Archive: Issue No. 82, June 2004

'Democracy X' is a carefully and cleverly designed exhibition that snakes its way through the bowels of Cape Town's Castle. It is dominated by parallel narratives - visual and textual - that present layered representations of the history and development of southern Africa. It spans a vast time period, from the earliest remains of human object-making to the present day.

Traditional museum tactics are employed to make the show easy to negotiate. Captions and blocks of text intersperse the displays and provide historical background to the objects on show. However, meaning is also made through various other means, primarily analogy. The recurring image of an X motif not only emphasizes the title of the show but also binds objects of differing origins into a common humanity - the human impulse to make, decorate and imbue objects with power and signification. The emphasis is on the humanising aspect of democracy: now all are equal in their right to mark a cross on the ballot sheet of the new dispensation.

In one of the first cabinets one finds ancient bird bones from the Blombos Cave site, decorated with tiny cross-hatching. As the exhibition unfolds thereafter, these early signs of ornamentation resonate with a number of decorative elements found on many other items.

The patterns of crosses on ceremonial wooden doors, divining implements, religious artefacts, pottery and colonial medals, not to mention the red beads that cross Dingaan's chest in an eighteenth century depiction, all reinforce the underlying message of the exhibition: the resonance of human meaning-making through signs and symbols. The clearest X to shine out is the sixteenth century copper ingot, cast in the recognizable shape. This signifier of wealth, power and prosperity represents aspirations not unlike those of post-apartheid South Africans.

The schematic layout of the show echoes the well-designed map at the entrance. The viewer becomes part of the construction of meaning by being inserted into a three-dimensional schema that is both linear and networked in parts. The colour of the walls and display cabinets mimics those found in the early map of the castle in room three. The flow of the space is reminiscent of the snaking aerial view of queuing voters found at the beginning and end of the show. This image of linking, flowing and snaking is also echoed in the repeated imagery of beadwork.

Curatorially, items are strung together to make aesthetic and conceptual sense similar to the first shell beads shown in room one, the gold strings of power from Mapungubwe, and the trade beads and other beaded items and ornaments that dot the entire show. The use of incision as a way of marking and decorating is also an important link to the title of the show and between the combined cultures on display. It, again, emphasises the significance of recording history and of the act of voting.

The etched marks of rock engravings resonate with the early European postal stones, engravings into sticks and pottery are mimicked on the surfaces of silver European urns, Zulu engraved horns and in copper plate etchings.

The painted mark also acts as a visual link between objects and representations. The painted ochre of the Khoi-San stones is linked to the watercolour depictions of these people as seen through European eyes (Charles Bell's Bushmen Driving Cattle up a Kloof, 1836). The soft muted colours of these latter paintings reverberate with the chalky tones of the Castle space and the faded inks of twentieth century objects, such as the drum cover and W.H. Coetzee's painting Nagmaal.

The use of other media is also successful and presents both correspondences and juxtapositions. Light is used effectively to draw the viewer through the space. Dark wall colour and dim lighting enhance the mood of the first two spaces. This seems to emphasise the ancient context of the objects shown here. The quality of light in the twentieth century section (room five) becomes less theatrical and works with the transition of the time period into the present day.

Sound pieces are scattered throughout the spaces and offer an alternate, enriching experience to the dominant visual. The sounds of Khoi-San singing emanates from the large hearth in the second room, again creating a meaningful resonance with the act of trance dance and the central fire used in such ritual practice.

The sound of oral histories - relating tales of Dingaan and, in the following room, Nonqawuse - overlay the viewer's experience of surrounding objects. I found the combination of flickering Boer war film imagery and the lyrical Xhosa retelling of the story of the prophetess amusing and moving.

Film and video footage is carefully integrated throughout the show. These reels add another dimension to the primacy of the objects, and act as reminders of the actions of the human body in relation to the objects presented. I found the inclusion of William Kentridge's animation Mine a particularly useful representation within the context. The fascinating footage of the 1952 Van Riebeeck Festival seems to be a little sidelined within the context of the objects that surrounded it. There fails to be adequate contextualisation at this point, the film does not speak adequately for itself.

It is this particular section of the show that seems a little confusing. It attempts to address the cultural significance of the everyday. Instead, to my mind, it results in a hodgepodge of objects and subjects. Surely the role of women as "custodians of culture" could have been more richly presented? While the objects and images displayed here attempt to link political activity (early posters, images of Cissy Gool and so on) with recreation (artefacts from sport and music) and other cultural activity, the coherence is not as strong as in other parts of the exhibition.

I wondered why headphones were used at this point, when the rest of the space allows for layering of sound and image. I think Miriam Makeba singing Back of the Moon would have worked quite well over the Van Riebeeck Festival footage!

The inclusion of artworks by various contemporary South African artists also fails to live up to the nuances of the rest of the exhibition. The artworks fit but the text framing them does not. Some artworks manage to get away with merely a title and name as label (for example Johannes Segogela's The Devil's Tea Party and Sue Williamson's TRC work).

Other works, however, labour under the didactic weight of lengthy or reductive explanations. Jane Alexander's Integration Programme: Man with Wrapped Feet is described as a "response to the brutality and torture suffered by many political prisoners". This it may be, but I have always understood it to work on many other levels too and felt a little irritated by this reductive statement.

Similarly the descriptions of Kentridge's Mine, Gavin Younge's Force's Favourites and Willem Boshoff's Shredded Evidence are also too didactic for my liking. A range of strong images -photos and posters - that make sense surrounds these pieces without lengthy explanations.

For example, the video footage of the Gugulethu Seven funeral linked clearly to the crowd motifs of UDF and COSATU posters, and the photos of various protests. Why then do the curators feel that artworks must be explained? Surely the viewer could be left to her own interpretive devices when it comes to making meaning of these artworks, within this already highly didactic context?

The problem, I believe, stems from the mercurial status of art in the museum context as both historic artefact and timeless presentation of individual subjectivity. It seems that these artworks here are grouped as historical artefact towards the end of the show. Yes, art did play a role in the liberation movement of the 1980s, but art is more powerful than merely being reduced to artefact reflecting time and place.

Perhaps there might have been more artworks scattered throughout the entire exhibition, in order to create a parallel layer of visual commentary and subjectivity. The integration of George Tobias's Gold Bars into the history of mining seems like an example of how this could have worked more successfully throughout the show.

Another disappointment came at the end of the viewing experience. After the moving build-up to democracy, the viewer is again thrust into a dark space: one of disorientation and despair. The last two rooms consist of only video and photographic images. These focus on the AIDS pandemic, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and the current state of democracy ten years on. The lack of objects is overwhelming.

I felt as if I had been won over to the power of objects and then told to forget everything I had just learnt. Of course, it is important to reflect on the subjects shown in these two last spaces, but why a shift in curatorial direction? Objects linked to HIV and Aids work, various documents/ artefacts from the TRC and cultural objects reflecting our current democracy would have spoken more effectively, to my mind, than the sombre sounds and slow moving video pieces shown here, despite their individual merits.

A 28-year-old myself, I was not moved by the commentary of my contemporaries. Yes, we are the first generation of post-apartheid voters but please show what we have done - music, design, text, entrepreneurial products - rather than our verbatim opinion. As with all the other wonderful and intriguing items throughout this show, it is the remnants of this current generation - in the cultural artefacts that we produce - that will stand as testimony to the new democracy in times to come.

Despite these criticisms, 'Democracy X' is an absorbing and successful display of cultural and political history. This opinion is reflected in the public comments in the visitor's book. The site of the Castle works exceptionally well to frame - literally and figuratively - the collection of meaningful objects. The slickness of this shows stands as testimony to the importance of adequate funding and thorough design concept for such projects. May it have the public support and exposure it deserves. Look out for the forthcoming publication of the catalogue: if the show is anything to go by, it should be an essential reference book to own.

Opens: April 21
Closes: September 30