a blog that tells joburg's stories
Celine Dion blares from a Nissan boot. A man pokes at the coals of a make-shift braai in an iron drum. A little white boy in a torn Spiderman T-shirt scampers across the road after buying a packet of Nik-Naks from a spaza shop. A police van hurtles past, blue siren screaming. A skinny dog pushes its snout into a pile of rubbish. Paint peels. The Jukskei stinks. Children sing. I’m walking through Bertrams, and watching a play…
I first heard about ‘the Gordon Road house’ through my previous landlord, Toni Morkel. Along with stories about Bez Valley, she also told me about a house that she once lived in. The house, which is located on Gordon Road in a now derelict, forgotten part of the city called Bertrams, sounded like a fascinating and curious place – it was an abode of mostly fun, some pain, and a lot of history. And behind its two remaining bay windows, lived three pyrotechnic brothers – the Taylor brothers – who could bend your ear with stories about art, drugs, and Joburg…
The first time I met Toni, I was roped in to ‘push the buttons’ on a cheap CD player that balanced on a wonky stool. Toni was rehearsing a scene for a play (The Last Show) in her front room with Roberto Pombo, and it was my job to press play, according to certain cues. I missed said cues because I was completely mesmerised by her performance – even though it was ‘just a rehearsal’, it was clear to me that Toni was a hugely talented performer.
According to the Oxford Dictionary, the word ‘epicene’ means to ‘have characteristics of both sexes or no characteristics of either sex’; much like its meaning, The Epicene Butcher (And Other Stories For Consenting Adults) is very tricky to pin down: it’s theatre, but not…
I remember the first time I saw a dog walker in Joburg. It was a few years ago, and occurred somewhere between the last bastions of old, white wealth: namely Westcliff and Saxonwold. I was in a car, and was only able to catch a glimpse of a black man in blue overalls, with two Jack Russells tugging at the lead. The experience left me somewhat confused: did the dogs belong to the man? To me, it seemed incongruent if he was the owner. But I couldn’t pinpoint why…
Frederick Clarke seems a little hesitant when he shakes my hand. “Are you nervous?” I ask. “No, no it’s not that.” Long pause. He continues, “The less people know about me the better, which is why I’m apprehensive about interviews. I don’t really want to talk about me, and I’d much rather talk to you about the world.”
I have a story to tell – it’s a story of change,” says Muntu Vilakazi. His current solo exhibition, entitled The Politics of Bling: An Eastrand Culture Quest, brings South Africa’s socio-economic changes – for the good, and for the worse – into sharp focus…