a [racist-term-not-to-be-repeated]?' She'd been called that. The late Lenny Bruce, controversial American comedian and social critic in the sixties, argued that it is 'the word that gives it the power of violence'3, and if we used 'the words' colloquially often enough, and began to invest them with new meanings, they would lose their power to hurt us. I am about to board a bus…'Woza (come) Mama', says the driver. 'Uyaphi?' (Where are you going?) '…green green, I'm going away to where the grass is greener still', come the Reggae sounds from his radio. We are discussing whether we should be focusing on our sameness or our differences. 'Of course we all want the same things…a home, a job, an education for our children', says Karima, but it's our differences that make us interesting.' I agree. Notes 1 Daar Kom die Alabama (Here Comes the Alabama) is a traditional 'Cape Coloured' song, originally sung in tribute to the Alabama, a confederate ship that docked in Cape Town in 1863. On board were Al Jolson-esque (Burlesque) performers, whom the slaves admired, and they imitated their style of performance. This tradition continues still today with the 'Coon Carnival' held on New Years Day and 'Tweede Nuwe Jaar' (Second New Year). It is said that the custom of Tweede Nuwe Jaar originated as a holiday for the slaves, who were too busy attending to their masters' needs on the first. For more information on the Coon Carnival, see http://www.iias.nl/host/ccrss/cp/cp3/cp3-__171___.html. 2 While the author makes some important general points about the drawbacks of political correctness, his reference to South Africa (including the correction) are in fact incorrect. The apartheid government had four major 'population groups' in it's classification system: African (black), Coloured, Asian and White. (The term black was used then only informally.) These were then sub-divided into other categories. See http://www.csvr.org.za/race.htm for further details. 3 The relevant extract from Julian Barry's 1971 play Lenny, can be found at http://www.abc.net.au/rn/talks/8.30/relrpt/stories/s271585.htm. References Barry, Julian. Lenny. Random House, 1971. http://www.freenetpages.co.uk/hp/lennybruce/ Downloaded 14 April 2002. Carmel Art Galleries. Beezy Bailey Curriculum Vitae, at http://www.carmelart.co.za/site/cvbb.htm Downloaded 14 April 2002. Finnegan, Mark. 'The 10 worst mishaps in the history of sport.' Observer Sport Monthly 5 November (2000). http://www.observer.co.uk/osm/story/0,69... Downloaded 14 April 2002. Klein, Naomi. No Logo: Taking Aim at the Brand Bullies. USA: Picador, 2000. http://www.nologo.org/ Downloaded 14 April 2002. Makhale-Mahlangu, Palesa. 'Reflections on Trauma Counselling Methods.' Seminar presented at the Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation, Johannesburg, 31 July 1996. http://www.csvr.org.za/articles/artpales.htm Downloaded 14 April 2002. Martin, Denis-Constant. 'The Famous Invincible Darkies Cape Town's Coon Carnival: Aesthetic Transformation, Collective Representations and Social Meanings', 1998. http://www.iias.nl/host/ccrss/cp/cp3/cp3-__171___.html Downloaded 14 April 2002. Pilgrim, Ira. 'Kikes, Niggers, Queers, Scotchmen and Chinamen', Mendocino County Observer, 22 March (1990). http://www.mcn.org/c/irapilgrim/race02.html Downloaded 14 April 2002. Transfer of African Language Knowledge (TALK). http://www.icon.co.za/~sadiverse/about.htm Downloaded 14 April 2002. Andie Miller was born, and spent the first 23 years of her life at the Southern-most tip of the African continent, in Cape Town. She currently works as webmaster for the Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation, and the National Development Agency in Johannesburg, South Africa. Links http://www.observer.co.uk/osm/story/0 http://www.iias.nl/host/ccrss/cp/cp3/cp3-__171___.html http://www.carmelart.co.za/site/cvbb.htm http://www.csvr.org.za/ http://www.abc.net.au/rn/talks/8.30/relrpt/stories/s271585.htm http://www.csvr.org.za/articles/artpales.htm http://www.nologo.org/ http://www.mcn.org/c/irapilgrim/race02.html http://www.freenetpages.co.uk/hp/lennybruce/ http://www.icon.co.za/~sadiverse/about.htm http://www.csvr.org.za/race.htm http://www.nda.org.za/ Citation reference for this article MLA Style Miller, Andie. "Multiculturalism and Shades of Meaning in the New South Africa" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.3 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/shadesofmeaning.php>. Chicago Style Miller, Andie, "Multiculturalism and Shades of Meaning in the New South Africa" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 3 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/shadesofmeaning.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Miller, Andie. (2002) Multiculturalism and Shades of Meaning in the New South Africa. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(3). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0207/shadesofmeaning.php> ([your date of access]).

Magister Artium - MA (English)<br>After the 1976 student uprising, South Africa entered a period of increased violent state repression. The struggle against apartheid also became increasingly globalised, as can be seen in the UN resolution and the rise of various international anti-apartheid organisations. My thesis looks at the various ways in which art was used as a response to the crisis of late apartheid in the 1980s, focusing on a landmark international exhibition, the Art Contre Apartheid exhibition which opened in Paris on 1983. It examines the context and history of the Art Contre Apartheid collection, and follows its path to its current location at the Mayibuye Archive at the University of the Western Cape, where it mostly languishes in packing crates. My research locates its analysis of the works in broader debates around art and politics during the struggle years in South Africa, but also to highlights the continuities and contrasts between international responses to apartheid, and local struggle art produced in the period surrounding the launch of the exhibition. Some of most compelling works of art in the collection depict the human form, and register acts of torture. The analysis focuses specifically on depictions of a fragmentation and dismemberment of the human body. Drawing on Elaine Scarry's argument about the limitations of language as an adequate response to trauma, my research develops an analysis of these works that demonstrates how the body becomes a privileged site in which violent political contestations are made visible. The thesis also deals extensively with the 'absence of form', which highlights the various instances in the ACA collection where abstract art was used as a signifier of pain, and thus the unspeakable effects of apartheid.

Chapter Five, Soweto, centers upon Sibongile's story from Soweto, a historic collection of six clustered townships in Johannesburg, South Africa. Sibongile faces complex intersections of structural violence instituted by a legacy of apartheid and AIDS as well as personal insecurities in everyday life. Sibongile'snarrative demonstrates the powerful role of cultural and political histories in emergent realities of diabetes and how lived experiences shape and are shaped by her mental and physical health. For example, I unpack myriad forms of structural and interpersonal violence that become fundamental to illness experiences. I also discuss how social and financial demands placed upon women who care for AIDS-orphaned grandchildren require more than love and money for school fees. In many cases, women in Soweto, including Sibongile prioritized the needs of their family members above their personal needs, including the need to manage their diet and medicines for diabetes control. Moreover, in a context of HIV/AIDS stigma, Sibongile and others described how diabetes becomes consumed in a catch-all "chronic illness stigma" where people conflate their diabetes treatment needs with those associated with HIV.