Friday, December 25, 2009

Sililo Abraham Maseko - a life time Colleague 4

Sililo Abraham Maseko - a life time Colleague 2

Sililo Abraham Maseko - a life time Colleague 1

Durant Sihlali - let the spirit live



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

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