High art and spring woes
Last week, spring came with a confetti of quotes, memes and moods competing against one another for the cool spot.
Spring came with a partial eclipse, which should have been a rare sighting but was really an underwhelming chip off the sun. I expected a little more than that from the sun in the first days of summer but, in nature’s defence, some did say they spotted a decent eclipse in places such as Limpopo, Mahikeng and other areas that may well be closer to the sun.
This all means, quite emotionally, that spring has arrived with a new bag of recycled pressures and old stuff to panic about. Like Chris Brown’s troubled past coming back to haunt him in a recent arrest. Someone else is accusing the Loyal singer of assault again. He says he’s being set up and I’m not so sure I believe that.
Something else that has me in weary disbelief is the hair debate in the wake of the Pretoria Girls’ High protest. When black patriarchy endorses structural racism, the skewed hair debate misses the point and begets misogynoir because Hoteps continue to hotep.
This time around the double-standard, two-stepping came in the audacity of a group of men who launched into black women for wearing their hair straight instead of “natural”.
Their contribution is only an insecure need to police women’s bodies and choices when male power is under threat. It’s not a bad debate at all. It would be more useful if a brother bothered to check his facts.
In case you missed this bit of news, Mother Theresa has been declared a saint by Pope Francis. Theresa of Calcutta has been canonised and made holy after having spent her life fighting poverty in places like India.
But many of her critics on Twitter don’t buy it. Mother Theresa is accused of colluding with dictators for funding and being a bad woman with white-saviour tendencies.
Spring day also fell on this month’s instalment of First Thursdays. An invite to the launch of the voguish Mesh Club at the newly opened Trumpet building in the Keyes Art Mile made its merry way into my inbox right on time.
Walking into the space you’re met by pieces of Mohau Modisakeng in a string of disarming portraits. I suppose they work well in the curated space. They work better than that. The emphasis on visual art and design is perfect. I don’t want to touch anything.
With a glass of something in my hand and a crowd of seemingly important people’s murmurs, I want to drown out the moment’s influences and come to terms with the figure in the images. But I can’t and I promise to come back in the clearer light of day.
Above us is Archbishop Desmond Tutu, suspended in the air, holding on to a chandelier. I’m bored by the effigy. The portrayal seems merely created as a conversation starter and Tutu being hung out to dry feels problematic for me. Ignoring that, I try to keep an open mind and traipse upstairs to the main affair.
Mesh Club had every potential to be pretentious, and for someone who believes in art being accessible, this movement had me a little conflicted.
As an exclusive membership club, however, Mesh does well. It’s for the discerning clubgoer with style and grace, one interested in memorable conversation, collecting art and artistic experiences. I enjoyed the innovative use of the space. It spoke to the liker-of-things in me. I will be dressing up and going back one of these Friday nights.
Finally, the world got into formation and celebrated Bey Day on Sunday. Leader of the Beyhive, Yoncé, turned 35 and there wasn’t a profile picture without her face.
Serious high-teas, din-dins and moments of twirling-on-haters were observed in her honour across the planet. It makes you wonder whether Beyoncé has more fans than Mother Theresa. Happy belated birthday to Bey.