Subverted structures: ‘Customs’ at A4

A review by Sonya Solanki on the 9th of August 2022. This should take you 6 minutes to read.

A4 Arts Foundation
02.07 - 24.09.2022

I arrived at Customs with an idea of the fourteen artists included and the broad premise of the show. I was interested in the convergence (or divergence) of its title “Customs” and the ways in which the curators Sumayya Vally and Josh Ginsburg relayed their thoughts through the breadth of work included.

I pondered on the various definitions of the idea “customs.” The word may refer to a kind of frontier or port for items, people or belongings to pass through after a series of inspections. Here, these objects are regulated and levied by structures of control. It may also refer to a set of behaviours that are either traditional or widely accepted to a particular society, place or time. The images of roadside mosques from which Sumayya Vally gleaned inspiration for the show also allude to interstitial spaces: the structures themselves are architecturally and spatially diverse, yet their purpose is unified. As roadside mosques, they imbue ritual and sacred space, acting as a visible cue for a set of customs followed by those of Islamic faith. I ask, what kinds of customs does the show ordain?

Installation view: George Hallet, Peter Clarke’s Tongue 1979 (foreground); Peter Clarke, Anxiety, 1969 (background). Courtesy of A4.

Keeping A4’s ethos of playfulness in mind, I began with the exhibition’s wayfinder. The first entry, George Hallet’s 1979 print Peter Clarke’s Tongue, set the mood for the show, hinting at what was to come and linkages to be made (Peter Clarke’s Anxiety is also included in the show). The poignant image of Peter Clarke holding a cowbell conveyed deeper symbolism – that of a purification of space, a locator of livestock and the intimacy shared between two friends. The image hints at nguni spirituality and times when these traditions were cast to the side by dominating powers.

Instead of following the numbers indicated on the wayfinder that led to the larger exhibition space, I was drawn to a threshold marked by Igshaan Adams’ Al asma ul Husna (a reminder of the beautiful names of Allah). I tentatively parted the curtain of thick thread and heavy beadwork, walking into a small area of books placed on shelves. The books, pertaining to artists included in the show, were positioned slightly above eye level, almost as a kind of reading shrine. It almost felt wrong to touch them and I wondered if that was the curators’ intention. I remember wishing I had hours to spend in there, as the books themselves signalled a negotiation of knowledge. Their inclusion signalled an exchange of knowledge, but their positioning negated engagement from the audience.

Installation view: Customs, 2022. Courtesy of A4.

Walking into the main space, one’s eye naturally fell on the design installed across the floor, Dor Guez’s Double Stitch. Underpinning the exhibition, the work represents the floorplan of the St. George’s Greek Orthodox Church and El-Khidr mosque that share a wall in Lydda, Guez’s hometown in Palestine. Semiotically and historically, the work signified a series of adjacent yet confrontational encounters of customs. Without knowing what the collection of lines and symbols represent, the work functioned as a visual cue to what may be discovered, a joining of the dots. I reflected on the freedom we have to practise various customs side by side, where others do not.

Navigating to the far right, I was struck by Nolan Oswald Dennis’ garden for fanon. At first glance, it seemed like a delicate science experiment. An empty chair nearby was an invitation to take a seat and a clipboard of papers on the wall included a series of prompts to follow. The instructions called “care protocols” were intricate and technical, riddled with ratios and numbers and symbols. It was clear that ample time was needed to assess and implement them. A diagram included reminded me of choreographic notation, like an instruction to the participant to coordinate their movements. Although the idea of reciprocity was intended, I did not feel compelled to participate. Ideally, I would investigate such a system over an extended period of time. Instead, I tried to understand the meaning behind the work – the ways in which Dennis sought to comment on the “material and metaphysical conditions of colonialism and aesthetics of knowledge” through a bioactive system meant to sustain a squirm of earthworms. I found this to be an interesting parallel between Fanon’s Wretched of the Earth, life found in soil and the evolution of landscapes over time.

Nolan Oswald Dennis, garden for fanon, 2021. Courtesy of A4.

Moving through the space, the combination of installations 65 Bloem Street by Igshaan Adams and Remember Me by Steve McQueen struck a fine balance. Looking at them from different angles divulged new meanings. Adams’ steel and wire cloud suspended, a representation of ritual repetition. On closer inspection, the silver and gold link chains spoke of traces of life and memories. The luminescent Remember Me stands as a request that is barely decipherable, never beginning and never ending.

Binelde Hyrcan’s film Cambeck offered an isolated energy shift: a fast-paced glimpse into a young boyish exchange of mischievous mocking, dreaming of a different, aspirational life overseas: a place bound by different sets of societal structures. The melancholy echoed in the background’s picturesque seaside view, urging us to look at what is right in front of us.

Binelde Hycran, Cambeck, 2011. Courtesy of A4.

Moving to the space on the far left, I was struck by the unsettling image of Samira, Dor Guez’s grandmother, in a momentous wedding for its time in Palestine. Her green eyes pierced through the black and white print. Kapwani Kiwanga’s Ground was similarly striking. Photographs of lightning bolts streamed from the ceiling, making it seem as if the strikes stitched together came from the heavens, creating a fissure in the earth. The images patched together echoed our relationship with the internet of things, a piecemeal formation of knowledge and elicited a question: how do we ground ourselves in a world of technology and materialism?

Frida Orupabo and Moshekwa Langa brought us back to questions of home. The figures in Orupabo’s Going home pointed to the heavens, leading the way. Langa’s What is a home without a mother is a disjointed array of letters, holding a message of ineffable loss, alluding to the passing of generational customs. Finally, Yoko Ono’s iconic Mend Piece encouraged participants to rebuild ceramic pieces of teacups, provoking thoughts about healing in the everyday and facilitating tangible co-creation.

Installation view: Frida Orupabo, Going home, 2021 (left); Moshekwa Langa What is a home without a mother, 2008 (right). Courtesy of A4.

If we think of customs as structures of control, I would like to think that the show Customs represented a unique space in which to subvert these structures. Each space was an invitation to a different kind of engagement: the opportunity to create our own personal set of customs. I enjoyed the agency that was afforded in the negotiation of the various works included. I feel the need to return to the exhibition, as my interrogation of it continued beyond its physical viewing. It made me think about exchanges of knowledge in my everyday life, the ways in which I define spaces I pass through. In some way, I have contributed to the space post my physical interaction with it, staying in a constant dance with the questions posed before me.