A tribute to Dinkies Sithole

A tribute to Dinkies Sithole – One of the most gifted Soweto’s selfless social artists
what a gentle god
what a gem,
what a genius,
what a genesis,
what a genuine general,
what a great guy,
what a guru of our generation
and what a grandmaster of our time.

Eish! Eish! Eish! Dinkies Sithole!

Where once was your voice, remains warm memories. Memories, as priceless as those pieces of art works, you once created our own god of the art. In our hearts of hearts, we dedicate a space for a graffiti wall with an apt homage: Today … oh life … oh life, Dinkie Sithole’s rich a kaleidoscope of worshipped collections, comes to an abrupt end. Let us celebrated his life and works, and remember him for his generosity of spirit. Some of us have salivated before your work, like hungry teenagers who cannot get enough of exclusive sumptuous cuisine.

You have now taken a flight to world unknown to humanity, disappearing once and for all from the horizon. Now all of a sudden it has dawn on us that we have never known you. You’re always played us like those countless canvasses with your bold signatures. How come we so stunned about your departure, if we knew what was on hand? The many handshakes and the pleasantry we exchanged mean so much to us. Our hearts holds on to all those art pieces, you gave us an opportunity to connect with. Unfortunately it will take some doing to repatriate those masterpieces from our memories.

Anyhow, we are left so rich spiritually, physically and otherwise. We surely have had a privilege of walking side by side with a time tested fighter baked from our own backyard. It’s a pity the art world here at home didn’t celebrate you accordingly by according you the respect and reverence you deserved. We witness in aghast as you dig up your accolades in Europe and some parts of our continent.

Maybe it’s not a pity; it has now become a norm for many to of us to witness this ludicrousness. It’s normally said that prophets are not crowned and recognized in their own country of birth. You did us so proud. Commendation to you Dinkies Sithole! Just image a youngster from the streets of townships studying in Scotland through his owns initiative and going on to conquer the continent and the world. The same cannot be said of some of us, we remain on the margins, although had hoodwink you in believing we too we able to do it on our own without the support of the system.

Eish! Dinkies we have know you as an artist par excellence. A world class celebrated creator, an unpretentious poet, a dance who cheated death many a time whilst the sound of gun fire from the conscripts rained in Soweto. This is a part of history that many didn’t know. You never talked about your activism escapades, except in passing. You were such a daring youngster, full of vim and willing to sacrifice limb and life to liberate our country.
Yes, you will be remembered as a dapper of note, an African son of the soil, whose well kept dreadlocks complemented your bright and friendly face succinctly. To most of Orlando East residence, you were more like a boy from next door. You spoke our own language and share in our joy and pain, even when some wanted to elevate you to the status of demigod and feted you like Royalty. You politely refuse to comply and instead remain firmly rooted on the ground.

Most of us at your invitation use to retreat to your studio at Bag Factory, and eat from the palm of your hands. Not one willing to be misunderstood, for hours on end, you use to lecture every soul who lend you an ear passionately about your works. Your assertive yet warm demeanour, lives through the colourful body of work, confidently cooked day and night on your canvass.

We remember you as an unapologetic straightforward and outspoken artist. When some had sought sanctuary in the private or public sector, you chastised us for taking the easy route out. If a legend falls, our solemn pledges sounds like verses from one of your dark poem. When we had, had to sob your departure, everything else mimics your sorrowful tap dance routine.
Whenever we feel robbed of an exceptional talent, some of us walk down the memory lane and remember the patterns you once played in the company of Tlale Makhene, Mmonna Mashinini and Thebe , Colin Tshabalala and many more youngsters from the township of Orlando East under who studied under the tutelage of the late Jacky Simele.

Your reluctance to give in to the status quo has taught to never cow. You were able to achieve so much on your own without knocking on those steel bar doors. Simply put, you were your own man, and managed at your age to cultivate your own pathway.

When you had cautioned that “our generation must learn not to point fingers, and that our generation must be respected for doing it on their own!” Some took your advice with a pinch of salt. No we know we must refuse to be underdogs and not wait for some crump to be thrown our way, we need to take our own initiatives!

Like your icon and role model Michael Jackson you are GO TO SOON. Our only consolation is that your spirit will always be with us. The wink of the candle of Orlando East, which has burnt itself in the arts fraternity to give light to others, has been put off. It proper and fitting to ask of you to send fraternal greetings to Koto Mkhuma, Jacky Simela, Matsemela Manaka, Dumile Feni, Bra Winston Saoli, Fikile Magadlela, Durant Sihlali, Ben Macala, Eli Kobeli, Sydney Khumalo, Percy Sedumedi, Gerald Skoto, Dan Rakgoathe, Philip Malumise and a host of other artists who enriched our lives.

Gracelessness never featured in your vocabulary. Your rich contours spoke to handiness. Now we shall take to life and doff our hats off to you. We are grateful to have had you as our soul mate and one of the most dependable brother, comrade, friend, family member, acquaintance and artist’s ambassador.

Within our ranks God gave us a gift, an astounding thinker, a polished philosopher, a social activists and a stimulating fellow traveler, who never shied away from questioning. Most of us who have had the pleasure of interrogating you, will miss your brashness, robust intellect and above all warm spirit. Who can forget your unmatched disposition of allowing others spaces within your studio to intrude and loom large as you labour laboriously creating those varied images?

Now that the paint has dried forever in all of your canvases. We feel you in our own veins. Obituary can be written; verses can be crafted; our pens may drip with sweet tributes; and may come with poignant eulogies. Yet, none could best write an appropriate elegy like you.

Knowing you, you were fond of the smell of words. Likewise I suspect you wasted no time in writing homage to yourself. We imagine you hastily packing your entire bags ready to read the content on your way upon uniting with your clan. There’s no doubt in our mind that you were an unpredictable character. You told us about the Bamako Mali Exhibition yet omitting to share with us the details of your pending exit from mother earth. These anticlimaxes if one consider how open you were come as a shock. “Come to my studio and check my creation, I would be out of the country for this long, sounded your beautiful immodest voice every time you were going elsewhere. You were always updating, in the best and worst of times.

Within a short space of time, we had known you, you managed to touch us in many ways. You, thought us to be humble and remain true to our own convictions and principles, even when our own world crumble before our own eyes. For someone who has wow audience in far flung capital of the world, you refuse to go about as if you own the world. There was no air about you; you deliberately choose to remain an integral part of the poor and insolvent.

Your beautiful smile has always inviting us to join you for a coffee. Such was your creation! Constantly, and so often, you talked your mind. You were as fearless as a general who leads from the front. “Artists, need to know that they must churn their own destiny! Artists are not supposed to be praise singer! Artists must not be going around with their hands capped and beg for contaminated funds!” the above statement was your mantra. For some of us, who had known you as a knee high lad we admired your candor.

Some in our midst categories you as a multimedia artist, some referred to you as an eccentric tap dancer, others a documentary photojournalist and the rest of us as a prophetic poet. In your life you never wore any of the above designation with any honour. You remained firmly rooted on the ground like a committed general.

Today the paint is now permanently dry on the canvass. Our own life which forms a greater part of your creative pool, asks questions. We think it’s a premature death. But, for some who had witnessed you light up the stage, dazzle the artwork, and bewitch with your verses, reluctantly accepts your departure, because your enthusiasm was unparalleled, you locked yourself in the studio like someone possessed and in a hurry to create and leave us behind.

Your brushes will surely miss your gentle touch of yours, your caressing signature is no more. What a voice of reason you were. You were always evocative, elegant and very difficult to pigeon hole. One so young and yet a great giant.

Penned by Zanele Mashinini (African Artists in Action Against AIDS) and Lebo Zulu (Lebo Zulu Creatives)

Alphabet letter 'C'