Tribute: Durant Sihlali (1935-2004)

by Colin Richards

It came as a shock to hear of the untimely death of Durant Sihlali. I knew this exceptional man and artist well, and enjoyed many hours together with him looking at work and talking art.

Durant was born on March 5, 1935 at the Haftels in Elsburg, Germiston, where his umbilical cord is buried. He was the first-born son and grandson to survive what he called "early tragedies" visited upon his parents, father John Sonwabo Sihlali of the Sabalele district, and mother Tjentjie Agnes Moletsane of the Taung clan, who had their origins at Witsieshoek.

They were married in 1928 in Tarkastad, to where they returned for Durant's baptism. He was christened Durant by a French Presbyterian priest, while his grandmother gave him the second name of Basi. She believed this boy was going to be master of his destiny. And so it proved, for Durant was a deeply committed artist and fiercely independent in every way.

Durant Sihlali worked across many media, and was one of the few contemporary artists who lived through the early years of the building of contemporary South African art. He experienced first-hand many of the key institutions and events widely held to be formative of the experience of black artists in the decades of Apartheid and just before. Included here are the Polly Street Art Centre (circa 1953), the Thupelo Project (circa 1982), FUBA (The Federated Union of Black Artists (circa 1982)), and the FUNDA centre in Soweto.

His work in the 1970s was branded pejoratively as "township art" while in truth it documented historical realities which had little to do with the romantic patina and racist paternalism of the term. He spent time abroad in the 1980s and produced a remarkable - and remarkably different - body of works that anticipated artistic interests which were to become widespread in the 1990s, the decade which no-one anticipated.

He exhibited innovative installations at the first and second Johannesburg Biennales and his work continues to be sought out for important local and international shows. Durant continued to exhibit right until his death, and was hard at work at his single-handedly self-made (in every sense) Umhlanga Papers studio when he passed away.

Durant Sihlali remains one of the few visual artists still active until his death now whose artistic career coincides with the entrenchment of formal Apartheid (1948) and predates the Republic (1961). While he is a very significant figure in the founding generation of South African modernist art history, he has also been an important artistic force in post-Apartheid contemporary South African art (1990 to the present).

In this he is unique.

In some ways, he has also been uniquely neglected. While others of his own and earlier generations have rightly benefited from "revisionary" histories of art, these histories have been almost exclusively of artists who went into exile (Azaria Mbatha, Gerard Sekoto, Ernest Mancoba) before or during Apartheid.

Exile in that sense was not part of Durant's experience, although when speaking to him it was clear that Apartheid itself forced a painful internal exile and sense of homelessness on him and his compatriots. In his work Sihlali captures the early moments of a still poorly understood perspective on modernist South African art.

His work also captures not only early debates about authentic "Africanity" in art, but also specific interventions from Europe and America which prefigure current debates about cultural globalisation, art and nationalism and identity formation.

Durant Sihlali will be sorely missed by those who knew him, and by the South African artworld at large. His death will leave a gap in our lives. We must work tirelessly - following his lead - so that the rich legacy Durant has bestowed upon us, both artistically and as a human being, does not get squandered. 

He was truly one of the foundation stones of contemporary South African art.

Durant Sihlali a master

A tribute to Durant Sihlali

I must thank the family of the deceased to grant me the time to say a few words about this great gifted son of the soil.

Thirty years ago, no in 1971 I was a young man living on dreams, my claim to life derived from a short spell as teacher and somewhat uneventful sojourn at Dorkay House as Music Organiser.

I then took it upon myself to organise an Arts Exhibition in Soweto. Those days one could dream as widely as one wished but the implementation of those ideas was always fraught with danger: the laws and the rules pertaining to the black man loomed large over our lives.

About this time, the name Durant Sihlali together with others was mentioned in the Star newspaper on another arts related matter and I decided out of the blue to find this Sihlali.

After some enquiries, I landed at Durant Sihlali’s place without prior notice. I took a gamble because he received me so courteously. And straight away I sold him the idea of mounting an exhibition in Soweto. Without waiting for the response, I told Durant I needed his assistance and I had no idea of what it would cost and no money to my name but was confident the idea would work out in Soweto.

Durant had his doubts about the idea succeeding in Soweto because an outlay of capital was vital in the mounting of the exhibition. He had to know because he had seen these things in the northern suburbs as a successful artist in the country.

Durant was a steady person who showed none of the theatrics common among many people who display enthusiasm for a new idea. His immediate reaction was to offer to take me to addresses of a number of fellow artists. So on the very first trip to Soweto I got to know a number of artists who agreed to participate in an exhibition in Soweto organized by a brother.

In one afternoon Durant revealed himself to me as a man of few words, of a great heart, a good nature, approachable, hospitable, warm hearted, committed to humanity, in other words, dedicated to the cause of good to all men. We struck an affinity for each other immediately and a resolve to work for the success of the first major art exhibition in Soweto. On the day our paths were set by the gods on the same direction. And in time our hearts were sealed for a common good.

But above all else, I want to reveal to this audience a fact I’ve mentioned before elsewhere, on the day I became a student of Durant Sihlali, learning a lot about the visual arts: the very concept of good and bad art, I picked up from Durant and in many years together at Fuba I was to extend my knowledge of the arts through, him, helped in the process by curiosity and the extensive travels around the globe.

I believe Durant’s knowledge of the arts was transferred to my writing of poetry which took place about the early 70’s.

I went away from the first encounter with Durant amazed by the man’s personality, wondering that the Lord God still made on earth people like Durant. At the point I was satisfied and convinced that the exhibition in Soweto would succeed. And so it was with a sense of great relief I drove home.

The exhibition was an incredible success, scores of white people flocked the Soweto Dube YWCA Centre, mixing freely with black local art lovers, a sight unseen before, an experience unheard of as lo as memory could remember and the wonder how the skies remain in place.

The upshot was warning to the women of the YWCA who were summoned before the Superintendent annoyed for been kept out while Ms Mary Oppenheimer was asked to open the exhibition the exhibition in his territory. The wagging finger relayed the final warning threatening the center would be shut down should the exhibition happen again.

Seven years later, Fuba Academy came into being I tried to persuade Durant to head the Fine Arts Department in vain. But a few years later he came aboard as teacher and Head of the Department. He transformed the programme of the visual arts thereby giving Fuba’s greater visibility and stature. Unfortunately this is not the platform for me to detail the work at Fuba - but we gained an enviable face and attracted many young people.

We ran classes at several centres around Soweto, one of which was at the Moletsane Community Centre. That’s where Joseph Phokela joined Durant’s art class. Afew weeks later Durant began to sing praises of the young and gifted pupil. And when the project was transferred to the city, young Phokela was advised to work from Fuba where we were all dazzled by the depth of his creativity.

Phokela lived with his grandmother who was struggling to make ends meet. Durant virtually took responsibility for the welfare of the boy to the extent of persuading an art-lover medical doctor from northern suburbs to adopt the youngsters so that in the end young Phokela found himself enjoying a normal life without cares. Thanks to the intervention of Durant.

Phokela was a unique case in the country in the country insofar as blacks were concerned. In formal education, he didn’t reach the old Standard 8. But London was also dazzled by his talent. Anglo-American sponsored his travel to England where a scholarship waited him at junior level. Then the London University accepted him for a junior degree and then a Master’s degree which he obtained. Earlier this year Phokela held a one-man exhibition organized by Durant which I’m told was a run-away success. I saw the catalogue and I guess Durant’s joy had no bounds seeing one of his pupils to have developed beyond recognition.

Fuba’s students were invited to study in France, Germany, England and the United States and I left the choice of suitable candidates in the hands of Durant.

In 1986 we persuaded the French Government to include teachers in the overseas travel scheme. Durant was the first teacher to be offered a bursary to travel and study in Nice, France. He was there for six months.

On his return, he told me the trip had change his life: he had become more conscious of his African roots. No doubt his style of painting had changed showing off greater sophistication and the images displayed enriched with African symbols. The new Durant articulated more Africanness every time he spoke.

Durant was very humble about his achievements. I discovered one day that he was often listed as the only black among water-colour artists because the medium demanded a particular skill to handle it. I realized the more how great the man was yet he remained unsung among his people.

He was a great example of a man suppressed by the skin of his colour denying him the true rewards of his talent yet amazingly he was not a bitter man. On the contrary he was strong whipping the white man with a subtle smile. He could fool the white world with his sweet smile.

One day he’d just finished a painting when I asked him why he had omitted a certain detail in it whish I thought might enhance the work further. He relied that he didn’t want to be hounded by the Special Branch of the police. I saw another side of his make-up: his devotion to his family. Durant was a dedicated a man to his wife and children and I admired him, envied him for it.

Another lesson from him related to an invitation for a group exhibition in America. The person in looked innocent and credible but Durant was not biting. He disclosed a recent bad experience with an Australian promoter: two years earlier, a number of local artists had entered into an agreement to have a group exhibition in that country and two years after the end of it, the man had disappeared into thin air and no account of their work given. I realized then how much I still had to learn in the game.

Fuba was for ever fighting the battle of keeping afloat: a man had to live and the were bills to pay. It was a sad day when Durant told me he had to find another way to keep afloat in life. He resigned from Fuba but our friendship was so strong that we kept in-touch, Durant telling me from time to time what he was doing, the projects he was pursuing, one of which was Makhono.

The day I visited him on a site offered him by a mining house, I was highly pleased to discover the man had grown beyond belief: his manufacturing of paper material was impressive, his creative work like painting was like taking a leap into the new world. I couldn’t contain my joy for his new direction.

It was on the new site where I got to know his son Linda, a promising artist of whom Durant was very proud. The ideas discussed on occasion promised new beginnings and a great future for Durant and his family.

Now the great humanist is no more. I don’t want another image of this great giant. For me he’ll be the man with an almost self-effacing smile, a humble community worker, unpretentious, soft spoken angel of the Gods. I love you Durant Sihlali, I’ll be at your feet always.

My brother your sudden death is a personal loss; the community and the nation have lost a foot soldier because our freedom has only begun. I pray where you walked will walk a spirit like yours; I pray Gods will appoint in your place a moving soul like Durant Sihlali.

‘A! Skosana! Mzikamhlanga! Novaphi! Phangela! Ntuthwana!

To the family, his wife and children and the relatives my humble words of comfort have a better ring when sung in Xhosa: Lalani ngengxeba, akuhlanga lungehlanga!

Tribute by .Sipho Sipamla’ during the funeral service of Durant Sihlali 08/05/2004

ARTICLE

 

/ 1 JULY 2019

Remembering David Koloane

By Zaza Hlalethwa and Oupa Nkosi

(Oupa Nkosi/ M&G)

After spending his forty year-long career carving out a space for black artists in the global art world, 81 year-old Dr. David Koloane died at his home in Johannesburg last night.

With paintings, drawings, and mixed media collages depicting his home in Alexandra, and Johannesburg at large, Koloane encouraged the consumer to acknowledge the lived black experience through cityscapes and every day scenes in the township and the city.

In addition to his artistry, Koloane’s involvement in establishing black art strongholds and his ongoing work as a curator, teacher and mentor — during times when the art world excluded the public consumption of art by black artists — cemented his role as a hands on, revered voice in Africa’s artistic landscape.

In an unpublished 2018 interview with the Mail & Guardian’s Oupa Nkosi, Koloane explained where the need to create black spaces came from. “They used to call the work that we did as the township art because we were from the townships. Our work was excluded from the mainstream expression of what the whites were doing. So, we felt that we must do something to not to succumb to this idea of being labelled as township art and that we should remove it completely.”

In the interview, Koloane explained how a Pan Africanist focus helped establish the success of what then became the Bag Factory. “At that time in SA, it was difficult to bring different artists to work together. So, we started a workshop programme. Our intention was to bring different artist but mostly black artists to work together in South Africa… We were inviting artists from neighbouring countries from Botswana, Zimbabwe and Mozambique. This was because we never had a contact with them before because of the system (apartheid). So gradually the Bag Factory took off,” explained Koloane.

Some of the efforts within Koloane’s legacy resulted in projects such as the Black Art Gallery, Thupelo workshop, Bag Factory studios along with exhibitions such as the Culture and Resistance Arts Festival in Botswana, the 1990 Zabalaza Festival in London, and the South African section of Seven Stories about Modern Art in Africa, in London. He also tutored at the Federated Union of Black Artists in addition to his curatorial work in exhibitions across the continent and the world that looked to build and fortify a black art network.

His tireless efforts saw him being awarded honorary doctorates from Wits University (2012) and Rhodes University (2015). This year sees his honor continuing through A Resilient Visionary: Poetic Expressions of David Koloane. This travelling exhibition celebrates 40 years of Koloane’s artistic and intellectual contributions. Following its current stay at the Iziko South African National Gallery the show will travel to the Standard Bank Gallery and Wits Art Museum in October 2019.

With his work going beyond facilitating forums, festivals and associations, to provide many artists with a helping hand, the loss of Koloane leaves the art world hollow.

Robala ka kgotso Ntate David Nthubu Koloane. 

Tags: Africa, Alexandra, Bag Factory Artists' Studios, David Koloane, Johannesburg, Oupa Nkosi, Township Art

ARTICLE

 

/ 4 JULY 2019

Why David Koloane always laughed at Bill Ainslie

By Sipho Mdanda

(Oupa Nkosi/ M&G)

Many artists have been known and remembered for their attitudes rather than their works. But not David Ntubu Koloane. Over the years, hundreds of students, mainly from Wits University’s School of the Arts, would rock up to his Bag Factory studio, often without appointments. They needed to consult him on black South African artists, most of whom were his contemporaries, like Sidney Kumalo, Ezrom Legae and Dan Rakgoathe – all who have since passed on. Others popped in to get advice on their work as they were being frustrated by their white lecturers, who sometimes did not understand the issues they were dealing with. Few will ever tell you he turned them down. That is the man Koloane was; a humble and affirming man througout his life.

READ MORE: Remembering David Koloane

I met Bra David Koloane in 1996 when I came to live and work in Johannesburg. I ran into him at the Goodman Gallery one day, looking at artwork for inspiration. We began a conversation in which we discussed the work on show. I was impressed with his knowledge in reading the artist’s works against the subject matter and use of materials. Later, I enquired from Sis Bongi Dlomo-Mautloa, who happened to be there too, about “that man over there”. She chastised me for not recognising Bra David, a doyen of African art. I was so ashamed of my backwardness, as I had known of his work from magazines and newspaper articles.

When, in 1998, I became a lecturer at what was then known as Technikon Witwatersrand, I visited Koloane in his Bag Factory studio to learn from him about his contemporaries as a means to counter the mainly white-dominated art syllabus. Those subsequent encounters with Koloane and his peers at the Bag Factory would prove essential in my appreciation of what he has done for South African art and, more importantly, black artists. A number of the artists had been subjected to the white gallery system that exploited them, going so far as to dictate to them what type of art they should produce and subject matter they should produce.

From discussing the challenges and experiences that besieged mainly black artists, it became clear that the few black lecturers employed in the previously white institutions should change the situation. There was limited material on black artists, as not many white or black scholars had invested in them, with the exception of newspaper journalists. Journalists tended to report what they saw and did not critique the work, perhaps due to lack of in-depth training in art history and art criticism. We also had to look for more black role models to inspire and encourage the ever-growing number of black students within these institutions.

Koloane was born on June 5 1938 in Alexandra to working class parents. The family relocated to Soweto in 1954. Here, he enrolled at Orlando High School where he met and befriended Louis Maqhubela (1939 – 2010). Maqhubela had been attending art classes at Polly Street from 1951 and immediately began to mentor Koloane. What Koloane emphasised about this informal mentorship, was that Maqhubela encouraged him to not copy from books and magazines but draw from nature, advice Koloane took seriously. In 1956 Koloane was forced to leave school to find employment after his father suffered a stroke. Being the eldest child in the family, Koloane obliged. After several clerical jobs, he finally left the world of formal work to pursue his first love (painting) in 1974.

He joined Bill Ainslie’s studio from 1974 to 1976, before venturing on his own with friends, setting themselves up in Jeppestown. Over the years, Koloane has generously shared with me how the students of Polly Street informally, over weekends, taught other aspirant artists in Soweto. These classes started as far back as 1955, where Durant Sihlali (1935-2003), Ephraim Ngatane and others started classes to empower artists who could not attend Polly Street.

During his teen years, Koloane would join these artists in learning skills that would serve him well when his time came to be an artist.

Koloane attributes his love for reading as having given him an advantage over many of his peers. He read widely and knew more about art and art movements around the world than most.

Another critical influence on Koloane was Bill Ainslie (1934-1989). Ainslie had opened up his studio to a number of aspirant artists of all races and creeds. When the time came for Koloane to realise his lifelong dream in 1974, when the company he worked for moved to another part of the city, he enrolled at Ainslie’s studio.

In his studio, Ainslie taught only the weakest points that hindered the artist from achieving their goal. This allowed the artist to develop along his own way and not be bogged down by the dogma tertiary institutions are known for. Koloane relished telling the story of arriving at Ainslie’s studio with his portfolio. After Ainslie looked into his work, he asked him, “What is there to teach you?” Koloane would roar with laughter each time he shared the anecdote. Indeed, in 1975, Koloane and Lucas Sithole had their first exhibition, which sold out.

Koloane, like most black artists of the time, produced works that commented on the socio-economic conditions of the townships they lived in. These works featured mainly musicians and various religious groupings. The music captured a variety of groups that competed to jazz and pop in Soweto. In religion, works featured mainstream churches like the Anglican, Lutheran and Catholic as well as Zionists (amaziyoni). The artists of the day were fascinated by the colours and rhythms of the rituals that took place. Koloane was no exception.

The 1980s were a catalyst for Koloane. With the help of Sir Antony Cato and Robert Loder (both British art patrons), Koloane visited both New York and London Triangular Artists Workshops. These workshops cemented, in Koloane’s mind, what he needed to do back home to empower and grow the art practice of his fellow men. This resulted in the establishment of similar workshops to be known by their seSotho name Thupelo Art Project, a turning point in the experimentation by black South African artists, resulting in new and fresh art devoid of the hated “township art” label.

In Koloane’s words, “the advent of Thupelo Art Project provided the structure for initiating workshop programmes. The collective studio project has enabled individual artists to utilise the studios as a laboratory in which the artists can consolidate their technical maturity.”

As the projects grew, Koloane continued producing work, giving seminars, teaching and attending conferences. He ensured more artists benefited from his experience through multiplying and decentralising these centres across the African continent. He also influenced the opening of residencies for artists from around the world. As a token of his hard work in changing the landscape of South African and African art, universities such as Vaal, Wits and Rhodes awarded him honourary doctorates. This is no mean feat for a quiet, methodical man whose vision was to see artists producing work unhindered by issues such as space to work from.

Sipho Mdanda is a curator at Freedom Park and the VIAD associate researcher

Tags: A Resilient Visionary: Poetic Expressions, Bag Factory Artists' Studios, David Koloane, David Ntubu Koloane, Sidney Kumalo, Sipho Mdanda, Wits University’s School Of The fine 

Sideview

Commentary, reflection and views by Frank Meintjies

Thursday 28 June 2007

A great artist who drew in blood - tribute to Sedumedi

Why must great artists who have contributed so much die unsung and largely unrecognised? What is wrong with this new South Africa that we cannot honour such courageous and visionary figures, asks Terry Grove, a guest contributor to the blog. By TERRY GROVE

On 11 June 2007, the artist from Meadowlands, Percy Sedumedi died. This notice was sms'ed by his youngest daughter, Itumeleng. “My dad passed away last night. Was with him yesterday afternoon, was convinced that he’s getting better but hey… TB.”

After the normal initial shock and sadness one feels at the loss of a loved one set in, I remonstrated with myself. TB - how is it possible for someone to die of a preventable or curable disease in the 21st century and in South Africa?

Not one of the myriad newspapers in South Africa carried an obituary, not in the week that he died or the weekend of his burial. What is wrong with us? How is it possible that not one of Percy’s friends thought of it?

I am not looking to apportion blame or indulge in a meaningless diatribe but I have so many niggling questions. Percy, talented artist – creator of the Messenger Series (I have one on my wall), and the comic “Travels of the Free Spirit”, founder member of the Soweto Artists Association and sculptor died penniless in a Johannesburg hospital.

How is it possible that one of the people who helped keep freedom’s dream alive in our hearts during the turbulent 70’s and 80’s died such an ignominious death a week before the 31st anniversary of the 16 June 1976 student uprising? Who in Soweto can forget the exhibition mounted by Percy, Fikile and others at the height of the ’76 uprising? Some of the works on display were drawn in the blood of the artists. This was done to demonstrate their solidarity with the students, despite the danger of imprisonment.

The anecdotes of Percy’s antics are legendary – some comical, some politically astute and others sad. He was the classic troubled genius – as art-lovers we marvel at his genius while, for his family, the troubled side, in terms of his role as husband and parent, was often the more immediate reality. Although he loved Connie and their girls, he never cracked the father- spouse thing. He did not quite get that having a family meant that material provision needed to be constant. Neither did he get it that being a dad means you actually need to be around when children are growing up.

For Percy there was no middle ground, always the high or the low – good or bad. And when they were good they were mind-blowing. My memories were mostly the mind- blowing stuff.

Percy entered my life when I was an adolescent. My father brought home a stranger one day in the late 70’s. He had met him on the Grand Parade in Cape Town. His artwork was rolled up and carried under his arm. He knew nobody in Cape Town but was determined to exhibit his work and not via the route of the white gallery owners.

So Percy came home to number 12 Sondousteeg, Silvertown and became one of my brothers. A strapping round-faced individual that fitted right in with the Matthews family. I was intrigued by his speech patterns. In one sentence he would use a mixture of Sotho, Zulu, English and Afrikaans and more often than not the sentence would end with “d’jy ken”. Percy was ahead of his time linguistically.

His artistic output during the period he spent in Cape Town was prolific. Not only did he draw and paint, he also made sculptures of plaster of Paris. These were baked in our kitchen oven.

When the Community Arts Project (CAP) was launched in Mowbray in the late 70’s, he conducted Sculpture classes that my brother Quinton and I attended for a while. My presence was merely to make up the numbers and to experience Percy the teacher.

That I had no obvious talent was no matter – art is for everybody and the communion of kindred spirits was enough. He made no distinction between people and embodied the concept ‘motho ke motho ka batho babang’.

Percy made me understand the nuances of South African life. Language and how he mixed it up forced me out of my English – Afrikaans comfort zone. He was as uninhibited as a child and the world became an infinitely wondrous place when he was around. He was so accepting of other people and their opinions.

David Blackwood, the Canadian artist from Newfoundland, says: “I’ve got a strong belief that people who’ve gone before are watching, observing. And they’re in a position to help you as well – I think they watch in a positive way”. I recall these words and I can almost hear Percy say, “I’m around, d’jy ken”, and I am comforted.

Percy Sedumedi was born on 6 October 1950 in Sophiatown. He married Connie Senoele and was the father of Lerato, Kagiso, Nina and Itumeleng.

By TERRY GROVE, Guest contributor.

(As always, readers are encouraged to comment and, in so doing, to keep debate and discussion alive!)

Posted by Frank Meintjies at 00:58  

Labels: artist, hero, Sedumedi, tribute

6 comments:

Letters To My Younger Brothers & Sisters said...

He was brave, bold, talented, intelligent and oh-so-funny.

He pushed every boundary he came across. His creativity lives on.

This article is a good reflection of my dad. On point.

6 July 2007 at 11:49

Turiya said...

I'm not suprised. All I got was: "PS. I'm sure you know Percy Sedumedi and Nhlanhla Mbatha are dead." Nothing else no blog no obituary no how di they die or when. Both great friends who I morn... Why nothing said was because the media was not fed. Nobody sent press realease. No jornalist who knows Ta' Percy's greatness works in media anymore.

But what about other artists what about Nhlanhla Mbatha? How did he die? Was he not great?

I loved Percy, I glorified going to the Market Theatre just to see him. He was always happy and I was happy he knew me.

"Ehh Thando!" he would shout across the street. I felt proud to be known by Ta' Percy and always hoped to hear his theories on life, all of which never dissapointed me.

He said once. Don't complain about obvious things like the sun is hot, it's been hot all your life...

I send my condolences to his daughters who were my age and tell them what I believe. Your Father Lives, through all of us who were touched by him.

Turiya Magadlela

24 October 2007 at 11:27

Tembi Mbobo said...

When you've known and been quite close to a character like Sedumedi Sedumedi all your adult life, that is, the better part of 25 years, it is hard to accept their passing. Worse still if the passing of such a great artist goes unlamented and unannounced, it surely is a crime.

I was already in England when my daughter Turiya gave me the news. I immediately went on-line to see what kind of an obituary the Mail & Guardian and/or The Sowetan had written of this funny genius. Needless to say I found nothing.

I was married to Fikile when I first met Percy and ours was to be a lifelong friendship, continuing long after I had parted ways with my husband.

Percy, who spent many a night at our abode could be both endearing and annoying. Annoying because he couldn't keep his pennies in his pockets long enough to reach his wife and daughters. But he could reach a shebeen faster. Well, most artists at the time tended to make these watering holes their homes.

I remember many an ocassion when Percy would quickly scribble a painting, say in a shebeen or somewhere around the Market Theatre, then flog it to anyone who could spare a buck.

It was such a pity. But I hope his infectious laughter is still booming in the world yonder, with his mates Fikile, Cyril, Winston and others. I was blessed to have known them all.

May their families be consoled by the fact that such genius did pass through this world.

14 May 2009 at 17:16

Anonymous said...

He was MY DAD and I Loved him to bits He was my best buddy no matter what. I couldnt let his ways stand between us thats why i miss him so much.He used to help me with my illustration assignments and he had a lot of my kiddies wear range illustrations ahead of him but God wanted him too.last time i saw him he agreed with a smile when i asked him about my illustrations thats why i thought i was going to see him the next day only to recieve a call that evining about Percy my dad's death.I always feel his spirit when im around people who knew him well he is so immortal in my heart an thoughts REST IN PEACE DAD LOVE ALWAYS NINA

16 November 2009 at 19:42

Biddy Partridge said...

In London, I googled Percy Sedumedi and found the news of his passing. Years later. Felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach.

Free Spirit, The Messenger, with his flute and his pen and his funny wise stories. It's fitting in a way that there is no blog, no obituary in the mainstream because he always swam against it. But maybe we could publish what we have of him (sketches, cards, memories, photos) online somewhere. He should never be forgotten.

8 June 2010 at 14:18

Hatim said...

"A brother is a brother through another brother" mused Percy in his inimitable ways. Be at peace.

I have works by Percy to remember the days of "sobbing thirst" coined by Fikile. Percy, pained at heart radiated joy to all the ill health that surrounded me.

Hatim

23 November 2010 at 22:52

Fikile Patrick Magadlela

Fikile Patrick Magadlela

St Aidan’s Anglican Church, Yeoville

06 September 2003

December 13, 1952 

Fikile Patrick Magadlela of 105 Muller Street, Yeoville, was born in Newclare, Johannesburg on December 13, 1952. His mother, Mrs Lydia Malotane, was sixteen at the time and still at school. So, soon after birth, Fikile was adopted and brought up by his mother’s uncle Arthur ‘Mclipper’ and his wife Mavis Magadlela.

Fikile grew up first in Dobsonville, and then in Meadowlands, where his family was moved in 1958, under the Group areas Act.

In his own words he wrote: ‘I was brought up in a loving setting, pampered but not spoilt. I got everything a child wanted. Attended a crèche, dressed and ate well’.

Throughout his whole life, he always regretted the fact that he was only told at 18-years of age, who his biological mother was.

Fikile started schooling at Nakile Lower Primary, proceeded to Enkolweni Higher Primary and then to Meadowlands High School.

Writing about himself he said: ‘I was good with drawing from age three’. He was in his late teens, and a student at Meadowlands High School when he chose to become a full-time artist.

Like most people of his time, Fikile was a self-taught artist, whose mentors included the late Ezrom Legae, Solly Maphiri and Piero Cuzzolin who became a father-figure to Fikile until his death last year.

His works have been on numerous successful exhibitions overseas in countries like Czechoslovakia; The Netherlands and Australia and around the country, displayed by such galleries as Berman’s, the Johannesburg Art Gallery and Goodman in Hyde Park.

A master at pencil drawing, one of his most famous works was the ‘Dance of the Second Creation’; a work that depicts the artists own perpetual quest for spiritual solace. Although his earlier style of drawing was likened to Salvador Dali for its surrealism. Fikile was in a class of his own, perhaps more akin to Dumile than Dali. Later in life he was dubbed, ‘the angry artist’ as his works as well as his poetry became dark and sombre.

The genius, whose drawings and paintings still grace many international embassies and consulates in South Africa, as well as government offices and private homes, had his first one-man show in 1979. His retrospective exhibition, which was also the highlight of his career, was at the University of South Africa [UNISA] in 1995.

About two weeks ago some of Fikile’s works were returned from Australia and are now housed at the Pretoria Art Museum as part of South Africa’s heritage.

A week later, he was honoured by fellow poets at the Windybrow Theatre.

At the time of his death, Fikile was working on his autobiography which he told his writer should depict an interwoven tapestry of his paintings; pains and passions.

He is survived by Judith Tlotleng; his two mothers and father; 10 biological and adopted children among whom is the equally talented Noluthando Turiya Magadlela. Fikile also leaves three sisters; two brothers; cousins, nieces and nephews. He will be sadly missed by all those, whose lives were touched by his earthly presence.

Manchild

I’ve forsaken the front

a prince so fierce and yet so peaceful

to take up servitude as any birthright

Time slipping through my hands

young maidens scarred by time

I’ve seen my first sperm of manhood

meandering down an hour glass

that life of a manchild.

The here manchild never knew love 

be it from a mother

neither brothers and sisters

only the father

who knew the hardship of life

and

It was a manchild understood.

I’ve laid myself on the threshold

of life

with pride I stood up

walked on. Never to look back

with sentiments or remorse

life goes on.

Turbulent times and trying times 

I’ve seen with tears welling in my eyes

I could see the blurry rainbow

end

that the life of manchild

never the same 4

life has a way of straight through

faults of manchild

it has happened and it will always happen.

Fikile Magadlela 19/12/1992

Zanele Mashinini

Genius Needs Money – How do you think Art gets created?  

 

Credit: James Sanders 

 

Zanele Mashinini is that rare thing – a township organic intellectual. He is also one of the funniest men in the southern hemisphere. A unique creative artist – fluent in words and images – Zanele is something of a role model for confused youth in Soweto.  

 

When it was not fashionable for Soweto youngsters to
enrol for an arts education. He instead got himself a place in a community arts school. His linear drawings, his signature style to this day, catapulted him to stardom. 

 

Zanele, taught youngsters fine arts in the townships of Soweto before the security branch got interested in him political activist's. Zanele's political satire linear art aptly titled "Free But Fucked" blew on his face. 

 

The poster attracted the wrath of apartheid security police. The soft spoken artist was hounded and harassed by apartheid security apparatus. The only way out for Zanele was to flee the county of his birth. 

 

According to Mondri Mongra his friend from Mongolia, he says "Zanele whose non de plume was Jovianne Maikweianne stayed in Ulaanbaatar for several months and was unable to speak any of the local languages. 

 

Mondri Mongra who still has some of Zanele's masterly creation was relieved to learn that his long lost friends was still alive. "Zanele just disappeared like a puff. We were asleep together in the same abode when Zanele took off. We spoke until the early hours that morning." 

 

"Like in a sordid detective story. There were no bye byes. Zanele just disappeared. Knowing his limitations when it comes to negotiating his way around the City. I thought he had just gone around the cornet.  

 

What counted against Zanele was his language deficiency. I thought there was no way Zanele could leave the country." 

 

"What also made me unease was the fact that we have uncontrollable gangsters activities in out neighbourhood. I was alarmed when Zanele failed to come back home." 

 

"The fact that there are miniscule Africans in this part of the world make me very nervous. In my head I thought it would be easy to locate Zanele. As it turned out I was very wrong." 

 

"I scoured morgues, police stations, brothel and night club without any trace. I am so thrilled to learn that my friend has come back from the dead. How this chap left Mongolia is a unfathomable." remarked Mondri Mongra who look older than his actual age. 

 

1984 – Military and Psychological training in North Korea. Passes out with full honours. Popularly known as ‘the dear visitor’. Immediately placed on CIA emergency red-light warning list. 

 

A visionary, Zanele is intricately connected to the spirit world but equally happy getting stuff for free. Carly Simon claimed that Warren Beatty was ‘where he should be all the time’ in her 1972 hit ‘You’re So Vain’. Zanele Mashinini is where he shouldn't be most of the time. 

1985-1987 – Plays defensive midfield for Red Star Belgrade. Impenetrable football skills described by the Yugoslavian national team manager as “rigid, erotic, balletic and ultimately unnecessary.” Career-ending injury in European Cup semi-final – departs pitch to traditional Belgrade chant of “Taxi for the big man.” 

 

He has never flown a Lear Jet up to Nova Scotia nor has he seen a total eclipse of the sun but he has exhibited his art in Paris, Zurich and Barcelona. His writing has been published in South Africa’s most prestigious journals and he is often consulted on matters of national importance.  

 

1988-1980 – Enters the Space Program at NASA in Florida. Passes all tests with flying colours and is selected for first Martian expedition – later cancelled due to lack of funds and popular unrest in the Fort Lauderdale area.  Mysterious disappearance of more than three tonnes of apples in the Deep South unexplained to this day. 

 

Zanele Mashinini was born in Soweto on 2nd August 1962. He was the same age as Hector Pieterson on 16th June 1976. From a family of seven children – six boys and one girl – Zanele has continued the tradition by also having seven children – two boys and five girls.  

 

1990-1991 – Opens small mountain cafe in Alegria, El Salvador, specialising in rare coffees and a full English breakfast. Later worshipped as a god by the local community – The Church Of Zanele incorporating mermaid love as a central tenet of its theology. Peace breaks out throughout Central America.  

 

‘Mr Mashinini’ as he often called by friends and neighbours, is a paradox: he knows everyone but is misunderstood by most. Some see a sangoma, others a military veteran. His leadership skills are opaque, his IT technique extraordinary. A cartoon should be published daily in the newspapers: ‘Zanman’ – Hollywood movie versions to follow.  

 

1992 – Recruited by a travelling circus in Phnom Penh, Cambodia where he snake-charmed, sat on the top of a pole in the jungle for weeks at a time and studied ancient healing charms. Writes classic South-East Asian one-act play investigating negativity, earache and tax fraud: ‘Ne’. 

 

 

1993 – Returning to Europe, works as a male model on the Milan catwalk. Following a vision of ‘17 elephants dancing the tango’ retreats to a hut in Umbria where he lives on rare Italian cheeses and studies jujitsu and synchronised swimming. Records epic Wagnerian techno album under the pseudonym ‘Klaus 4’. 

 

1994 – Ends decade of wandering by returning to Soweto for the 1994 democratic election. Get under employed, unemployed and unemployable. Depending on how you view Zanele has refused to be a victim of the circumstances. When we met with Zanele he was busy writing a biography of his late brother Minus Mashinini killed by known comrades. 

 

Zanele still lives underground. He has no known address. No bank book and friends. He normally gets sanctuary at Zola where he will stay with one of the most illustrated struggle artist\illustrator Bra Mzwakhe Nhlabatsi. If not in Zola Soweto, he is in Walkerville in the South of Johannesburg Metropolitan away. 

 

This reporter has learnt that Zanele has other crib across South Africa, Mozambique, Zambia and Lesotho. Zanele hopes to exhibit some of his art in a one man show. When asked what his future plan is: Zanele a serial isangoma says "The Ancestors will dictate" 

 

Prof. James Sanders born in London and stays in the United States is author of Apartheid Spies, an international political commentator, investigative journalist, founder editor of Molotov Cocktail. 

 

Sanders has worked for the BBC, ABC News, News of the World, he has also travelled extensively across the world.