Sue Williamson’s practice is rooted in South African history, influenced by her journalistic background, across photography, painting and installation to explore the themes of memory and memory. Injustice (even evil) becomes vividly evident throughout her work. Since the early 1970s, she has documented the pleas of justice in various communities, explored the harsh realities of apartheid and shed light on the lingering effects of colonialism, including immigration, deprivation and dislocation. Her first retrospective “I have to tell you” revealed these passes until September 24 at the Iziko National Gallery in Cape Town.
In Williamson’s work, dialogue is central. Nominal video I have to tell you something (2013) showcases six intimate conversations between experienced female activists who fight segregation with their granddaughter. Women on the screen retell history to deal with it, keep it and remember it. Their thinking about the struggles of the past reveals many ways in which freedom has not yet arrived – a thought so deeply captured in Letta Mbulu’s iconic 1992 1992 song “Not bay Uhuru” that became a powerful expression of the journey necessary for true liberation. The song responds to the conversation in Williamson’s video, telling the story of a lasting struggle and an ongoing desire for freedom fully realized in South Africa.
Sue Williamson’s retrospective “What I Must Tell You” in Cape Town at the National Gallery of South Africa.
The exhibition’s achievement is a profound and intimate narrative of South African history, telling fifty years of history and often highlighting strong moments. What makes this retrospective and Williamson’s overall practice so special is that it traces history so closely, covering the release of such a Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) (TRC) or Nelson Mandela from prison to less well-known narratives of pain and pain, becoming a daily reality for many communities: Cradock, District 6, Cross.
Williamson’s practice is also a feminist, often emphasizing women and their various roles in society. “Some South Africans” (1982-87) is a collection of photo etching and screen printing collages that record and celebrate women who have had a significant impact on the history of the country. Started in Williamson’s Crossroads period, a community in Cape Town that was demolished by a segregated country, and the “some South Africans” inspired by the portrait of Elizabeth Paul, a portrait of an Xhosa Faith Healther who is an artist who meets in nearly every home in the community. This image became ubiquitous and became a way for the community to remember the people they respect and hope to remember. Williamson continues this tradition, documenting other women who are crucial in the struggle for liberation, whether or not they are recognized, including Helen Joseph, Winnie Mandela, Annie Silinga and Mamphela Ramphele.
Williamson’s powerful installation greets visitors at the exhibition News about the moat (1997) – A striking work that includes 1,400 glass bottles, each engraved with the name of the enslaved person between 1658 and 1700, birthplace and sale price. The bottles are hung in fishing nets and dripping water. The rest of the show is distributed in several rooms, each organized on the subject, away from the linear concept of memory, and recombining the fragments like a puzzle puzzle, without doubt losing some narrative.
Sue Williamson’s retrospective “What I Must Tell You” in Cape Town at the National Gallery of South Africa.
At the heart of the exhibition is a new installation. Don’t let the sun cry (2024). Six chairs face each other on a raised platform in a way that evokes sporadic remnants of today’s District Six, forcibly evacuated from home from the area where the apartheid government enacted the Group Regional Act, which declared a “white only” area. The chairs are immersed in powerful soundscapes, with the voices of former residents telling about their past and present lives. The chairs were presented to Williamson by the Ebrahim family, who worked with her in the 1981 series “The Last Night of Manley Villa” to document their homes only before it was removed as part of a forced demolition.
One might wonder why it is necessary to continue to revisit history as Williamson chose. Part of her project involves restoring the dignity of the person whose stories are forgotten. But does art take the risk of these myths of history? Here is the challenge I see in Williamson’s work: How can artists dig and preserve history without reducing it to myth?
One way she causes this tension is to engage history in all its complexity, giving a careful and detailed look at its nuances and difficult truths. She is interested in that space between memory and the memorial hall and often criticizes the traditional form of monument making. She turned to the more ephemeral material, and she also criticized the idea that towering and tangible objects should be objects of lasting significance. Williamson made this criticism in the form of a skeleton obelisk in the gallery titled “Collectors of Africa and its Colonists,” which was installed in the center of the room. Unlike the permanent nature of traditional monuments, the obelisk has a delicate frame made of steel pillars and is covered with embroidered panels that depict scenes of the 1980s coloring book used by Afrikaner parents to explain Boer War to the children. The sculptures on steel seem to be permanent and authoritative, but memory is passed down in many forms.
