Formidable is perhaps too rigid a word to associate with Farai – but somehow, it fits the mood of the moment – as we begin a conversation surrounded by some of his works at Black Brick Club.  Farai is currently the artist in residence as well as the overall creative director of this bar / gallery / community space expertly positioned in Cape Town’s CBD, and to say I am anticipating this conversation is an understatement. I first came across Farai’s work at his Michaelis Graduate Show a few years ago – struck by the indecipherable yet gripping hieroglyphic symbology of his graduation collection, offset against clear Perspex. Already then, with no context to reference these pieces, these works exuded an energetic aura that was intriguing and evocative. I later came to learn of Farai by his Instagram moniker – Samurai Farai – and I wondered what sort of universal alchemy took place in order for his name to phonetically tie to the legendary warrior class and discipline originating from Japan. That doesn’t just happen, right? What deepens this simple yet mysterious rhythm arises when getting to know Farai; because it is abundantly and crystal-clear that Farai commands a presence akin to a persona that I have only ever experienced from anime or manga novels; namely, the embodiment of a main character whose existence is an activated journey that is guided by unknown, powerful forces across quantum realities. 

You will have to meet Farai to get what I am saying, but I hope this conversation offers an inkling of what I mean.

“I have carried this style with me until now, and I especially draw on it when I do my mural work; where the symbols can be scaled beautifully into bigger and bolder sizes.”

In so much of the post-modern art movement, there appears to be a nostalgia for the final outcome of the practice; that the object, sculpture or painting (as well as all the digital mediums) is what comes to define the artist, and is the most important aspect of the artist’s lifelong pursuit of their creative expression. Yet, contrary to this, is the idea that what brings the work to life is the union of artist and artwork; meaning, the coherency and transparency that is forged when the artist makes unto themselves the immutable persona that resides over their expression. This is what Farai embodies with such distinctive energy; that yes, he is an artist, but furthermore, he compounds his very existence into a canvas onto which he illustrates his ever-evolving, ever-expressing Self. You will notice this immediately from his IG feed – there is an equal part curated and created essence – weaved together by crimson red (his self-confessed favourite colour) tones and symbology. From the way Farai dresses, to his work and life experiences, I realise I am witnessing someone who lives intimately and inseparably with the finest details of what it means to grasp, with full force, one’s incarnation and forge a mark that will have lasting impact.

Curiously, I ask Farai about the symbology that began at his art school days;

“I basically decided in my last year at Michaelis that conceptually, I was really needing to challenge how people consume information and how archive knowledge, and how we communicate beyond English and iconography. I wanted to consider symbols as a language that is of itself, so what I did was that I created my own alphabet. I created a calligraphic system of which I could be the authoritarian of; and take power back as an artist, using my writing system to convey what I felt the English language couldn’t do. Only I understood the language, so this added a deeper layer of self-determining whether I would give people access to what I was saying. I really loved the fact that even though it is coded, the symbols themselves evoke a feeling on their own.”

I am reminded of the very rare occasions in which language development has arisen purely from an artistic standpoint – perhaps only as far as I can tell in recent history – is J.R.R Tolkien’s forming of Elvish which later would lead to the Lord of The Rings universe. Ontologically, and in direct reference to the development of culture, our ability to command communication in diverse intricacies are demarcations of our pursuit of novelty and meaning in everything we attempt as a species. Farai extending his own cosmology around his life through an alphabet is astounding, especially since the language is a protective armour for his own autonomy; in which he remains the guardian of how deeply viewers can connect with his work. This is incredibly interesting, as it begs the question around how much privacy we afford public figures, particularly creators, when the very nature of their path is to be in direct association with the perspectives of others. In one way, Farai offers us his work as medicine – and in another way, he offers it to himself in just the same way. There are certain things only he knows and should know; yet much of his creativity is still lovingly shared with a greater, global community.

“I have carried this style with me until now, and I especially draw on it when I do my mural work; where the symbols can be scaled beautifully into bigger and bolder sizes.” Farai points out in reference to the language. 

Another aspect of Farai’s style is amplified by the characters and figures; a manifestation that he relates to as “psychological portraiture”, in which mental health is the central focus and interrogation underpinning his most recent works. 

“I came to a point in my awareness of my mental health in which it became crucial to look into body language and how we are attempting to express how to feel especially in the context of the pandemic. It has been a global, collective trauma – alongside all the ecological, socio-economic disasters that continue – and so a lot of my recent works reflect my mind in a figurative way; the many shades and moods I have witnessed and interpreted in myself and others, and how that has come to be this thematic conversation. I focused a lot on the psyche and mind-scape, and so I think a lot of this work is imbued with a mindfulness around mental health, especially in relation to how tangible the experience of the mind really is and the power it holds over our realities. Also, the versions of ourselves that we lock away or hide from others; even those closest to us, and how it becomes so confronting in an experience like lock-down in which we are forced to be around people in strict setting.”

I ask Farai what he is working on at the moment – and as I expected, it is a multitude of things perfectly aligned to his multi-disciplinary nature. 

“I am working with a lot of NGOs and projects to raise funds for mental health. I donated a work to the Desmond Tutu Foundation, and I am using my platform and position to create awareness through my experience. I am also moving further into teaching and educating, but in a completely different way to the traditional art school experience; more like workshops, and in decentralized environments. This is part of me reconciling my art school experience; in which the skills I was able to learn should not be gate-kept for the price of four years’ tuition fee, especially in South Africa. So, I really want to bring more opportunities in the way I can, and use what I know in an environment that is laid-back, while also being useful to growing someone’s talent.”

Farai’s thoughtfulness is palpable – and in an age where many are set on being influencers – it is conversations like this which determine to me the difference between being an influencer and being influential; the latter being a far more impactful, original result of someone’s genuine contribution to the world. Farai does not simply demonstrate being influential; he embodies it. This is a being who is born with exceptional vision, and puts in the work and energy to implement that vision as an ongoing reality. 

Ending our conversation, I ask whether there is a comic book on the cards – to which Farai counters, saying it is more likely to be an animation. FKA Twigs’ line in “home with you” off her Mary Magdalene album comes to mind; // never seen a hero like me in sci-fi //.

I have never seen a hero like Farai, because his character arch is still very much underway. I mention one of the highlights of 2020 for me in terms of animation, Duncan Trussel’s vividly portrayed Midnight Gospel, in which animation is the medium through which he explores externalism and spirituality with a host of guest appearances. Farai gasps; “I literally found his podcast last night, that’s so crazy!” – as we go on to geek out about the brilliance of the show and its beckoning inquiries into the nature of life and death. 

A sublime ending to this conversation; as I imagine Farai being at the helm of his own animated series, perhaps the first African animation Netflix would be so honoured to finance.

Who knows? Everything is possible in this unlimited, magical multi-verse. 

WRITTEN BY: HOLLY BELL BEATON

PHOTOGRAPHY BY: KOOOOOOS

There is a certain magic in Nabeeha Mohamed’s relationship with colour. An array of works tempers her recent collection, Brown Petal; curated by Jana Terblanche, expertly arranged to convey a dream-like wonderment in an unusual setting – namely, The Vault in the Silo Hotel, with a contrast placed between the adjoining car park and Nabeeha’s bursting palette of floral arrangements and feminine motifs. As a Michaelis alumni, I am taken aback by Nabeeha’s admission that she has only been solely dedicated to her artistic expression for the last three years despite having graduated in 2011, and the idea of challenging the institutional prerequisite for art graduates to “play the game” immediately after studies feels deeply courageous and effortlessly natural. 

Our conversation takes place over video call, with Nabeeha in Tulbagh for an artist residency. Late afternoon light streams throughout our conversation – setting a mood that I feel is perfectly akin to her relationship with her practice; a practice that is dedicated and delicate as she explores the vast thematic nuances that inform her ongoing dialogue with herself. 

“I am not sure Brown Petal is a fully realized show. It feels like an interim body of work. I had just finished a show with WHATIFTHEWORLD, and I was in this strange space where I had rounded off a collection. I tend to work quite organically, and beginning this collection with sketch works using watercolours, I was trying to create new pieces. Each of the works I had made were an attempt to make quieter pieces – as I feel a lot of my style is rooted in loud, bursting compositions. I cut up and remade the pieces alongside each other, so there was a synergy in that aspect of the process.” Nabeeha muses. 

Curiously, she asks what season I would place Brown Petal in? I opt for Spring – contrary to Nabeeha’s own feeling, which she describes; “I find it conveys an autumnal feel. I leaned on browns and acid-green which I associate with the creeping on of the colder months.” This contrasting perception leads me to express that this could show how transient the collection actually is, as the day I viewed the collection it was the warmest day in Cape Town for quite some time; and thus, the pieces stood out as confirmation of this shift in temperature and temperament. How beautiful, that art created with a certain energy can evoke diverse responses, and remain fluid alongside the original intention of its formation?

“In terms of my actual practice, it began with my attempt to tackle a certain question. I thought it would be answered, in a way, with my initial return to creating – but as time goes on, I realise more and more that this question is deepening as the backbone of my practice, probably for the rest of my life.” 

What is the backbone, I ask?

“It’s essentially my identity as a woman of colour, and how to navigate that and celebrate that and love it. Also, how that intersects with my experience of wealth privilege, as I investigate where the one intercedes the other. Where one disables, and where the other one can assist.” Nabeeha states – as we both recognize that the two are not mutually exclusive and are true in a dialect relationship. 

I find artists who relate to themselves in their work as offering a sort of medicine or remedy to the viewer; because it is a language that is developed in relation to the age-old inquiry to the Self. Identity is constantly manifesting; shifting, shaping and forming – it is perhaps the most reliable source of inspiration, for it remains unique and flowing moment to moment. The ontological implications of turning within with one’s work is endlessly fascinating, and as I speak to Nabeeha, this is all the more confirmed – “I approached starting work again rather tentatively, and I suppose I started to practice again for myself; so  I suppose my advice is that the gap we are told to avoid when leaving art school is just a fallacy. Having acquired skills is one thing, but to be an artist and to be able to pick up on it at any point in time and space is what determines one’s ability – and I think that this ability is true for every artist, whether they have studied or not.”

There is a sense of serenity as we end our conversation. I am fulfilled knowing that creativity never dissipates, and perhaps it only needs to rest before we return to take up the mantle of expressing our inner-worlds; a commitment Nabeeha conveys not only in her consistent offering of work but also in her reliance on herself as a muse; herself as prose and praxis embodied through each brushstroke.

Written by: Holly Bell BEaton

While the entertainment industry can tend to feel saturated with many people pursuing fame and glory, it can be rare to interact with the few people that were instinctively born to rise to the challenge of performance art; Siv Ngesi being an exceptional example of this in South Africa. I admit, I was nervous for this interview – for no reason other than I had seen Siv perform comedy at my high school over a decade ago, and as this being my only reference point; I was not sure what to expect – would this conversation be light-hearted, or enlightening? It is always interesting to engage with the person behind the character – particularly in this instance, with Siv exuding a depth of personality and confidence that I have not met, if ever, in another person.

“I am unapologetic about celebrating my achievements. I am one of the most underrated entertainers in the country – and people tend to call me controversial, but I find that quite unusual because I have only ever been me – completely so.”

“I think people don’t realise that comedy is an art – it really teaches you so much about engaging with people, and with the material one produces. Another thing with comedy is that the stakes are so high. You have to make people laugh. There is nothing that evokes quite as much pressure than when your performance depends on the reaction of the audience. Comedy is entirely dependent on the pace of the performer; while you are expressing one thought, another one has to be lined up already to land with the audience in a seamless way. It is a performance rooted in multi-tasking. It really brought me to engaging with politics, and South African history – it requires a lot of background knowledge, and unfortunately I feel that socially we are becoming incredibly sensitive; in which we have to remain correct in everything that is said even within the comedic format.”

Siv muses, with a sensibility that is decidedly self-assured and cognizant of misinterpretation; yet nothing in our entire conversation ever implies that Siv is anything but thoughtful and considered in his perspectives; particularly around his commitment to engaging with comedy with a live audience, in which the challenge remains wholly suited to the energetic responses from the crowd. 

“It’s a little bit like being porn star – and then COVID comes and you can’t have sex so you end up watching other people having sex online. That’s how I feel about performing comedy on Zoom.”

In moving back to his earlier years, what was it that allowed Siv to take up the acting mantle at such a young age?

“Well, I was fortunate enough to grow up with something that many people did not have – and that was an incredible mother. My mother believed in me, and as I was the last born yet the first boy, I was always continually told I was special. All my life. I was super energetic as a kid, and my mom was told to put me on Ritalin – but she refused, and put me in drama and sports instead – and that changed my life. There is no plan B for me, the only plan is to enforce plan A, and that’s all I have ever done and will ever do.”

 The determination Siv conveys is unmatched, and coupled with the full embodiment of his confidence – he goes onto state,

“I am unapologetic about celebrating my achievements. I am one of the most underrated entertainers in the country – and people tend to call me controversial, but I find that quite unusual because I have only ever been me – completely so. I unapologetically believe I am one of the most talented people in the country. I have worked too hard and come to far to back down. The goal will always be to be remembered as one of the most talented performers to come out of the country. I am fascinated by improving, learning and being the best version of myself that can possibly exist. Will people recognize this? It’s none of my business actually, all I can do is continue to pursue this goal with the dedication that I do every-single-day. Doubt kills dreams, and I will not rest until I have achieved everything I have set out to, and to be remembered for that too. Having said that, what people think has nothing to do with me”. 

Recently, Siv embarked on character development that raised the standards in terms of range and ability; namely, his foray into drag as the beloved “Sivanna” – and as this artistic medium begins to settle in its rightful place as a normalized and breathtaking expression of identity, he offered some insight into this manifestation;

“Masculinity is like nuclear power; it can be harnessed for both extreme destruction, while it can also be incredibly necessary and useful for the balance of life. In the right hands, it can do great and positive things. The problem is toxic masculinity. Around last year in lockdown, I came to this point of reflection about being 34 years old and having been taught such negative things about masculinity my whole life that I need to unlearn. So I started doing drag, ballet and pole dancing – and particularly with pole, I have been competing internationally. The perception is that these mediums are easy; ascribed to femininity, which is seen as fragile. I want to live in a world where my future son can wear a dress, and no one can say shit about it – nor question his masculinity. I will consistently help to grow drag in this country; that is part of my mission. I want to live in a world where people don’t have to “come out” – that spectrum of sexuality is normalized and nuanced, and respected for being so.”

/// Siv Ngesi as Sivanna

“Could I have been a bigger celebrity in this country, if I had kept my mouth shut? Could I have made more money? Yes, absolutely. Would I be truthful to myself? No! What matters the most? How I feel about myself. I am content with myself, and that is enough.”

This conversation with Siv Ngesi brought enlightenment and wisdom in a way that surprised me; it felt futile to even ask him, so where to next? Because ultimately; Siv will get there. He will work more internationally; he will broaden his career and remain undefeated – but most of all? Siv will remain truthfully, unequivocally, himself through it all…and how many stars could ever say the same?

Written by: Holly Bell Beaton