THE FESTIVAL OF LAUGHTER

April 17, 1994

Exhibition poster, 1994.

Bakhtin stresses that laughter in this ‘festive-comic’ sense cannot be understood as a form of trivial ribaldry or light-hearted jesting. Rather, folk laughter expresses a distinctive ideological viewpoint which is diametrically opposed to the ‘monolithically serious’ world of officialdom: it is ‘universal’, it heals and regenerates, and it is linked to essential philosophical questions.[1]

 

This Festival of Laughter was a group of concurrent exhibitions organized and sponsored by the National Arts Coalition (NAC) to coincide with the historic first all‑democratic elections in South Africa. The general secretary for the NAC at that time, Mike Van Graan.[2], conscripted me to put up posters for BAT and then the NAC. I was at some point ‘promoted’ to coordinator for the Durban contingent of the Festival of Laughter. My job description included making calls to participants, designing posters and advertising the events. A number of themes were selected to correspond with various cultural venues in Durban and elsewhere. For example the Burn-The-Sacred-Cow Sculpture Exhibition was delegated to the NSA; while the Nudge-Nudge-Wink-Wink-Be-Kind-To-Politicians Poster Exhibition and the Dying-Springbok-Sporting Emblem and Flag Cartoon Exhibition seemed ‘more appropriate’ at the FLAT Gallery. Other events included the Tango-To-Toyi-Toyi Dance Festival, the Not Approved by the Publications Board (or Cultural Desk) Short Story Competition, and the Not-by-Bread-Alone Banner Exhibition which took place at the Natal Playhouse.
These irreverent titles, that seemed to fly in the face of ‘seriousness’ and ‘political correctness’ were timely and controversial. As the elections approached, artists debated the need for work that embraced the contradictions and complexities of the political arena. Humor was seen as a potential tool. This not only echoed the recognition of the ‘ideological power’ of humor in the face of ‘officialdom’ as expressed by Bakhtin, but also the spirit of Albie Sachs’ call to find new means of expression for the new South Africa.
An important book in South African Cultural Debates, Spring is Rebellious documents an original statement by Sachs and some 22 responses from artists, writers, cultural workers and political activists. (Indeed, in South Africa, are many individuals who embody all four). Written for an in-house ANC discussion in 1990, Sachs’ statement received “immediate, if controversial acclaim” according to Ingrid de Kok.[3] Here he first asks whether “we have sufficient cultural imagination to grasp the rich texture of the free and united South Africa that we have done so much to bring about”. He goes on to reconsider his earlier affirmation of “art as an instrument of political struggle” calling it now “banal and devoid of real content” and “potentially harmful”. He declares that “our members should be banned from saying that culture is a weapon of struggle”.[4]
As expected, voices of protest took objection. Many questioned whether such a statement would undo good work; others took issue with his assumption of ‘authority’. The specter of ‘non-political’ art, and therefore creative endeavors that were unmindful of cultural conditions must surely have alarmed many who had seen the struggle of political art in the face of apartheid censorship. But in what she saw as a “tongue in cheek” declaration, De Kok describes the importance of Sachs controversial declaration in this way:

This ironic prescription is followed by an analysis of “solidarity criticism” and the instrumental and “narrow view” of culture; these impoverish artistic production as well as the struggle, restricting the capacity of artists to move forward to expression that would “expose contradictions, and reveal hidden tensions”, and in doing so reflect the “emergent personality of our people”.[5]

Sachs speaks to the limitations of ‘political art’, by comparing a gun with a work of art in this way:

There is no room for ambiguity: a gun is a gun is a gun, and if it were full of contradictions, it would fire in all sorts of directions and be useless for its purpose. But the power of art lies precisely in its capacity to expose contradictions and reveal hidden tensions - hence the danger of viewing it as if it were just another kind of missile-firing apparatus.[6]

He calls for a kind of cultural production that not only embraces the ambiguities, but also celebrates:

And what about love?… Can it be that once we join the ANC we do not make love any more, that when comrades go to bed they discuss the role of the white working class? What are we fighting for, if not the right to express our humanity in all its forms, including our sense of fun and capacity for love and tenderness and our appreciation of the beauty of the world?[1]

In many ways, the Festival of Laughter’s irreverent take on the upcoming elections was expressive of a similar attitude, and indeed provoked a similar protest. This move by the NAC, was, in a sense, politically confrontational on two fronts. It mocked the apartheid government, but, it also regarded all politics with a sense of parody and humor. It aroused opposition for the seemingly ‘political incorrectness’ of using ‘humor’ in the face of ‘serious’ political events.
In an ironic development, a white South African lecturer from the University of Durban Westville (UDW) Fine Art Department, Erica Clark wrote a letter to the Natal Mercury to protest the festival. UDW was traditionally a non-white university and notorious in South Africa for political activism. The Fine Arts Department was self-declared to be against a ‘Eurocentric model’ and featured in its curriculum attention to African and Indian Art History. The genres most typically explored in the studio work were painting, sculpture and printmaking. Clark’s opposition to the spirit of the Festival read:

FESTIVAL OF LAUGHTER IS A BAD JOKE
The Arts Coalition recently launched a campaign for the festival of laughter to be held just prior to the April elections. The blurb that accompanies forms inviting participation manifests a crassly superior disdain for the significance of April 26 to 28. Only a privileged and bored coterie of dillentantish liberals could conceive of a project gesturing at ‘freedom of expression’ in the midst of extreme social trauma. However naive seriousness might be under our circumstances, the trivial and the vain are hardly worthy alternatives. The art world has often enough heard the east catchphrase about whites “not suffering by proxy”, but laughter and witticism take such a comfortable intellectualization to final banality.
E. Clarke[2]

This letter led to a debate between the Coalition’s representative, Van Graan, and Professor Clark. Clark’s criticism that a “bored coterie of liberals” could conceive of such a project in the “midst of extreme social trauma” was answered by Van Graan. In an article by Humphrey Tyler for the The Weekly Mail, Van Graan’s response is recorded:

Mike Van Graan, probably the least bored person in Durban, the general secretary of the National Arts Coalition, who conceived of the whole idea, leapt to attack in return the “extreme hypocrisy” of those who claim to believe in democracy, in “freedom of speech and the freedom to criticize, but only if it is on their own terms and only if it fits in with their own view of the world”. He pointed out that “the violence, the deaths, the burnings which we are experiencing are not ordained by the gods; they arise out of the power lusts and egos of politicians”.[3]

The irreverent theme of the Festival was carried out in several locations, and the FLAT gallery was asked by Van Graan to be responsible for the poster and cartoon exhibitions. An open call went out to all artists to submit work. As only a modest number of entries came in from the open call, the regular FLAT participants were moved to contribute a substantial amount of the works for the show. Also, in an effort to bring to what was an externally motivated event, we approached what could have been a rather conventional presentation of posters with some humor of our own. We hung the posters erratically, and we put fresh bananas on the floor, tables and even hung some from the walls. We also provided a cacophonic sound‑track. The event was described by Tyler of The Weekly Mail in this way:

The timing was important ‑ a week before elections, a national festival poking fun at politicians, with satirical posters, monuments, flags and comedy routines. The National Arts Coalition’s Festival of Laughter got off to a raucous start in Durban.

How appropriate in a way for a Festival of Laughter, but really. The slender young lady with rakish hips languidly stretched out a naked arm at the poster exhibition and lifted a banana off the old‑fashioned light fitting. She peeled it, tasted it thoughtfully with her little pink tounge, then slipped it delicately between her pearly teeth. “Oh Shit”, said one of the organizers, “now they’re eating the artworks”. Well, yes. She obviously didn't get the symbolism. Banana? Banana? Banana Peel? Foot? Get it? Slip? Funny? Laugh! It was the opening night at the FLAT Gallery on the Berea in Durban of the Nudge‑Nudge‑Wink‑Wink be Kind To Politicians Poster Exhibition.[4]

 

Piers Mansfield, a student from Tech, constructed an installation in the back room which he sealed off with a black cloth. One could access his work by looking through a peep-hole in the cloth, only to be blasted with cold air from a fan that had been placed behind the screen. The line of viewers that formed called to mind an old trick: a prankster stands looking at a spot on the ground or through a keyhole. He looks at nothing, but a crowd gathers to see. In that same article, this was met with mixed reviews by Tyler, who had this to say:

The FLAT gallery is called the FLAT Gallery because it is a flat. When they have an exhibition they move the furniture out, hang the art stuff on the walls and sleep in the kitchen. This week in a nook there was a black curtain with a little hole in it and everybody queued up to peek through. Would there be an orgy? Bit of letdown actually. Inside there was a fan that blew on you and gave you a cold eyeball. It was difficult to see how it fit in but it attracted a lot of attention.[5]

He also goes on to describe two of the posters included in the exhibition:

Easier to comprehend was a mock street sign warning of dancing pedestrians entitled, “Let’s Twist Again” and a newspaper poster appropriately reflecting these strange times that said: “Miss SA’s row with lesbian skinhead.” Handing out mock ballot papers was a young woman called Adi Paxton, wearing a red nose. She explained she was a clown. She said you could vote for her as many times as you liked. “Take another ticket.” She said.[6]

Paxton was in fact a ‘professional’ clown and hired out her services to parties. The obvious connection her appearance made between ‘clowns’ and politicians was not lost.
For the exhibition, I made a number of posters with cut-up Zulu­ language phrases, without translating or knowing their meaning. This was a project to which I would return with later sound works, when I sampled Zulu text in Zulu for Medics. I saw this as being somewhat problematic, in the sense that such an action might be regarded as an act of disrespect for a language that was not my own. And yet, these two projects catalyzed a number of interesting conversations between Zulu speaking friends and myself.
I was very intrigued with the idea of using a language, other than my own, in a way that would be truly unconscious. That is, I would have no idea what I was actually saying and the work would perhaps transgress boundaries through my lack of conscious control over its meaning. As Zulu speakers would question me about why I had said a particular thing, I would then go into a conversation with that person and learn what I had just unconsciously expressed. Hence a dialog was catalyzed.
Barry and I also had “FLAT” printed onto shirts, which we wore at the event. Barry's shirt contained an extra phrase, “Annual production declines again”, which was printed over a set of international flags, thus making each undecipherable. A photograph was taken by Peter Engblom which shows Barry and myself wearing the FLAT shirts; and in the background the cartoon/poster showing a merged Mandela and de Klerk.

The FLAT event was opened by artist and lecturer, Jeremy Wafer, “who managed to raise quite a few laughs during his address”. In her article in The Daily News, Meijer goes on to quote Andrew Verster, who has this to say of the festival:

The message is clear. Never again will artists allow their voices to be silenced, our minds to be appropriated by anyone, not stolen, lent, bought, borrowed, shut‑up or closed.[1]

FESTIVAL OF LAUGHTER example of a carton from the cartoon and poster exhibition, 1994.

Another article, which was penned “Tonight reporter” and printed in The Daily News, had this to say:

The aim is to assert freedom of expression by providing opportunities for artists and the public to practice it in a provocative, yet innovative and humorous form…. A FLAT Gallery spokesman said: “The country is moving out of an age of censorship and complacency and the last thing we need is to move back into another one.” [2]

The FLAT Gallery’s involvement was not limited to the poster/cartoon exhibition at the gallery. In addition to this production for the festival, a number of FLAT regulars also participated in other exhibitions that formed part of the Festival of Laughter. Most significantly, this was the Braai the Sacred Cow at the NSA Gallery.
For this, Horsburgh and Barry brought in a table and a chess-board, and for the entire evening played chess in the gallery.[3] I opted to make a work of art through a ‘profit-making performance’. I brought a braai into the gallery and cooked boerewors; filling the gallery with smoke, as I sold rolls to the hungry audience. It was a not-too-subtle pun on the Braai the Sacred Cow theme, as well as a parody of the white South African national pastime.[4]

Most of the audience did not regard me as an ‘artwork’ and thought I was actually just providing food for the event. They did not seem to find it strange that I was in the middle of the gallery amoungst the other ‘sculpture’ with my ‘title label’ on the floor in front of me. It amused me that I was at last ‘making a profit from my art’.
In the gallery, Horsburgh and Barry played chess, while I braaied. The ‘artist as art’ was a performance strategy explored by many South African artists in an attempt to bring his/her own identity to the foreground. Peet Pienaar, a Cape Town artist did a performance in 1996, in which he stood in front of the Hänel Gallery dressed as a “rugby player in formal attire”.[1] In this way he both referenced traditional white culture and critiqued it through a “white South African voice”.[2]
In a parody of government licensing stamps, Barry had also ordered an official looking stamp ‘engraved’ with the words “Artistic License”. He then invited people to produce their ID books, and stamped it on the page that was normally for gun licenses. It was a highly illegal act because any defacement of government property is or was punishable by imprisonment.
Walker Paterson, who was a regular FLAT participant and who had exhibited in the Papermaking exhibition the previous year discussed with me his work for the NSA exhibition:

Allen: Was your “Cape settlers with Colour Xerox” work exhibited on one of the Festival of Laughter shows?
Paterson: Yes
Allen: Could you talk about your motives for making this work?
Paterson: I had decided I wanted to make a work that reflected the tastes of the white middle-class who still watched ‘South African’ dramas about the Boer War. I also cynically suggested that they owned a print of the arrival of Jan van Riebeek in the Cape that hung above the mantle piece. [An alternative version of this work, which “predates the arrival of Van Riebeeck”, can be seen on the following page.] Secondly I feel as a white South African it was my duty to do a piece on the arrival of Jan.

 

THOMAS DRY BARRY 'Creative Licence', 1994.