The temperature soars past the point of comfort in Johannesburg and the heat of the afternoon scorches everything in sight and renders it hideous to the eye. I need to find beauty where it no longer exists before the very concept ceases to exist in my reality. I need to source the kind of beauty that can remedy my heat induced misery.
Beauty is, in most cases, a visual experience, so the obvious answer is to venture into the city looking for a stimulant to the optical membrane.
The decision taken is to mission. It doesn’t take long before I encounter some relief from the abject crudeness of the day. I stop in front of a rundown building, headquarters of the Goud Street street-walkers, decorated with the brilliance of street artists armed with nothing but spray cans and vision. The graffiti on the ashen and cracked walls is effortless in constructing a beautiful aura around this otherwise unsightly scene. Even the exposed thighs of the most wanton prostitute look striking against the back drop of the graffiti on the wall behind her. Graffiti is the chosen remedy, and seeking out more will only prove to quench this thirst for beauty. Plus, I can’t stand there any longer, lest this woman thinks that I am here to challenge her for her territory.
In recent years, graffiti has been recognised by the somewhat uppity art world as a ‘real’ form of art and has been commissioned by art galleries and private collectors alike, worldwide. Graffiti has transcended cultures as it was predominantly been associated with the Hip Hop culture, although it has been present as a form of expression throughout history. I mean, the Khoi-San and the Egyptians can be placed amongst Africa’s original graffiti artists. Personally, I prefer the murals that are not commissioned by the rich as I feel that there is more honesty in these pieces and given their sometimes precarious locations, they prove to possess a character that is not captured on the white walls of galleries.
My journey continues and takes me on a ride to Newtown where almost every wall has a piece on it. The majority is breathtaking but I cannot help but to notice the minority. My instinct as a pseudo art critic, schooled in the corridors of appreciation, begins to take over and I get angry. Coupled with the masterpieces are random and irrelevant pieces, usually tags by people who could afford the R25 it costs to get a can of spray paint at Mica. The mediocrity that plagues any community has seeped into graffiti. It is evident in the meaningless abuse of the spray can. This for me takes away from the battle to be heard and be relevant in a generation that needs much guidance. I beseech you, if you are can in hand to respect the art and if you really have something to say, pick up a pen and put the can down. Not everyone can.
Written By: Mantedieng Mantis Mamabolo
