“If you are looking for hell,

Ask the artist where it is.”

                                                                                “If you cannot find an artist,

                                                                                Then you are already in hell.”

 

Laura Gamse’s brilliant film The Creators opens with this quote. “I grew up in a bad environment,” Mthetho Mapoyi explains. “I grew up in hell.” It was during that San Francisco screening over a year ago, in the back row of the Roxie Theater, that I knew I was going to find a way to come here.

Here, art is not an accessory. It is essential to living—a vital expression of the ragged yet resilient human experience—and a savior in itself for someone like Mthetho. When my move to Johannesburg became real, Laura sent me a short list of artists I needed to meet. At the top of the list, along with Mthetho (who I’m meeting on Saturday at the Pretoria Opera House), was Kudzanai Chiurai. “He’s a bit tough to get in touch with,” she warned, but I kept trying to track down his contact information from various galleries that were showing his work, including the MOMA. No luck.

This morning the “Daily Staffulty Announcements” came in from Tidi. At the top of the "Guests on Campus" list, right above the Ambassador of Congo Brazzaville read: Kudzanai Chiurai.     
 

I rushed to find Theo to figure out how in the world he’d gotten him to come in and to ask whether there was any possible way I could meet Kudzanai. “Of course, have lunch with him! Sunset room at noon.”

Trying to overcome being star-struck, I sat across from Kudzanai, flanked by two of the students passionate about bringing the arts to ALA— Faridah and Rosie.  So, how long have you been in Joburg? My friend Laura told me I should meet you. Do you get to decide what your exhibitions are about? We peppered him with questions. As his bio promised, he was on the quiet side, relying on his art to do most of the talking for him.

“How strong is the arts program here at ALA?” he asked calmly behind his glasses. When we told him that we didn’t have one and were trying to start it, he exploded, crumpling into his lap, and with one sweeping motion pressed his hands around his neck, into his face and wiped his glasses clear off his head. “What?! That is the most…the most devastating thing I’ve ever heard. Art is communication. It is the one subject you must have – it links everything together.”

After invigorating brainstorming and frantic jotting down of ideas and email addresses and cell phone numbers, he handed me two of his magazines and several posters. “To start your Art Library here.” We had the champion we needed. He promised to protest in front of the school until we got the Art Program we needed. Coming from someone whose protest art got him exiled from his home country of Zimbabwe, I think it was a serious offer.


Watching The Creators for the tenth time as I set up my painting studio in the corner of our living room, I have so much energy, so many ideas. I forget how good this feels. Canvas and turpentine beat Excel and Powerpoint any day.