These scenes originate from urban legends that have been circulating for decades, enticing the viewer to debate between what is real and what is fiction or myth against a backdrop of collective paranoia. One could criticize the artist for using pull tactics similar to that of tabloid media to attract an audience. However, the fact that these works are executed with precision and professionalism reveals how Sober critically observes and critiques art making, thereby exceeding any conventional modes of grisly representation most often associated with this topic. These gruesomely intriguing works only hint towards the legend Sober refers to each time, leaving a lot of room for self-interpretation. The subject matter comes to serve as a mere tool in Sober's research around notions of performativity and different possibilities on executing and documenting contemporary performance art.
'Girl You Know It's True' took up the mezzanine space of KZNSA, with the bottom level occupied by a show called 'NEW WORKS' by Pascale Chandler, Marianne Meijer and Nicole Pletts. The opening speech concluded in a request to the visitors that if they like any of the work on show, they should 'Put your money where your mouth is and BUY! BUY! BUY!'. I found this address revoltingly broad (yet applicable, after contemplating reasons for producing some of the works on show downstairs) and was appreciative to experience some subtlety made up by the more ephemeral pieces in Sober's body of work, that might have gone unnoticed by some.
A big shipping crate filled with bananas took up the central space of the mezzanine level. I helped myself to a banana, initially pleased with what I guessed was a healthy Durbanite approach to exhibition catering. I wandered around the show some more while tucking into the free food. Standing in front of a neatly framed front page of the Daily Sun, it took me a couple of seconds to make the connection between my snack and this work. The headline read 'FLESH EATING BANANAS. Three Dead After Eating Killer Fruit'. Nobody else was eating the fruit on offer and I am not sure whether it was out of some kind of paranoidal fear or merely exhibition etiquette telling us not to touch the artworks.
Arriving back at my car, with memories of photographs and videos fading, I found a handwritten note under my windscreen. The author said they had found a R200 note at my car. There was a phone number I could call to retrieve my money. After a couple of minutes I realised it was naive thinking I could score R200 by calling a number jotted down on a piece of paper I found. I looked around to see that each windscreen had the same note attached, and I quietly chuckled to myself.
