Tag: newtown

Seeds of possibility planted at Victoria Yards

The inner city of Johannesburg has had an interesting history over the last 25 years. In the changes that took place around 1994, many whites and white owned businesses moved out of the city centre, fleeing to suburbs and business districts such as Sandton which seemed to promise “safety and security.” Whilst the government implemented various policies in attempt to make continuing business in the CBD a favourable option for large companies, apart from the banks, most companies and residents relocated. (An interesting meditation on the current situation and ramification of these events can be seen in Simon Gush’s video artwork “Sunday Light” (2013)

With changes in management and buildings not being maintained as they once were, many areas began to gain an air of notoriety as conditions began to detriorate. However, as the economic philosopher’s Luc Boltanski and Ève Chiapello’s The New Spirit of Capitalism expressed, capitalism has no program, no social or political project beyond producing, circulating and accumulating capital. This implies that capitalism has to absorb and integrate the social and political projects that criticise it as if they were its own programmes. This theory is played out brilliantly in the examples of gentrification that we see in Johannesburg; the very areas that had a bad-for-business stigma are the areas which are becoming business hubs in their own right. Braamfontein, Newtown, Maboneng – these are exciting cultural and economic hubs which are establishing themselves as go-to-places within the city. And whilst not without their problems (simply type “Gentrification in Johannesburg” in on Google and see what pops up) these areas are clearly generating substantial revenue for the companies and individuals behind the ventures, and so it’s no surprise to see the model’s being adopted and implemented elsewhere.

Victoria Yards in Lorentzville is one such venture. Situated with New Doornfontein and Troyeville as its neighbors, the industrial space which boasts an impressive 30,000m² of space is showing promise to grow into a community of cultural and economic promise. Still in its infancy with much development promised on the horizon, Victoria Yards has already shown some of it’s promise in hosting the 2017 Joburg Fringe. Similarly, there are a number of creative enterprises such as Nandos’ head office across the road, and the Art Eye Gallery space in Ellis House which are in the area. And as all projects of gentrification go, artists are at the center. Setting trends and drawing in tourists with their creativity, artist studios are popping up all around Victoria Yards. There is great potential for these studios to allow for artist communities to emerge. Head developer Brian Green has placed great emphasis on community involvement and engagement, initiating projects such as craft based, skill-sharing workshops, and community farming gardens. But as with all things, time will tell whether these ideals manifest in reality. At the moment however, there is at least some exciting alternatives to the now-commonplace Maboneng and Newtown, if one is looking for options within inner-city Joburg.

Graphic Lorenzville Map
SYLVIA MCKEOWN

See the Victoria Yards promotional video for more information:

1 January 2018
Mike Leather’s vintage biker’s boutique: A homage to Joburg’s vibrant 80s punk past

One of my favorite hidden gems in Joburg just so happens to also be a “tribute to South Africa’s punk and alternative scene” past! On Jan smuts, opposite the Goodman gallery lies an entrance surrounded by a leather garments display, and if you’re lucky you will see a black and chrome bike with dangling tassels outside the entrance. A “punk rock” machine on two wheels signals that the owner and founder of the store Add-Vintage, Mike Leather, is currently on site.

Born and raised in Joburg, Mike would become involved in leather works by honing his craft at Joburg’s Market Theatre, making his own clothes. “Back then I Started making styles for myself. Me and my Bro were punk’s back then.

“I used to have a Mohawk and arm bands with the studs.” He had (and from just looking at his amazing array of jackets in the store has kept) a grand collection of 80’s leather punk jackets. He knew the styles and made sure to keep up to date with the underground trends,

“It was the 80’s. Anything I had in those days that was different you could not buy. You had to make your own style”. Punk’s like Mike and his brother, Quiet, would frequent Yeoville and Hillbrow at that time. Their friends would hang around their crib to start the evening’s festivities and then they would make their way to the main jol. “We partied in ‘Subway’ downtown and at ‘Doors’ which was based in Carlton Centre. Everybody was there as there were few places within the scene you could go. People from overseas would come to South Africa to hang around Newtown. That was the place to hang around to find that style of people. The jols, the homies all stayed downtown”.

These were the places where their friends were every Saturday and Saturday. It was here that you would find the movement. The Joburg Punk movement was downtown near the market theatre. “That’s why when one said they wanted to ‘hang out’ you would find your homies, the parties, the clothes; everything you needed was there”.

I was blessed to have Mike give me a historical account of his own style. Where he came from it was all about creating things, your own style and from there he begun making his own leather shoes and clothes. Eventually I’m wearing the gear and people were like they want it! So I would make for myself and then people started ordering from me and that’s where it started.

He explains what the trends in the 80’s were like to me: “So many things are happening today. Back then, those days in the 80’s you didn’t see somebody different. Back then a black punk with white boys playing rock, jamming to punk music, it was something very different for people out there. People saying things like ‘they are drug addicts’. They didn’t know what to think about us. Also it wasn’t easy because being different at a time that was mostly formal.” His style was too spaced out for the crowd, a mainstream crowd deep within the cultural yolk of apartheid.

“Now my style and that of my bro was more English punk. We’d hang out in subways. This was something double different to see at the time. As both black men who were also enjoying the music with white people. It wasn’t easy to be different back then and also hang around with the white boys. It was very tough. The way people look at you and think of you. They thought punks are Satanists. There would be this thing where being dressed up in black would get goths and punks put together, stereotyped as being the same and being called ‘Satanist’. Those that were different were put into the same stereotype regardless of their race.

Mike explains how today it’s much easier to be “different”. For him the different styles can be seen on TV and you can easily get them at the stores. “Back then there was no TV. If you did your style you did it by yourself. The underground movement styles changed due to introduction of TV”. The cheapening of the devices created a new advent of access to the various styles within popular culture. But with TV also meant an increase in access to cheaper garments that reflected this popular style.

“My clientele understand me. Back then with punks and gothics you knew exactly how to move with the trends or your style. Punk was doc martin, studs, leather jackets. Those are the things you did. Now it’s not as distinct. TV dictates the styles. Today I have a variety of people coming into my store. When I young with bro we used to have a shop in Hillbrow called ‘Kingdom Leather’ that was front opposite the New Metro. I used to ride when I was young. I was a Punk, a rider, the same movement that I came from. These were the clientele that we served”. These are the clientele that he continues to serve today.

When one enters his ADD-vintage store on Jan Smuts you are entering a period in South Africa that’s not really talked about. “Not much has been different in my store from back then. I knew exactly who my clientele was, the punks, the rockers, the riders. You don’t see punks, goths like you did back then”.

He explains how today you find people who don’t know themselves and their style. I would even add that we are over exposed to mainstream trends. “Mostly, today you get stuff anywhere and so much of the style depends on the person. You can get the stuff Chinese made but not with quality”. For Mike it’s the quality that defines his brand and I would even say ‘the style’.

He describes how the people he sees nowadays are those with a very strong sense of style, the new punks, those who dress differently. “When they come into my store they say ‘WOW, I haven’t seen a shop like this for many years’, you know what I mean? This reminds them of stores like those found in London Camden market. The punks and stuff are still happening now but not like here”. Mike’s store presents the style as it was done back then. He explains how some people still want something specially made. “They want to go somewhere you know the stuff is quality. This is where the difference comes with my shop”.

“Others are afraid of the shop. They don’t know about the jackets, about the movement. So this is what is happening.” Today his clientele is not so well defined and so all sorts may enter his store. His store is a representation of a time of defiance. Those who know their punk, rock and style history will know of the importance of such to those who would wear their defiance! It’s overwhelming to enter this store as it also speaks to a very specific time in style history. If you look carefully you can even observe some leather bondage gear (of highest quality of course), a skull helmet and plenty of metal stud jewelry.

This style is experienced sensually within the store! One is greeted with the all-consuming scent of leather. Make no mistake this store is all about the leather, bottom to top, and its shelves brimming with fine leather vintage and biking goods. One wall houses a beautiful collection of white cow boy leather boots that would make any Dolly Parton fan flush with excitement. His store is one of quality, long lasting wear that will not only test the strength of time but test the wearer’s grit in being able to keep the movement alive!

The shop can be found on 144^th street on Jan Smuts Avenue
in Johannesburg (opposite the Goodman gallery). Operating hours are from 9am to 5 on weekdays. You can also contact Mike directly on
0837282274 and he will gladly assist you with your queries.

8 February 2017
Techno in the City: the story of TOYTOY

Run your finger through the history of techno and you will eventually come to the source: Belleville, Detroit in the mid-1980s. It was here where the Belleville Three — Kevin Saunderson, Juan Atkins and Derrick May — first melded Chicago House, Funk, Electro and Electric Jazz to create the blueprint for what we now know as techno music. It was a sonic fusion at the very foundations of today’s club culture. ‘Clubbing’ as a practice is threaded with the histories of warehouse raves, inner-city politics and underground counterculture. And its soundtrack was a blend of techno and acid house: alternative electronic music. Nearly three decades after techno’s inception in Detroit, one of its founding fathers, Kevin Saunderson, would find himself on the decks at a small basement nightclub in Rosebank, at a weekly event called TOYTOY.

I sat down with Fabio — owner, promoter and DJ at And Club — to talk about the history of the TOYTOY phenomenon.

Reflecting back on his initiation into Johannesburg nightlife during the 90s, Fabio recounted stories of a club called Idols. Positioned on End Street, in Doorfontein, it would later become ESP: a landmark in the Johannesburg rave scene. During the mid-90s, inner-city Johannesburg experienced a forceful rave movement and Fabio immersed himself in that scene. This is when he says he first started to draw distinction between the music he was hearing on the radio, and the alternative, electronic dance music that reverberated through city raves. He decided to try out DJ’ing, regularly rummaging for vinyls at House Africa Records, on Louis Botha Avenue. It was here that he first met Graham Hector (G-Force). “He was fundamental in getting the rave scene going”, Fabio told me. “I was star-struck at first”.

In 1997, Fabio moved to London, where he collected music and experienced the night-scene, later also spending some time in the Netherlands. When he returned in 2000, the rave scene had settled. Deep House was starting to take off in a big way, and although he enjoyed the sound, for Fabio this wasn’t party music.

Feeling like Johannesburg club culture was missing an alternative electronic scene, he and Ryan Vermaak (Dogstarr) began throwing parties, having both also been involved in line-ups for festivals like Rustler’s valley. Teaming up with G-force, they formed a DJ collective called Digital Rockit.

The first TOYTOY was thrown as a once-off event at Carfax, and, in line with the theme, saw the venue draped in inflatable toys. The Carfax venue already had important weight in the city’s rave scene, and in the tradition of global culture was converted from derelict industrial space into a club space. TOYTOY’s aim was to fill a gap in Johannesburg’s club culture, offering the best of alternative electronic dance music, and attracting both international and local talent.

During the noughties, Digital Rockit put on multiple parties, often losing money in each iteration. “We a used to spend ridiculous amounts of money on sound. Double, triple the amount of money that other promoters would spend. Because we believed this was the most important part of the event”. But something felt different about TOYTOY, and the team started playing with the idea of hosting it as a weekly night.

They began in the basement of Capital Music Café in Rosebank. “On the first night we had about 30 people and we had an international DJ. It was horrific. We thought, ‘What have we done?’ But slowly somehow we started connecting with an audience and people started coming”. It was during their time at Capital that the indomitable Kevin Saunderson featured on the lineup. Craig and Grant Van Rensburg (Sound Sensible) also came on as important partners, as did Andi Dill. At this stage TOYTOY drew an older crowd, many of whom were friends of the organisers, but it also started to attract a much younger generation, which Fabio found heartening. “We would hopefully spawn a new generation of DJ’s and producers and people who see potential in this music”.

From very early on, the organisers of TOYTOY started to give pedantic attention to the sound quality, investing in expert sound systems. “People felt the music. Really in their bodies. The base was powerful. Without that, TOYTOY wouldn’t be what it is now.”

When Ryan and Fabio opened the first And Club in the basement of Braamfontein’s Alexandra Theatre, TOYTOY became the Friday night party. Owning venue would help them sustain TOYTOY, for which they had thus far only been claiming door revenue. The duo acquired a ferociously expensive sound system from the UK. The Void Acoustics Air Motion was the first of its kind in South Africa. The event ran there for some time, but ultimately moved to its current Newtown home. The move also entailed a fundamental creative component. “We had to wrestle back creative control. [Unless it’s our own venue] it’s not gonna look the way we want it to look”, Fabio said.

When they moved And Club to Gwi Gwi Mrebi, Fabio and his team were absolutely pedantic” about how they wanted the space laid out. “We’ve situated the bar in the middle. It [the club] is compact. It flows really well. There’s an outside area.” Regulars at TOYTOY speak about the spaciousness of And, the ease of accessing the bar, and the wooden interior. The crowd travel mostly from the Northern Suburbs. Some come from as far as Pretoria and Centurian. “I’m a firm believer in inner-city clubbing” says Fabio. “I just don’t think it should be in the suburbs. At all. From a noise level point of view, to people out on the streets. And just the edginess of what the city brings you.” It makes sense, Fabio went on to say, even within the narrative of electronic music. Jo’burg is a tough, gritty city with many comparisons to be drawn with Detroit.

The predominantly white (but nevertheless mixed) partygoers at TOYTOY are not representative of Johannesburg’s inner-city working class. But they have nevertheless become significant participants in the city’s night culture, where TOYTOY features prominently in the weekly calendar. Today TOYTOY attracts approximately 500 clubbers weekly. The magnet remains the music, attracting international artists from the world’s most renowned clubs, including Berghain (Berlin), Trouw (Amsterdam) and Fabric (London). Over the years, TOYTOY has hosted a sea of local and global acts including Kill The DJ’s, Butane, Dubspeeka and Transmicsoul. Together, the resident DJs probably have close to 80 years of experience behind them.

Uncompromising music curation is at the heart of TOYTOY’s success. “You shouldn’t really ask to play at TOYTOY” Fabio says. “You should be invited. To play there you kind of have to be an established DJ. You have to be doing your thing. You have to be pushing your sound.” Fabio tells me DJ’s will prepare for as long as two weeks before a TOYTOY set.

And because the music and the immersion are primary, TOYTOY does not allow photographs, and cellphones in general are discouraged. “We don’t want you on your phone” says Fabio. “It’s about bringing you into the music. Close your eyes”.

“[TOYTOY is] about what we curate as a music experience”, Fabio explains. “When you start reaching people and they start connecting with you on that level, it’s not copy-able.”

20 December 2016
Beach in the City: the art of spatial play and summer nostalgia

On Saturday October 8, I tasted the first offerings of Summer 2016: sand between my toes, the smell of sunscreen in the breeze, a crowd of floral dresses interspersed with multi-coloured umbrellas, beach balls bobbing overhead, and in the periphery a group of friends dancing around a volleyball net. But rather than an ocean skyline, my horizon was capped with concrete high-rises and billboard advertising. This was an oasis transposed into Mary Fitzgerald square. The urban beach party had been conjured by event promoters, Until Until: expert illusionists who regularly transform inner-city spaces into sites of play pilgrimage. “Beach Party was very much in line with the kind of parties we throw already”, they told me. “It’s something experiential and a bit out of the norm.” This time, Until Until had teamed up with Virgin Mobile and Superbalist’s In the City to deliver seven hours of sonic summer heat.

Pouring sand onto Newtown concrete, the fantasy was brought to life. “It had to look like a beach. That was a very big point of what we were trying to achieve. In terms of social media, we ran the ‘wish you were here’ postcard campaign”: the resonance of holiday souvenirs sent back to friends and family. Until Until hoped to transport its audience to a place of paradoxical juxtaposition — the feeling of being away whilst at home; of being able to step into another world, made sweeter by the ability to glance back at the old one. “We played on the contrast of being in the city versus being on the beach. So if you saw some of the marketing visuals, you had drone images of girls laying on the beach in their bikinis, and as the drone pans away you realise you’re in the middle of Johannesburg”.

For all the seaside-surrealism of that Saturday, there remained a tangible familiarity. Weaving through the sand were threads of a well-known practice: journeying to the beach to signal the year drawing to a close. So, in addition to offering an uncanny spatial illusion, Beach Party also served as an elusion to other times and places, within our collective and personal stories. Indeed, beaches carry weighty significance in the history of South African play politics. There was a time, in our not so distant past, that beaches were racially segregated. Fierce attachments to beaches have catalyzed racist hate-speech and defiant rebellion. While the beach-going, even in ‘post-apartheid’ South Africa, has all-too-often remained a white phenomenon, the closing of each year is defined by the annual ritual of thousands of black families travelling to spend their day in the salt and sun. This is summer’s definitive act of socio-spatial transgression.

For some, the beach is that precious family treat afforded by a Christmas bonus. For others, it is a celebration welcoming loved-one’s home from a long time away. And for others still, it is a site of religious and mystical power. The beach is not only a place in which the socio-economically marginalized occasionally claim access to sites of play, it is also a source of reprieve for many who spend their year grinding in urban offices. For people across demographics then, the simple act of a day on the beach is charged with history and meaning. For many, it is a source of nostalgia and childlike escapism. That’s why, when Shekhinah ascended Until Until’s Beach Party stage, her lyrics resonated:

‘Let’s take it back to the beach

Where we were young and carefree

This is how it should be

Said the city don’t feel me’

Also on the line-up were DJ’s Capital, PH and Tira, as well as Atjazz, Julian Gomez, Melo B Jones, Stilo Magolide and AKA. Ricky Rick’s performance culminated in a spectacular stage dive, which saw the artist plunge into a crowd of drenched fans. It was the best of South Africa’s house, hip-hop and urban repertoire — drawing the crowd-tide in.

At about 7pm, the rain descended unabated from the sky. Water was added to sand and sweat, engulfing the crowd in all the associations of ‘the beach’. Some took short breaks, huddled under tents and umbrellas, encountering strangers. The Until Until crew, many dressed as lifeguards, moved to rescue the hype when the crowd were drowning. But for the most part, partygoers relished their rain dance, finding solidarity in the drenched dancefloor and their muddy shoes. “I think it’s the first time maybe in the history of parties when you’re getting reviews like ‘the rain made it better’. You could see it in their faces: the energy’s there, they’ve been there a few hours now, they’re still waiting for their favourite song, [they aren’t going anywhere] …”

A testament to any good music festival is the willingness of the audience to brave the elements together — to give it all to the groove. Beach Partygoers burned through the rain because they were committed to this newly-created place; to the spectacle of sound, sand, and pouring water; and to commemorating a long-standing summer ritual.

24 October 2016
Of Parties Past: the Cellardoor Archive 2005–2007

‘In two more years, my sweetheart, we will see another view’. Bloc Party lyrics that once punctuated the playlist of a monthly Newtown party called Cellardoor.

The Cellardoor parties ran from 2005 to 2007: a two-year slice in the history of Johannesburg’s nocturnal life. Co-founder, Marc Latilla, holds a catalogue of flyers and photographs from the old parties — a collection of cut-offs and sound bites that document a passing subculture in the city’s after-dark biography. Latilla’s archive speaks to an ephemeral moment, in which a particular time and place — Friday night at the old Horror Café — was captured, monthly, by Cellardoor’s loosely-defined following. Through each iteration, the parties imprinted a particular audio-aesthetic character, spinning all the familiarity and attachment that make times and places meaningful to us.

Cellardoor formed part of an evanescent energy in Newtown’s once-thriving cultural precinct. “Newtown was like a first step back into the city” Marc recalls. “This was before Braamfontein or Maboneng as we know it today”.

Attached to the SAB building on Miriam Makeba St. and decorated with movie memorabilia, was Horror Café, which many posited as the precinct’s epicentre. It was a confluence of artists, musicians, deejays and poets, and a polymorphic genre celebration, playing kwaito, hip-hop, acid house, Afrobeats, and Indie. It was also the original home of Thursday Ragga nights in Newtown, hosted by the incomparable Jah Seed and Admiral.

Chiming with the Horror Café’s cult movie aesthetic, the epochal Cellardoor parties drew thematic inspiration from the psychological horror-science-fiction, Donnie Darko. Co-founders, Marc Latilla and Martin Thomas both loved the film and the soundtrack, which they occasionally spun from the Cellardoor sound system. “It had the right mix of quirkyness, darkness and humour”, Marc says.

Inspired by Donnie Darko’s antihero, the parties were accompanied by a wooden rabbit mascot, dubbed Frank. The name, Cellardoor, was extracted from a scene in the film, where Drew Barrymore’s character, after writing the words ‘Cellar Door’ on a blackboard, turns to Donnie and says, “This famous linguist once said that, of all the phrases in the English language, of all the endless combinations of words in all of history, that ‘cellar door’ is the most beautiful.”

More than a duo of beautifully-strung words, Cellardoor connoted an invitation into a new world, and into the underground. “The Indie & alternative scene has always been underground, so Cellardoor also worked on that level”. The parties mixed new and classic Indie (dating back to the 70s) with alternative music. “We set out to get a good balance between all the new music that was coming out and the stuff we used to dance to at the alternative clubs of old, without becoming a revivalist party. There was always an element of surprise and irreverence in the music choice. We would throw in anything from Wham! to Johnny Cash and tried to stay away from the boring old floorfillers”.

The audience soon came to mirror this generational ecclecticism. “We had girls and guys from the old days”, says Marc, “mixed with the cool kids, all discovering and getting down to what we played”. Eventually, live bands also took to the Cellardoor stage, including acts like Taxi Violence, Wild Eyes and The Dirty Skirts, who were lesser-known at the time. “We would DJ in-between the bands creating a seamless experience. It wasn’t just about watching the bands and then going home”.

Like Donnie Darko, Cellardoor seemed to give rise to a dedicated cult collective, with its own insider-references and artistic identity. The party’s distinctive flyers, for example, were hand-drawn by Marc’s wife, Fiona O’Connor. “If you put all the flyers together from the first to the last, they actually show an intricate underground maze – full of obscure musical references, rabbits and hidden messages”. I’m told that one of the party’s followers collected each and every one of the flyers, which were exhibited as a block at the final party. The now iconic Cellardoor artwork still appears intermittently on social media.

In October 2007, Marc and Martin put on their final co-hosted intallment of Cellardoor. The crowing party doubled as an album launch and featured re-appearances from eight local bands that had graced the Cellardoor stage. This was the second of two Cellardoor albums: the first a collection of international tracks played at the club, and the second a catalogue of all the local bands featured. “Both albums sold out the initial pressings of about 1000 each. It was more for promotion, but people liked the albums”.

Cellardoor was a fleeting subcultural moment — part of a transient time in the city’s history. “Horror Café was a big venue and it became difficult to fill every party. Our attendance numbers were coming down,” Marc remembers. “If I recall, they were also in the process of selling”.

Indeed, the Horror Café, which had run for nine years, would close soon after the Cellardoor parties came to an end. Eventually, other iconic venues like Shivava and Sophiatown would also no longer exist. Many argue that the Junction mall and the influx of new offices suffocated Newtown’s artist precinct. But there are new moments in the making of Newtown’s nocturnal life: And Club, Antidote, Carfax, Shikisha, Gentlemen’s Arthouse, De Peak Bar. Each forms part of a disjointed after-dark cartography — a contested cityscape, discovering itself through jumbled iterations of past and present.

For me, perusing the Cellardoor archive has been very similar to entering a basement of horded everyday memorabilia — a time-warp, catalogueing a party phenomenon from a past decade. Time, its passing, and the possibilities of diving back into the past, are also, interestingly, recurrent themes in Donnie Darko.

“I’m big on re-invention and not doing the same thing over and over. Playing to the same crowd can get incredibly boring especially when you become known for a certain sound. My leaving was to explore this and play wildly different and challenging parties”. ‘In two more years’ Marc did ‘see another view’.

In many ways that is what successful event promotion is about: knowing how to capture time and place, when to let it go, and how to revel in that transcience. While during the day, citydwellers want predictable secure rhythms, at night there is a drive for experimentation and re-imagining. As we decide what the city should look, feel and sound like, and who it should be for, different audiences are at times draw in, and at times alienated. There are evolving, contesting claims to after-dark destinations. Amid all this change, it’s worth paying attention to those moments in which groups of people have cultivated belonging and recognition in a city that always seems to elude us.

“Overall, we lost money doing this!” Marc says. “It was a lot of work, but all worth it for those few throbbing nights where every song we played was cheered. It’s a great feeling when random people preach about something you created”.

23 August 2016
The Bag Factory: An artistic alcove of cultural exchange twenty-five years in the making

Nestled between the edge of Newtown and Fordsburg, the once industrial warehouse now exists as a space of continuous cultural exchange. “You are always absorbed in a mix of cultures and experiences. The location is central, just outside of the CBD it gives you a real everyday engagement with the city and a space for reflection at the same time.” This experience of environmental interaction has influenced artists like Diana Hyslop and Blessing Ngobeni. The geographical location positions itself as the intersection between artist and city.

Initially inspired by the early Triangle and Thupelo workshops in the late 80’s – based on mutual exchange and collaboration – founders Dr. David Koloane and Robert Loder created the Bag Factory. Formed in 1991, “David & Robert wanted to recreate a permanent creative environment which would benefit artists of all races.” The notion of ‘learning through exchange’ remains at the core of its practice.

An excess of 300 artists that have come through the Bag Factory doors in the last twenty-five years – engaging in studio practice, workshops as well as residency programmes. An extensive calendar has been developed to meet the needs of local and international artists. “[The Bag Factory] now transcends its early notions into national and international projects focused on the supporting and developing artists in South Africa.”

An ‘open door’ studio policy ensures a level accessibility – artists and the larger public are able to frequent the space regularly. “We encourage younger artists to visit regularly and access the wealth of information that the artists have.” The notion of access is a crucial element to the process of cultural exchange within the space. Education and shared knowledge are also at the core of the organization. The David Koloane & Reinhold Cassirer award programmes, residencies and artist outreach projects articulate and enable these ideals to manifest tangibly.

On the eve of its anniversary the space boasts a full house, in many ways symbolic of its success. Artists on Residency include Lady Skollie, Barclay’s L’Atelier Merit Award Winner (2015) Gideon Appah, Sheekha Kalan and Ausuka Nirasawa (Japan). We also have our David Koloane Mentorship Award, which will be featured at the Jhb Art Fair in September with finalists, Shenaz Mohomed, Minenkulu Ngoyi and Carmen Ford.

22 August 2016