Kentridge at the Met
by Joost O. Bosland
Kentridge has done it again. In 1999, he was the first South African artist to appear on the cover of a major American art publication. That same year, he had a solo exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. With an average of almost one international institutional solo exhibition per year he must be, by conventional standards, South Africa's most successful artist. The latest addition to his resumé is a solo gig at New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art: 'William Kentridge: Selections on Paper.'
The exhibition currently running at the Met, as the museum is commonly referred to, is an overview of the roughly 15 Kentridge works from the institution's permanent collection. All pieces have been acquired over the past three years. The dedication to his work on the part of such a major institution is a great honour for Kentridge.
If one follows the standard directions to the exhibition room, one is welcomed by the large linocut Untitled (Walking Man Turning into a Tree). Its daunting presence in the staircase is an apt introduction to the show. The work suggests a multi-faceted relationship between man and nature, allowing for the possibility of human beings' rootedness in a particular landscape. The label points out how the image can be read in the context of rural Africans carrying both heavy physical and historical loads on their shoulders on their journeys by foot.
While walking past the linocut, vague sounds of unfamiliar but compelling music become clearer and clearer. At the top of the stairs, the music is fully audible, and turns out to come from the opposite corner where an animated film is projected on the wall. Tide Table is Kentridge's most recent film about his fictional capitalist, Soho Eckstein.
Being able to see Tide Table was delightful, after having read about it in Emma Bedford's Kentridge profile in 10 Years 100 Artists. It was delightful too, because the Met's modern art collection is heavily slanted towards painting, and is known for its conservative focus on figurative, easily accessible art. That focus is only logical, if one considers that the MOMA has its vast building just a few blocks down Fifth Avenue, and presents the cutting-edge to contemporary arts enthusiasts. For the Met, contemporary art is hardly a priority, and their audience mainly comes for the vast imperial collection of beautiful old stuff.
Having what was perhaps the only contemporary video piece in the entire museum at the heart of the Kentridge show definitely attracted attention. I could not help but overhear one woman ask, 'Is this art?' and after looking at the label yelling at her friends, 'Hey guys, this is a work of art!'. I also heard a 15 year old boy exclaim loudly, 'Dad, dad, there's a movie!'. And while the Kentridge room was on the whole less populated than rooms with average Impressionists, Tide Table had a modest but constant crowd gathered around it.
Less eye-catching but certainly as strong is the work Casspirs Full of Love, which shows a case of disembodied heads. Casspir, a military vehicle used by the apartheid army and police, is a term that for the general audience needs some explanation, which is indeed provided. Whoever wrote the explanation, however, deserves a slap in the face and a mandatory lecture on (South) African history. Let me quote from the wall text:
'In order to protect its northern border with [Angola and Mozambique], South Africa undertook a military action in 1974 using armored riot-control vehicles called Casspirs.'
First of all, the apartheid regime had very different reasons for invading Angola and Mozambique than protecting its border: it aimed to destabilise its newly independent neighbours. Secondly, Casspirs - to the best of my knowledge - were not used by the SADF until the early Eighties. Thirdly, the most powerful connotation that the Casspir carries today is its use in violently crushing township protests. Providing an interpretation of Kentridge's piece without pointing to that connotation is poor curatorship.
Atlas Procession I and Atlas Procession II also form part of the show. The former should be familiar to anyone who has visited Iziko South African National Gallery recently, as it hangs prominently in the first room. While the label at the Met links the image to protest marches and such, I was disappointed that no mention was made of the background. The procession of silhouettes marches in a circle, against the backdrop of an old map of Greece. There has been some controversy about the interpretation of this choice in recent South African art criticism, and when I noticed the work at the Met I futilely hoped for some illumination on the subject.
Perhaps Kentridge just likes to use old atlas pages as backgrounds, but seeing Atlas Procession II next to I does add an extra dimension to the issue. In II, the background to a similar procession of outlines is a map of South-East Asia, with the island Borneo clearly distinguishable. Unlike Greece, that region is not synonymous with the cradle of civilisation in popular myth. Perhaps Kentridge is drawing our attention to the irony that lies in the contrast between the two regions. If anything, South-East Asia was probably more 'advanced' than Greece was in early human history.
Let me emphasise that the Kentridge works collected by the museum form a stunning and representative selection of his recent work. Tide Table (interestingly enough donated by Kentridge and the Goodman Gallery themselves) is the cherry on top of a delicious cake. I do hope, however, that in the future a little more attention to socio-historical accuracy is given when these works are pulled out of storage.
Closes: April 10
Metropolitan Museum of Art
North mezzanine gallery, Lila Acheson Wallace Wing, New York
