marlene steyn

ARTISTS

A LITERARY SHOWCASE OF SOUTH AFRICAN ARTISTS MAKING OBJECTS.

ART FORMES. A LITERARY SHOWCASE OF SOUTH AFRICAN ARTISTS MAKING OBJECTS.

Hoffman  (b. 1978) is an artist working between geographies and mediums, creating paintings, drawings, and ceramic objects which function as “temporary shelters for thoughts”. Her work jangles with artefacts – the memories of shipwrecks, Japanese gardens, scenes from the corner of an eye, and fragments of poetry. In a studio populated by her coppery dog and creaturely ceramics, Hoffman makes work that captures both navigation and homemaking at their most generous and expansive.

Over time, the studios have been separated by a brick wall, or a hole in the wall, or a thin film over the hole in the wall. Varying degrees of access between the studios are testimonies to time, to each of their developing practices, and perhaps to the relationship itself.

Bucktowar uses clay in a way that is close to the body, and close to the ‘wild’ and urban landscapes that she knows.

Looking at the concrete forms of Sculptor Ledelle Moe, the sculptural works by Bronwyn Katz, Karoo tapestry by Frances van Hasselt & the coralline sculptures of Gabrielle Kruger. 

skarrelbaan — an obscure dialectal phrase that translates with difficulty into a single word. In many ways, this epitomises the essence of Adams’ work, which occupies the place between naming and feeling something.

Weaver of tales. Mother. Baker. Painter. The imagery is, at first glance, playful and inviting to the viewer: little ghosts of goopy glaze float against egg-shell white

This more recent use of clay and three-dimensional space stands in stark contrast to the artist’s drawing and painting practice.

These porcelain pieces were carried down to the motionless Antarctic seabed, where they remain. And we can imagine that eventually they will disintegrate, and that new forams will find them and glue them into new shells, and that the porcelain-making circle will complete itself.

Like a traditional pot, it is hand-coiled and burnished. What distinguishes them as distinctly modern – and distinctly Poswa – is that these vessels are sealed. Atop their heads, crowns: hairstyles, horns, bowls, amadumbe, ikhetshemiya. Rather than contain, they carry.

Catching the dream as it falls into the real — catching the figures of the painting as they fall into clay, and catching herself by surprise, over and over.

His pieces are imbued with a profound reverence, for the earth in all its natural forms – smooth boulder, eroded soil, rocky cliff, stone crevice.

Bulges and cavities, suggestive of the shapes of sex, create a porous space for the viewer.

The language of the body — the language of fire and mud — is not a vocabulary that can be learned or listed. Perhaps it was always there, and can only be returned to.

Kavula’s deconstruction of Shweshwe highlights a fundamental characteristic of her practice: her work is meant to be read.

A book has a spine and a skin and an internal world that we might or might not be able to access. Mysteriously, the spine of the book is not holding up any kind of head. We might imagine that the head of the book is in fact our own head, and that reading is a process of inhabiting at least two bodies at once.

Younge’s absurdist imagery carries a dark humour and subtle commentary on South Africa.

This new experimental body of work showcases Lyndi Sales’ most recent explorations: that of ceramic and abstract painting – combined to create clay maps, or islands, both whimsical and fragmented. 

Encompassing works that are both colourfully psychedelic and somewhat kaleidoscopic in nature, both framed and unframed – even the viewer’s experience has been left undefined. 

Bodily receptacles, not for filling but for holding the artist’s dreamy impasto.

Over the last 50 years, Jack Ginsberg has collected artists’ books of every kind. His collection comprises of artists’ books themselves, books about artists’ books; books made of glass, metal, cork, wood and bone. Some pop up while others invert.

Patrick Kavanagh depicts clay as a caught and listless spirit,  “clay is the word and clay is the flesh …”

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