How did the solo in this performance, Sakhozi says "non" to the Venus come about?
I was asked by the Musée de Quai Branl y (in Paris, which features collections of indigenous African art, among that of other cultures) to create a dance piece. In fact, they said a "contemporary African dance piece". Now what is that? What is "contemporary African"? Does the colour of my skin make my work "contemporary African"?
Is the work of Robyn Orlin (a white South African choreographer whose work is seen regularly in Europe) considered "contemporary African"? Why can't my work simply be "contemporary"? Why does it have to be put in a special "African" category? ... The solo I created was a follow-up to the Sara Baartman-inspired solo I did earlier called They look at me and that's all they think.
I n this piece I've created a story about Sara Baartman coming back to South Africa, thanks to Nelson Mandela's efforts to bring her back. But when she gets to South Africa she finds that she doesn't fit in. She finds that she misses her European life. She misses her glasses of champagne. She returns to Europe, to France, and (French President Nicolas) Sarkozy, says to her you can return, but you'll have to go back to being on exhibit. Otherwise, go back.
Have there been many instances where you've been invited to create "contemporary African" dance pieces?
Oh yes, I get invited to them all the time. I guess categorising artists like myself in this way is the only way festival organisers can get funding to showcase our work.
If you feel this uncomfortable with this categorisation, why do you keep partaking in these festivals?
Well, if I don't accept the invitations to attend, then someone else will. At least I do it consciously, not blindly. I do it knowing what I'm getting myself into.
What do you get out of presenting your work in such a context?
Well, the way I see it, you can't really spit in their faces, it's often the only way I'm getting paid. Also, there are often panel discussions, debates and dialogues at these festivals about these very issues. So that's always good. And, I also get to meet other artists from the African continent.
Born in Soweto and trained as a classical ballet dancer with the Johannesburg Dance Foundation and the Rambert School of Ballet & Contemporary Dance in London, you left the world of ballet to ultimately be what you are today ... Is this what you dreamed for yourself as a little girl?
Oh no. I forgot about dreams a long time ago. After a while, as a dancer I came to realise that I was a bit odd. I looked like a boy. I started really late as a dancer. I was in my 20s when I did ballet. By the age of 16 or 17, most ballet dancers are already professional. After four years of training I still couldn't point (my foot) like a professional ballet dancer. I still didn't understand my body ...
Also, I realised early on that both classical and contemporary dance worlds were dominated by men. In the ballet world, because ballet companies struggle to get boys to do ballet, the few who show a little bit of talent are treasured and treated as really special, and, if you look at the contemporary dance world specifically here on the African continent, it's just boys, boys, boys and more boys. Think about it, by the time girls hit 22, 23 or 25, they have to cook, get married and have children. Where are you going to get time to be a dancer?
I must admit, with your early works, I've come to see you as a strange, quirky, Lolita-like performer whose oddity and creativity I would most liken to that of the Icelandic musical eccentric Björk. Take the picture on your current poster, for example. We can't see your face. You are upside down. Your dress is covering the rest of your torso, exposing your legs in coloured stockings in the air, twisted like a koeksister. To top it off, you're wearing these gorgeous high-heeled shoes. Do you think you actively exploit your body, its sexuality and its oddity, in your works?
(Laughs.) Well, the photograph in the poster is simply a picture someone took of me when I was performing on stage once and I really liked the image. If that picture wasn't taken, I would not have used such an image for this poster. That's coincidence. But yes, I am a dancer and therefore I rely on my body. There's a very strong sexual element to that. And so, yes, there's always sex involved.
You've made two pieces related to the story of Sara Baartman. Do you identify with her in any way?
Well, for me, Sara Baartman was a Khoikhoi woman who was exhibited as a sideshow attraction in 19th-century Europe under the name "Hottentot Venus". After Mandela initiated her return to South Africa, she became a symbol for women's rights ... And yes, I do see myself in her.
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shrott