Editor Keely Shinners spoke to the winner of this year’s FNB Art Prize, photographer Lindokuhle Sobekwa, about mentorship, sensitivity and storytelling.

Keely Shinners: The South African photography tradition has a rich history of mentorship. David Goldblatt mentored Santu Mofokeng, Jo Ratcliffe, Sabelo Mlangeni, Jabunali Dhlamini. Jabulani Dhlamini has, in turn, been a mentor through the Of Soul and Joy project, through which you met Cyprien Clément-Delmas and created Daleside. I know you have cited Goldblatt and Mofokeng as influences, but is there a mentor who had a particular influence on you as a photographer?

Lindokuhle Sobekwa: One of the great privileges of Of Soul and Joy is that you meet a lot of photographers, and with the photography community, there is a strong tradition of mentorship. For me, a number of people have contributed to my career in terms of mentorship and guidance. Particularly, I’ve had a really long relationship with Mikhael Subotzky. He has guided me through projects, helped me to develop others, and challenged my ideas. It’s been eight or nine years that we’ve known each other, and he’s someone who’s really supported me. Many others, of course. Bieke Depoorter and Cyprien Clément-Delmas were the first teachers that started with Of Soul and Joy, and they introduced us to photography. Following that, there was Thabiso Sekgala, who joined Of Soul and Joy, before Jabulani joined. I had the privilege to meet Santu Mofokeng when he was alive. We come from a real support group. Many photographers are willing to assist us and give us feedback. The list is long.

KS: You became a Magnum fellow in 2018, and you became a member in 2022. How has your involvement in a more international cooperative of photographers influenced your work?

LS: I encountered Magnum back in 2013. One of the things that Of Soul and Joy does to encourage students is to create a Photo Festival. During the Photo Festival, they will award promising photographers based on your portfolio. I was one of the top five students who were awarded that year. They award you a photographic book. For me, the book I received was a Magnum book called Magnum Revolution: 65 Years of Fighting for Freedom, which is basically a collection of different generations of Magnum photographers who have documented different revolutions around the world for over sixty years. Seeing that really influenced me. I researched Magnum and I thought, wow, I would love to join this group. I thought it might be possible, one day, with dedication, that I could join Magnum. Then, I was lucky to be a part of a Magnum Foundation Photography and Social Justice Program in New York. There, we had an opportunity to meet Magnum photographers, because it was during the Magnum Photo AGM. When I saw that group, I felt inspired. 

KS: Was there anybody in the audience who you thought, oh my God, I can’t believe this person is here?

LS: Definitely! Bruce Davidson, Eli Reed. People who I look up to. Susan Meiselas, Jim Goldberg, Martin Parr. I’ve been following their work since I was very young. These were photographers who I was really obsessed with. I met Josef Koudelka, which was a huge honour for me. Because of Magnum’s history, it was my dream to join it. In 2018, Bieke and Mikhael encouraged me to apply. I wasn’t sure if I would get in, you know? I was 23 years old. I didn’t expect it. We were coming from Daleside, by the way. After Cyprian dropped me off in Katlehong, going back home, I received a call, and I was told that I was in. The tradition of Magnum is that, first, you join as a nominee. You have to work for two years, then submit a new portfolio of fifty images. They vote for you and, if you succeed, then you become an associate. Then, you work for another two years before you produce a sort of retrospective of your work. Then, they vote for you again, and you become a member. When you are a member, you basically become one of the decision-makers of the agency; you have a say. It was a great honour to become a member, to sit among these photographers who I really look up to. 

Lindokuhle Sobekwa, UmamBhele uyatyabeka, Ezilalini (The Country), 2020. © Lindokuhle Sobekwa. Courtesy of FNB Art Joburg.

KS: You stated in a 2021 article for the Mail & Guardian, “I use one camera and one lens (a 35mm).” What does this allow you to accomplish? Does it limit you in any way?

LS: With Daleside, I only used a 35mm lens and one camera. For me, 35mm was my introduction to photography. My eye was aligned to that focal lens, and it made it easier to organise the images. Since then, I’ve explored with a 50mm lens, a 28mm lens. Now, with the project I’m working on, Ezilalini, I’m working with a medium format camera. But back in the days, the work I’ve done – like Nyaope, Daleside, some of the Place of Peace – these were all photographed with a 35mm lens. In the midst of photographing Place of Peace, I introduced a medium format camera, so some of them are shot in a 80mm lens. I’m trying to challenge myself with my practice and the equipment I use. I’m interested in seeing situations differently, but with the same sensitivity. 

KS: Are you the kind of photographer who gets a lot of coverage, or do you want to get your photograph of the subject right the first time? Or does it depend on the situation?

LS: Even with assignments, I usually ask for a longer time, because it can take a while to develop trust. Especially if I am meeting someone for the first time, there’s always that tension. People are not at ease with you having a camera. If there is that tension, one can see it when they are looking at the photographs. There are instances when I go back and forth to get the right photograph, to build trust. But sometimes, I’m lucky, and I get it immediately. Even so, I shoot film. I can develop the film maybe three months after I made those photographs. In the moment, I think, I’ve got that shot. But then, when I see the film, I realise the shot that I didn’t expect was actually really good. With film, you never know. If someone gives you the opportunity to photograph them, you want to utilise the opportunity to make sure that the composition is right, the lighting is right, otherwise it can be disappointing when you’re looking at your contact sheets or receiving your scans. People believe that, with photography, it’s easy, you can control everything. But you actually cannot control everything. There are always these surprises. And these surprises are what make me excited about photography. In the dark room, when you see a photograph appearing on a piece of paper, it feels like magic. I don’t know how to explain the feeling. It makes you so excited to go back again and make the photograph. When you are processing film yourself – when we used to process black and white at Market Photo Workshop – the process is so frustrating. But you end up enjoying being in the dark, trying to put the film on the right track. That kind of frustration leads into something that is so satisfying.

KS: It’s almost like time-travelling. 

LS: That’s so true, yeah. 

KS: Tracing your trajectory from your early work – Daleside, Nyaope, Place of Peace – to now – I carry Her photo of Me and – it seems your work has taken a more personal turn in the past few years. Any reflection on why that might be?

LS: I realised that you can really go to places where you would not go without a camera. The material that I engaged with for Nyaope, when we were doing Chapter 2, we took a more participatory approach, wherein the subjects wrote things. How they opened up to me really inspired me to open up myself, to take a more personal look. I was photographing my own life: my mother at work, my shack on fire, my home. I was thinking about how I can make this work more inward-looking. I began using pictures in my diary. I write whatever I’m feeling and make photographs of certain situations or places. This was basically meant for me, at the time. I showed a friend what I was doing, and people felt so strongly about that. That was the approach I took. Some of the subject matter that I’m dealing with, a lot of people can relate to, because it’s personal. It’s also vulnerable. It’s not like I’m trying to make people feel pity about me, no. The series that I work on – my sister disappearing, migration through South Africa – everyone can relate to that. It’s not a unique story. My wish with photography is to reflect the times in which we live. What’s a better way than to look at this time through my own autobiography? 

Lindokuhle Sobekwa, Ezilalini (The Country) Gogo Lucy Zwane In Her Garde, 2021. © Lindokuhle Sobekwa. Courtesy of FNB Art Joburg.

KS: There is one photograph of yours, Ezilalini (The Country) Gogo Lucy Zwane In Her Garden (2021), that really moved me when I saw it at the Norval Sovereign Art Prize exhibition earlier this year. There’s something about it. The lush garden in the bottom half of the frame juxtaposing the sharp industria of the pavement and brick building in the top half. The subject’s subtle presence. Can you tell me about the story behind the photo?

LS: I approached Gogo Lucy because, at the time, I was interested in photographing gardens in Thokoza. There was this competition that awarded the best pavement garden, and Gogo Lucy had won that competition several times. Also, this garden is situated in a very interesting place that has a heavy history in Thokoza. It’s situated in Khumalo Street opposite Mshayazafe hostel, the migrant hostel. In the 90s, in Thokoza and Katlehong and many townships, there was this political war between ANC and Inkatha. In Thokoza specifically, it was much heavier. It was famously documented by the Bang Bang Club. Gogo Lucy was telling me that, after people would fight, her garden would be destroyed. She would wake up and fix it to prepare it for the competition. So, Gogo Lucy’s garden has seen a lot of history. But her garden, more than anything, was a place of healing. She told me it was the only place where she felt understood. That photograph, the way it’s juxtaposed with the hostel, has also really touched me. It speaks so much about South Africa. It’s very hopeful. Of course, there’s this history of violence, but there’s this beauty as well in the very same place. 

KS: It holds a paradox within itself. Grief and hope. Violence and beauty. Speaking of a paradox, I have always found it interesting that, for the documentary photographer, one is always straddling two roles – that of the journalist, and that of the artist. What does this negotiation look like for you? 

LS: In the past, I think I was a hardcore documentarian. Some of the stuff that I’m doing now is not considered documentary. To me, they are documentary/storytelling, if you like. I’m doing family trees where I make photographs, then I tear these images apart and rearrange them, referencing something about our time, our history, which is fragmented in a way. Doing a family tree is not only about my family, but about South Africa, its history and its present. I’m documenting that by writing, creating photographs, drawing. In the past, documentary meant something different than what it means now. You can experiment with other mediums, and it’s still documentary. Being an artist allows you to push the boundary of documentary practice. It’s not this one way of looking. You can open it up. Also, if you look at I carry Her with Me, it’s handwritten text and image. This is another way in which I’m trying to challenge or expand the documentary practice. With Ezilalini, one thing that I am trying to explore further is to do performance. To make the photograph more tangible and materialistic, to add more meaning to the photograph. Of course, any photograph gives the viewer the opportunity to imagine, to interpret, to create their own meaning. The photographer has experienced a different meaning in the process of making the picture. If they include these meanings, or these stories, into the photograph, it becomes something else. I think, back in the days, it was not common for documentary photographers to call themselves, also, artists. Santu Mofokeng never wanted to be called an artist, or David Goldblatt. But I’m okay with that term. You know, there are many stories that are in the picture that I wish people would know. I’m trying to imagine how that can be possible. That might be my long term project. Until I die, I’m trying to find ways to expand documentary. 

KS: David Goldblatt has got those long titles for his photographs. He wants you to know at least a little bit about the story behind what you’re looking at; he’s not a point and shoot and don’t explain kind of guy. Ernest Cole wrote a lot for his books; the essays were an important part of the practice, not just the images. There’s definitely a tradition of photographers wanting to expand the momentary document of the image to tell a bigger story. 

LS: Definitely. We are very privileged in South Africa to have this rich history of photographers. Coming from this great lineage, you can see many photographers – Jo Ractliffe, Santu Mofokeng – how they were trying to find ways of expanding photography which was, before their time, quite limited. With Santu, how he looked at the ordinary, day-to-day with such a beautiful eye. I’m also thinking of what Guy Tillim is doing right now in terms of manipulating the images. I think photography is changing. AI is something that is challenging photographers. But before AI, there was Photoshop. Photographers didn’t like this idea. Before that, there were digital cameras, which challenged traditional analogue photographers. It’s so interesting how it has evolved and how it has been challenged. 

KS: There’s always a wave of new technology. It’s a matter of, how do you use this as a tool to accomplish what you want to accomplish, rather than to reject it out right? But it’s a challenge. 

LS: Everyone has access to a camera on their phone. So, in a way, it looks easy. But photography is actually really difficult. To find a way you can narrate the story, or create a sequence, that’s the most difficult thing. I remember, when I was seeing the images that were coming from the Arab Spring, a lot of those photographs were made by the locals. They were not professional photographers, but they actually made really good images. In a way, they were documenting their own revolution. At the same time, in terms of storytelling and sequence, it was not that strong. I feel like photographers are aware of sequence, how these stories will flow. If you see the work of the photographers who went there later on, it has a depth in terms of how they engage with the situation, or the society, how they tell these stories. There is always going to be a strong distinction between a person who is not a photographer, and a photographer photographing the same situation. I feel that’s the beauty of it. 

KS: With all that being said, what does winning the FNB Art Prize mean to you?

LS: It really means a lot, getting such recognition at home. It affirms the idea that what you do really matters. The artists who have received it before are people who I truly admire, people who I look up to. To join that list, it’s a huge honour. I’m very happy and, of course, proud of myself. Where I came from to now, I could have never imagined that photography would take me this far. 

Lindokuhle Sobekwa, Sanele resting in field, Phola Park, Thokoza, South Africa, 2021. © Lindokuhle Sobekwa. Courtesy of FNB Art Joburg.