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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.