Dying to be Men

A lot of people don’t actually get it.

KJ: The works are quite layered, then, concpetually as well as physically.

KC: Yes, a lot of it is drawn from comments, or words that are part of our popular culture. Some of the things that Oprah says have become part of our vocabulary, our contemporary language. Oprah is king, you know?

KJ: And ‘the perfect Isishebo’? What is that a reference to?

KC: ‘Isishebo’ is a Zulu word for stew. Lately there have been TV campaigns where all these women compete to make the perfect stew. And there’s just one guy, tasting them all. You get women in their sixties, cooking up a stew, and you have this thirty-five, forty-year-old guy telling you that you can’t cook to save your life. It’s still on, I think it’s on SABC 1.

KJ: Would you say that you are a feminist then?

No I wouldn’t say that I’m a feminist… I was raised by a single parent. I think its about knowing what she [my mother] had to deal with.

KJ: You grew up in Zim?

KC: I grew up in Zim, I completed high school in Zimbabwe, and then I came to Pretoria to study. And ended up in Joburg.

KJ: I believe you’ve actually been banned from Zim?

KC: Yes, it stemmed from my first exhibition. I don’t think I was aware of the impact that it would have on me. At the time when I did that, I thought I could paint these burning heads, the wallpaper, things like that. But I didn’t actually think of the ramifications of it. I was a bit naive then.

KJ: What happened as a result of these works?

KC: They started following me around, it was like intimidation. I think they were trying to intimidate me…

KJ: And in SA you’ve also had trouble? I heard you also experienced last year’s spate of xenophobic attacks first hand?

KC: I actually moved out and stayed with a friend. And where I was staying was close to a Methodist Church where a lot of the evicted people were staying, so I helped organise food, clothing, things like that for the people. I was able to help, so there was a sense of pride in that.

KJ: Are you still interested in activism?

KC: I think it’s important, being able to balance your institutional stuff – your galleries and exhibitions – with things outside of that. I’ve been able to balance that pretty well. There are public walls that still have my work on. There’s one in Melville, and there’s one in Market Street. The ones in Melville I did during the Zim elections last year. There is one with a police officer beating down this guy, and it says, 'Vote at your own risk'.

KJ: What projects do you have lined up for the future?

KC: There is this crazy show that I want to do with a friend of mine, called ‘Pick and Pay’, using the Pick ‘n Pay logo, but constructing completely different connotations out of it, I don’t know – we’re still trying to figure it out…

KJ: Would it have a political dimension?

KC: I think I actually want this one to be a lot more sexist. It would be playing with their kitschy advertising – the model they have for advertising.

KJ: It sounds a bit like the kind of thing you see on the internet. The other day, I stumbled across a joke asking 'If you rape a prostitute is it rape or shoplifting?'!

KC: Yes, it’s exactly that type of shit! That’s the shit I’m trying to play with, with Pick ‘n Pay. I’ve heard so many jokes about that – some really disgusting ones. So I’d like to play with that, but make it so sexist, so that people will ask.

People ask me, 'Where were the women? Where were the female politicians? But that’s exactly the point; the subject of women’s rights is constantly neglected. This is what we have. We don’t have an entrenched stereotype of a female politician, because they haven’t been put in that position, I couldn’t create that stereotype: they are not there! It’s changing slowly…

KJ: We are seeing a bit of transformation in this country – there are quite a few female politicians now.

KC: Ja, but sometimes, it would seem that it is just convenient. It seems like they have put women in some of the roles because of representation issues. Constitutionally, they are supposed to put women in those positions, but it is like they do not do it naturally. It would be different if we had a woman president.

KJ: Tell me about the photographs of the empty office. They are quite powerful, maybe because they suggest an absent, implied character…

KC: I think that is why they were quite successful, because of what is implied. They represent three different times of the day. The first one is early in the morning, then by lunchtime, he’s got all that money on the table, and slap chips and bread, a cigarette lit… Kinda like a whole mess. Then in the last one, it’s three o’clock, and he’s knocked off, and he’s not in the office. There’s a glass of whiskey and there’s a G-string in the couch. If you look right by his chair, there’s this image of paradise – a poster of paradise – I think it’s a holiday to the Caribbean. It’s the smaller things; his phone, his computer, they are outdated. If you actually go to Home Affairs, some of the offices do look like that.

KJ: It reminds me of the story of the police chief who was reported as living in his office, earlier in August.

KC: Yeah, (laughs). It’s also looking at institutions; these institutions are also run by men.

KJ: There was quite a controversial review of the show on ArtHeat, comparing your show to Xander Ferreira's 'Status of Greatness' earlier in the year.  What did you think of that?

KC: Yeah I saw it.  No… I’m aware, I read the comment, and it’s always been… I think Xander Ferreira has – I think that’s what the article talks about – he had a similar exhibition… I’m just doing what I like to do, whether they bring up race and all those other things, it’s really up to them. I’m just doing my job.

I think sometimes those discussions are actually quite important, but then that kind of discussion hasn’t gone beyond that. Also you can’t neglect your own history, it will always be a part of art that’s made in South Africa.

KJ: Do you think it’s a valid discussion?

KC: Well, I think it’s interesting, but it’s not necessarily going to change the way I make my work.

KJ: And the comment which one reader left?  'It does not surprise me when black artists succumb to the pressure and end up ridiculing themselves in return for some degree of acceptance…take the show that opened at Goodman last night "Dying to be men" which showcases works by a Zimbabwean artist.'

KC: I think black artists have actually been ridiculing their own culture since the sixties; it’s nothing new. In the Sixties, a lot of African countries gained their independence, and they were looking at themselves, exploring what has changed, what are we trying to become, what has left us like warring states… It’s nothing new. Black Americans have been doing it for centuries, there’s a painter – I can’t remember his name – he made this series of works using the symbol of Aunt Jemima, where he ridiculed his own culture.  So I don’t think it’s anything new.

KJ: Would you say rather that it’s something which is important in a healthy society? That one is able to laugh at oneself?

KC: Yes, I think in some respects, yes. You get to a point where it helps to understand your psyche. It enables you to look at yourself, and ridicule yourself… You don’t do great things - I think that’s across all races - people are fucking up constantly. That’s the comforting part of our species I think. One part of our visual vocabulary is that: gun-toting heads of state, like in Zimbabwe. So yes, I think it’s quite important to ridicule yourself. In the 1960s, when a lot of African countries gained their independence, that was part of their identity formation – to see who they were.