Art for the people…even the plebs

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Posted on July 26, 2011  /  61 Comments

By Melany Bendix

I’ve never been much of a fan of traditional art exhibitions. All those people milling around the work on the wall, nodding knowingly and talking in hushed voices, bandying about terms like Postmodernist, Neo-Dada, Fauvism and Hyperrealism, while quaffing the free wine. I’ll come right out with it: to me, it’s a pretentious cliché, too exclusive, and, well, dead boring.

Before my inbox is filled with irate mail from art lovers, let me add this disclaimer: I probably only find these types of exhibitions tedious because I’m way out of my league when it comes to art discourse. This was proven by “the incident” where, at an exhibition at a high-end gallery, I attempted to make that hushed-tone small talk with the person standing next to me. “A five-year old with a pack of cheap crayons could have drawn that,” I said, pointing to the pudgy scribbles flowing out of a single black circle. As if from a scene of a B-grade comedy, the person was, of course, the artiste himself, and a well known abstract artist at that. As the Twitter hashtag so succinctly puts it #EpicFail.

That should illustrate how much of a pleb — some might even say Neanderthal — I am when it comes to art. But here’s the thing that bothers me: art, I believe, should be accessible to all, even art ignoramuses like me. It should be something that enriches and beautifies our life every day in ordinary settings, and we should be able to engage with it even if we don’t have a clue what Postmodernism is or can’t name a single Renaissance painter.

This is why street art appeals to me. Over the years I’ve been excited by the murals emerging on Cape Town’s buildings, down side alleys in run-down lower Woodstock and brightening those cruel apartheid jokes — the depressingly identical grey council flats in Athlone and other Cape Flats suburbs.

I don’t have to think too much about street art and what it means to me, I don’t even have to talk about it to anyone or debate its origin and influences; it’s just become part of my life. I interact with street art, mostly unconsciously, as I drive or walk past murals and fleetingly admire them. The messages and images — Lady Justice, a regal African women towering above De Waal Drive, words like “freedom”, “democracy”, “hope” — all linger and become embedded in my psyche.

The City of Cape Town’s latest bylaw, which makes art on any publicly viewable property (private or public) illegal without prior permission is, I reckon, a serious threat to our street art culture [see the latest edition of The Big Issue for details]. I understand the reasoning behind the bylaw — to clamp down on graffiti vandalism, like tagging. And the City has made the distinction between street art murals and random, self-indulgent tagging. On the surface, it all seems reasonable, but the bylaw raises serious questions around our right to freedom of expression, not only for the street artists but also for property owners.

I’m enraged by the idea that I would have to apply for permission to paint a mural on my house. Unless it constitutes hate speech or anything else that impinges on the dignity or rights of others, I believe I have the constitutional right to express myself artistically or otherwise. If I want to paint a giant Jabba the Hut on the front wall that I have so painstakingly paid for, I should be able to do so without first having to get the City’s stamp of approval.

The other issue of criminalising street art — for this is essentially what the bylaw does — is that the bureaucracy involved in getting permission and approval for a mural can be so laborious that it drains the spontaneity and creativity which characterises street art. This puts the artists’ work at risk of becoming watered down — Street Art Lite. There’s no doubt it is deterring some street artists from spending their time and creativity beautifying the City, and many may just give up and take their talent to other countries where their art form is recognised and appreciated.

Now that, to me, is the real crime.

Melany Bendix

Editor, The Big Issue South Africa