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In Loving Memory Of Kevin Michael Humphrey 

Kevin and I grew up together in Durban. He was actually my brother Tony's friend and as determined non-conformists at one of those all-boys schools rooted in sport, corporal punishment and tradition they naturally stuck together. In fact, they were such good friends that they were expelled from school together. 

Kevin and Tony were about eight years older than me, so I was always the little brother. They spent a lot of time in a room that my brother had colonised in the backyard of my mother's house. There, with the sound of soft Durban rain pattering on tropical leaves and avocado pears crashing down onto the roof, Tony and Kevin, along with some other dodgy Durban characters, did all the stuff that long-haired hippies in the 1960s did. Many of you might be surprised to know that Kevin had an impressive head of hair then and they sat around burning incense and listening to Janis Joplin and Frank Zappa records amid a cloud of smoke. I used to sneak into the room to join in these festivities but there used to come a point in the evening when they used to say: "Christian, it's time to go off to bed." 

Later on, when I finished school, I was caught in the vicious web of national service. I was called up to the navy and was shipped off to the harsh environment of Saldanha Bay for basic training. By that time Kevin was living in Cape Town and when I was given the weekend off I would flee to Kevin's cramped house in Gardens where I slept in a damp basement. These weekends with Kevin and his eccentric group of friends were a complete contrast to my life at the Saldanha base where I spent my time running up and down sand dunes in boiling heat while being abused and humiliated by sadistic Afrikaans men. And those breaks really saved my sanity. 

I went on to study journalism in Durban and then had to move to Joburg in search of employment. Once again it was Kevin who took me in by giving me a place to stay at his rundown rented house in Mayfair. The house had a flat roof with a view of the city and we would spend hours up there playing one bounce football and of course talking with a diverse range of people including activists, anarchists, addicts, musicians, artists, layabouts and hangers-on. As a privileged white boy from Durban, it was truly an eye-opening time that educated me in how the majority of people in South Africa lived, the viciousness of the police state and the increasingly violent fight against apartheid. 

We were very poor, our house was freezing and the general feeling in Johannesburg was one of fear and violence, but somehow, we managed to have a lot of fun as well. If you look at pictures of Kevin, there is always that gleam of naughtiness and humour in his eyes, so sharing a house with him was always going to be an amusing adventure. 

In recent years, Kevin and I have had regular lunch dates where we would eat curry, drink beer, and talk about old times. He would speak fondly about the time he spent at my mother's house in Durban. My mother loved Kevin, but she always maintained that he was what parents like to call a bad influence on me. 

But I will always be grateful for the huge role he played in my life over so many years. Our other great friend Stephen Rothenburg passed away a couple of years ago. He was also a great talker, although a lot of the stories he told were complete lies. Wherever Steve and Kevin are, I hope that they can meet up and spend many happy hours together talking. rubbish like we used to do in the old days 

Credit: Christian Stephen 

'Farewell Poem' 

'Bury me by the South Beach front' 

Bury me by the South Beach front 

Where I had my first contact with the sea 

My grave should be the tourist attraction. 

To recapture my past picnic days, 

When I used to swim and catch the waves, 

My spirit will float and sail to faraway places I had wished to visit, 

When I had no opportunity to travel. 

To dwell with the swimmers and lifesavers, 

And be in communion with the soul of the sailors 

Who rests under blue waters. Who knows the lyric of the sea song, 

Maybe my bones will dance with the waves, 

And sing along with the chorus of the universe. 

By Siphiwe Zulu 

Credit: Joanne Bloch found this poem at the BAT Centre in Durban, KwaZulu. 

'A memoir of Kevin (1972-1983)' 

When old friends pass on, memories come flooding back, and mutual friends that we haven’t seen for ages are once again in mind. 

When I got to Durban varsity in the early ‘70s, Kevin and his crew were the hippest dudes on campus. Kevin was the first white guy I’d ever seen with dreadlocks. His jeans were adorned with a montage of colourful patches, crafted by his beautiful girlfriend Jaqui. Even though he was only six weeks older than me, he was years ahead when it came to post-Woodstock music and the international counterculture movement. He hung out with Mark Newman, a movie buff who dressed like Jean-Luc Goddard, and other cool cats. I sucked it all up like a vacuum cleaner and Kevin and I became close friends. 

In 1978 I moved to Jo’burg to join Mike Kirkwood at the newly-established publishing house, Ravan Press. Meanwhile Kevin was working and learning in Cape Town at Hirt & Carter, the country’s leading graphic reproduction company. 

Ravan was desperately in need of professional book production skills, so Kevin and I concocted a plan to get him to Jo’burg. Mike agreed to set us up as a semi-independent graphic design agency in the same corridor as Ravan Press. We called our outfit The Graphic Equalizer. Also in that corridor were Dennis Becket’s Frontline magazine and Tony Sutton and Kerry Swift’s Freelance Editors. Alongside our in-corridor clients, we provided design and illustration skills to the so-called ‘Alternative Press’. These were politically oriented educational magazines financed by international anti-apartheid funders. Alongside them were other outfits like Shifty Records, and SASO, the South African Students Organisation. 

 Kevin was close friends with a gifted young artist and photographer at the Michaelis School of Fine Art who had just moved to Jo’burg to take up a post at the Jo’burg Art Gallery, whom he thought I should meet. “What’s her name?” I asked him. “Belinda” he said. 

Kevin arranged for Belinda and I to meet at a party in Crown Mines. It didn’t take long for me to fall for her. Kevin warned me that she was a very sweet person and I’d better behave myself. Not long after that, I moved into her flat in Yeoville. A year later we had two weddings – a court wedding in Jo’burg and a Greek wedding in East London, where Kevin and Jaqui were our Best Man and Best Woman. That’s the last time I remember seeing her. 

Meanwhile, I had left the Graphic Equalizer and Kevin was running the show. He had a dedicated crew around him, as well as ex-Sached illustrator Muziwakhe Nhlabatsi and Weekly Mail calendar artist Caroline Cullinan. I was now at the Sached Trust, working as assistant editor and illustrator on a teen magazine called UpBeat. 

In 1983, our first son, Christopher, was born. It was time to move to Durban, my home town. Soon after our move, Kevin told me over the phone about an interesting young woman who had just joined UpBeat. “What’s her name, I asked. “Joanne,” he said. 

Reflecting on that decade, it’s amazing how important it turned out to be. How interwoven our lives were, and how fortunate we were to participate as writers, editors, artists, photographers, activists, lovers and friends. And how our personal stories fit together into a coherent collective narrative. It’s a story that deserves be told, so that our kids and grandkids can gain insight into the transition we’ve lived through. 

 Belinda told me, as I was writing this, that she’d had a close personal WhatsApp correspondence with Kevin in the last year of his life. It started in late 2024 at a time that they were both recovering from serious operations. Their close friendship from varsity days was rekindled, and they talked about the possibility of Kevin coming back to Cape Town. But it never happened. There are many other stories that connect directly and intimately with this one. I’d personally like to know more about the decades that followed the one I’ve just described. I’m sure all of us are thinking about these things at the moment. Kevin’s legacy to us all may well be to take us back into a story in which we’ve all have had a role to play. 

Credit: Andy Mason Thursday 5 Feb 2026 

'Short eulogy from old friends in Cape Town' 

I can hear Kevin Humphries muttering Mark Twain’s sardonic warning about “lies, damn lies and statistics" as we packed the Land Rover and trailer for our gutsy —"Ons skrik for niks" road trip, a late 1970's road trip while we solved resettlement, in 16mm nog-al. In a way, it was a statistic that got Kevin—at his age, he was not meant to die. I remember him splashing mud on our number plates, playfully, like, trying to deceive the special branch cops at Elukhanyisweni. It worked, and we bumped into Maseru to make a call to Nupen. 

In our opinion, cops were a few nuts short of a squirrel—or, we were being played for our contacts. So Kev, so long 'oh lucky man'—lucky man? Yeah why not "an inflammatory class-war allegory about teenage revolutionaries staging an armed insurrection against oppressive authority?" Abaphuciwe—the Dispossessed. 16mm, 52 mins colour 1980. 

Credit Team: Gavin Younge, Amanda Younge, Chris Thomas, Molefe Pheto, Luke Younge, Kevin Humphrey RIP , Jacqui Nolte. 

Obituary In Loving Memory of Kevin Michael Humphrey 

19.06.1954 - 30.01.2026 

Kevin was a warm, friendly and kind person with a great sense of humour. He was a very proud father, who always supported and encouraged his children, and taught them to take pride in their work and be kind to others. 

Kevin was very knowledgeable about film and loved music and reading. He was also always ready to share ideas, discuss anything and everything and tell wonderful and often funny stories about his life. 

Kevin was a democrat who believed passionately in equality and human rights. Many will remember his valuable role as a cultural activist in the anti-apartheid struggle during the 70s and 80s. In 1988, Kevin had to leave the country to avoid being called as a state witness after his design studio, the Graphic Equaliser, was raided by the security police. He returned in 1991, eager to contribute to the new democratic South Africa. He subsequently made his mark in several different arenas, including at the AIDS Directorate of the Gauteng Health Department in the late 90s and early 2000s. 

Rest in peace Kevin. 

We will always remember you. 

'Kevin Michael Humphrey Eulogy by Mark Newman' 

When I started at the University of Natal in Durban in 1972, I was an 18-year-old mixed bag of rugger bugger and beach boy with a strong interest in theatre and literature, and a burgeoning political consciousness. Deeply naive but a seeker a 60’s/70’s kid looking for answers. I was by no means unique but, looking around at my fellow students, I felt quite out of place. The outsider, moving rapidly away from my beach/sporting/standard white South African privileged youth identity but not yet part of anything: not the 'top table in crowd', nor the politicos, nor the hippies, nor the studious nerds nor any other group. As we would say today: 'I was looking for my people' 

Then one day in the Speech and Drama modern dance class I noticed this guy who seemed as much out of place as me. In fact, way more than me. He had this enormous head of hair as close to an Afro as a white boy's hair could get. Wow. And more than that, he was much more ungainly with the dance moves than I was. 

I saw him again at a distance in English and then in the Politics lecture (our lecturer was Rick Turner). Afterwards our paths crossed and he came up to me, a smile on his face friendly, open and greeted me. "Hello". Not "Howzit" or even "Hi". He spoke with an accent that was different from mine and those about us an English accent, signalling his earlier years in the UK. But it was more his tone that was so remarkable. It had a richness and warmth and was laced with a unique humour; it was a voice that, young as he was (we both were), gave him an air of wisdom, of being a man of the world. 

Frankly, I didn't quite know how to take him. And why would he befriend me? Why me? But he did and thus began a friendship which lasted from then until now. I watched and I listened and I learned from him his love for music, for film, for books. He introduced me to Bob Marley and the Wailers who I, like many in those days, had never heard of. He was in touch with trends in art, in style, in graphics in ways that stretched out way beyond Durban, beyond South Africa, beyond the narrow, conservative world we inhabited. How in those pre internet days, I wondered and still wonder could he be so in tune with the world's dynamic youth culture. As we got to know each other, I began to call him" Hump". Everyone in my little world following the English private school norm was given a nickname. Hump seemed to fit him perfectly. On the second or third time I called him that, he looked me in the eye and through pursed lips said: "No! None of that." I was taken aback, but way too scared to try it again. 

Far away in Europe, the year 1974 saw a significant event that was to have major consequences for the whole of Southern African. This was the coup against the Salazar regime in Portugal which, for those less aware of the history, was then the colonial power in both Moçambique and Angola. For us this moment was immense as it altered the power balances across the region, leaving the borders of apartheid suddenly extremely vulnerable. 

At this time Kevin and I were working on Dome, the student newspaper. It's a long story but briefly: we managed to print an edition which focussed on these momentous changes. Rebranded "Doom" the front page carried a cartoon image of a large question mark atop a bomb with a lit fuse. The back cover carried a short article and a map, titled: "Terrorists or Freedom Fighters?" Arrows indicated where the anti-apartheid guerrillas were located at that time and where the new frontiers to be defended from then on. 

To say this got us into a lot of trouble across the university is an understatement. Most vociferous were the engineering students, many of whom were Rhodesians, fresh from their years in the bush war, defending their farms and towns. The student Engineering Society demanded that we present ourselves in person at their meeting to answer for these malicious misrepresentations. Kevin and I were due to front-up, but for some unknown reason it ended-up with just me lending off their insults, slanders and threats of violence. My partner in crime was nowhere to be seen. 

In these years Kevin was with Jacqui, someone who also had a powerful influence on me, completely overturning my ideas of women and their ascribed roles in life. She and Kevin were the sparks igniting stuff in me (and for others, I know). I should mention here Kevin's close friend, Bruce Macmillan, who died some years ago. An odd man (to my memory), a loner, quite on the periphery, but whose friendship, in many ways, characterised Kevin's adherence to another world, to another vision of how society could be. 

He had many such friends, then and later; I’m thinking of Stephen Rothenberg, Trevor Steele Taylor, Joe Shallis, Christian Stephenand Zanele Mashinini. 

After university our lives diverged somewhat. In Jo’burg, where we both had migrated, besides bumping at parties in Yeoville and Mayfair and Crown Mines, were connected at the Graphic Equaliser (what an incredible name, hey?). On my Infrequent visits to the Braamfontein studio offices I witnessed the vibrant and spirited world that Kevin was part of creating. 

Later, when Kevin split the country ahead of bullshit intimidation from the security branch, Robyn and I saw him and Joanne in London. They were in a small flat in Stoke Newington one of those where you put 10p coins in the gas meter to stave off hypothermia. It was soon to be the time when Apartheid saw its gat and we could all escape grey and grisly London to the freedom of the shiny new rainbow version of our country. 

Back home, both our partners Jo and Robyn gave birth to children, named (coincidentally) Georgia and George. 

So began a new era, for us and for the country even if for the latter it turned out somewhat differently from what we had imagined and hoped it would. Our lives also, in so much that followed, changed in ways that we couldn’t have imagined. 

At the end of the 90s, the end of the century, the end of the millennium, Robyn, the kids and I left for a country I swore I would never settle in. I saw Kevin the day before I left at my farewell party and wasn’t to see him again for at least 10 years. During that time and Nomsa produced a marvellous child, Liam. Maybe he will remember me from an afternoon spent with them at Randpark Ridge when he was still at school. 

Again, even though we might not see each other for many months and sometimes years, Kevin was a strong, enduring presence. On the irregular visits I made back home, I saw him once in Randpark Ridge, a number of times in pubs and cafes in Parkhurst and once at his work in Midrand. I never did get the full picture of his life during those years. He wasn’t being evasive; there was just so much to talk about, to follow where our minds led. But I do know it wasn’t all easy. 

The full realization of Kevin's impacts on me came only when we reconnected in these last few years. From the beginning I was drawn to his strength and humour, that spirit in him a spirit of rebellion, of refusal, of the ability to laugh and not be bowed by all that nonsense and shit constantly shovelled down the pipeline at us. He carried an almost other worldly joy even though times were often extremely hard for him. 

In September last year we met a few times at the Cresta Centre (well known to many here). We reminisced about our parallel yet connected lives. Among the many sweet memories we dwelled on the university film society, one of the very few sites of a cultural life in Durban at the time. We both simultaneously remembered the film, Closely Watched Trains, a Czechoslovakian film from the1960s; it seemed to have marked up both profoundly. Talking about it we saw that what had resonated for us both so many years ago was its message of commitment to the good, to love and to a resistance to the shit in the pipeline. 

So, I look at his life and marvel at it. I see the love he had, his values, the qualities of character, the effect he has on others around him. And marvel at my luck at knowing him and having been close to him. I would love to know him more. To spend more time with him, as we all would. But now that's not going to be possible. 

Cheers, Kevin [Overseas]

Zanele Mashinini - the greatness that would not yelp in pain but soldier on

Written by Sipho Mabaso SUNDAYINDEPENDENT NEWS Published Jun 6, 2022

Johannesburg - Zanele Mashinini (1962-2021) was a polymath. He painted artworks of protest, scripted stage plays of dissent, wrote poetic verses of defiance, designed struggle-era rally posters, led campaigns against the HIV/Aids stigma, founded entities to advance the careers of fellow visual artists, and partook in progressive political activism to end apartheid: an avowed dedication to the creative arts as a pillar of cohesive societal renewal, ergo, an artist. Encouraged in his salad days by his working class parents, especially his mother Ma Moloi, to pursue his artistic inclination and talent, Mashinini’s 2018 prose-poem, Women’s Month Anthem, posted on his blog – http://zanelemashinini.blogspot.com/2018/ – in praise of the dames, reads: "Greetings Queen Mothers! How do I speak to the breasts? Suckled to a point of no return, yet giving and giving on my demand, because your beautiful figure has been anything but a workhorse, light to those in search of illumination. Happy Women’s Day everyday."

The young Mashinini, who was educated in Soweto at the AB Xuma Primary School and later at Orlando High School in his teen years, was influenced by a variety of eminent artists, among them Gerard Sekoto, Fikile Magadlela and Basil Baqwa, who, in the 1970s, was approached by Mashinini’s grandmother to coach the then young shoot in the science of the creative arts, wrote Lehlonolo Lehana for an online publication, Full View. In a December 4, 2019, article, "The life and struggles of artist Zanele Mashinini", the artist told Lehana that all his work was guided by a simple philosophy: “If others carry guns to challenge the diabolic status quo. I carry a more potent armoury: my art.” The Mashinini family home was an incy-wincy walking distance from the Donaldson Orlando Community Centre (DOCC), in Orlando East, Soweto, which was then teeming with artistic activities. Fortuitously, the United States Information Services library helped quench Zanele Mashinini’s quest for knowledge as he plunged his nose into the authored works. Mashinini navigated his way through the years to receive instruction in visual arts, creative writing, graphic design, photojournalism, journalism and communication, and Aids management, after which he shared his knowledge and skill when he tutored children in visual arts and drama in Soweto. He blossomed as a fine artist, with exhibitions in Soweto, Alexandra, Mthatha, Cape Town, and then on to the Ivory Coast, Germany, France, United Kingdom, United States and Portugal. Yet, even as a celebrated artist and activist among his peers, a revered leader of his generation, particularly in the arts, he was much focused on the elevation of black South Africans above the Dickensian triple swirl-twirl-whirl of poverty, suppression, and privation, as he remained that life force of which George Eliot (Mary Anne Evans) in Silas Marner (1861) referenced as "the old echo that lingers and refuses to be drowned". Art was Mashinini’s weapon, as political activism through art was his commitment. As we commemorate the Soweto June 16 student uprisings, activist artists such as Mashini will be remembered as having played a pivotal role in our liberation struggle at a very tender age.

His artistic design skills enabled him to employ his craft, in the 1980s, in the design of anti-apartheid promotional material for grassroots organisations. These included labour federations, underground political organisations, youth development associations and the Release Mandela Campaign. He also scripted the lyrics to the Vuka Africa single that featured about three hundred musicians, as well as the design of a South African Post Office stamp that celebrated the 1996 Africa Cup of Nations. His alma mater, Orlando High School inducted Mashinini into its Alumni Roll of Honour. Zanele Mashinini’s younger brother, Nume Mashinini, in remembrance of his sibling said: “I have never seen Zanele without a pen and paper since the days when we were young boys.” Nume said his brother was “very unconventional” in that: “He lived his life through the prism of art, a true artist. “When Zanele was about 15 years old and I was three years younger, in the 1970s, he showed us a portrait of Nelson Mandela (South Africa’s first democratically elected president who was persona non grata with the apartheid regime at the time) that he painted. “Where he got the picture of a banned individual, we didn’t know. My parents got such a fright, they hid his painting materials. Zanele then used actual coal to paint his artworks, which I thought was quite innovative.” And Mashinini had a naughty streak. “He painted cartoons of relatives who visited our home, complete with conversation bubbles of who said what to whom, which was really funny to read,” said Nume.

“He (Zanele) did a lot of things in art: poetry, as an actor in stage plays, fine arts, even writing,” said his long-time mentor and friend, the graphic artist and art teacher, Soweto-based Muziwakhe Nhlabatsi, who, while a graphic designer for the Ravan Press’ Staff Rider, designed, in the pre-1994 struggle-era, the title covers of eminent authors such as Can Themba and Mtutuzeli Matshoba. In spite of their “about 20 years” age difference, Nhlabatsi said he shared with Mashinini a camaraderie and professional understanding from when Mashinini was still a teen fascinated with all things art. “I met Zanele when he was about 14-years-old.” Nhlabatsi said when, with anti-apartheid activist and publishing editor Kevin Humphrey, they started an NGO, Graphic Equalizer, for youth to be trained in graphic design, he invited Zanele to the programme, which was based in Braamfontein (Johannesburg). “We designed promotional material for the ANC and the trade unions, around 1985, mostly activists connected to the ANC, PAC and the Black Consciousness Movement.” They were compelled to shut their doors due to incessant police raids, and Kevin (Humphrey) then left the country for Britain. Though death intervened – leiomyosarcoma cancer, last year, November, about three months after his 59th birthday on August 2, before Mashinini could complete the entire stretch of his life’s mission – he is remembered as a great, yet humble, polymath whose A.D. is worthy of the pen of history.

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