Sven Christian [SC]: The five works on show are quite different from your other sculptures, at least those that I’ve seen. They’re low-reliefs, for one. I was wondering what prompted the shift?

Collen Maswanganyi [CM]: I actually used to make low-reliefs, back in the early 2000s, but they were mostly of scenery. Then I began to focus more on sculpture in the round. In 2019, there was a programme run by Spier ca- lled Creative Blocks. They supply small blocks for artists to work on. If they like what you do, they buy your work. So I was encouraged to apply, and as I was working on them, I started to enjoy the process. Then I started expe- rimenting on plywood and pine, which gives a different texture. BEE, for example, is made out of pine, and I want to push myself more in that direction. I’m hoping that my upcoming residency at NIROX will allow me to experiment on a larger scale.

SC: I know that a lot of your work revolves around people going about their everyday, but the works shown in the Covered Space are quite different from these, not only as low-reliefs, but in terms of how you’ve cropped them. You could’ve easily done a head and shoulders, for example, but chose to focus on specific things — the padlock, the briefcase, the pocket; whatever it is that is under lock?

CM: My sculptures are usually full-figured, but when working on these I thought, ‘Why not bring in aspects of those complete sculptures — not the whole thing, but part of them?’ Of course, I was working on a smaller scale, but the goal was to foreground those elements. Viewers will complete the sculpture in their mind.

SC: I was drawn to these particular works because they bring to mind a kind of paranoia that I associate with the city, which has to do with a fear of the world ‘out there.’ It’s something about the combination of the padlock and how they’ve been cropped.

CM: I like that padlocks are an old way of preserving or protecting things. These days there are different kinds of locking mechanisms. So with those sculptures I thought, ‘Why not make a sculpture of a modern person, a promi- nent person like a lawyer or banker, and still use the padlocks?’ You’ll find those locks on travel bags. You’ll have the zip, but sometimes you’ll also use a padlock. In my work I like to incorporate old ways of making or doing things that form part of the modern world. If you look at those sculptures, those are modern people, but then you look again and see the padlocks and think, ‘Why?’

SC: For some reason I associate Secret Files (2020) with the CBD, or perhaps Sandton — I picture people going into the bank with their briefcase strapped to their arm, like in the movies. Or when people tuck their money into their sock, or their bra. There’s something kind of absurd about the idea of putting a padlock on your pocket, ri- ght?

CM: Yes, true. People say it’s a dog-eat-dog world. In the city you always have to watch around to see if you’re safe. That’s very relevant to the work. Coming from Lim- popo to live in the city wasn’t easy. It was very, very di- fficult. If you have cash, you have to make sure that you hide it well. You make sure you lock your things away in safe places. Even where we live now, we always make sure to lock the gate, because sometimes you’ll find that a person can come knocking, then they start to do some- thing else. So ja, living in the city, really, to be honest, you need to watch your back and make sure that you’re safe. If you’re driving you must lock your car, otherwise you will have uninvited guests. Locking things up is a way of life in the city. Even coming to NIROX, you don’t just get there. You need to ask for permission to get in. They open for you, they know who you are. Things are like that.

SC: Yet the bright, bold colours also suggest people who’re quite flashy with their money; who don’t mind flaunting it, but who still feel the need to lock it up. It’s a strange juxtaposition.

CM: My work is known for its vivid colours — the greens, the blues, the yellows. So I always play around with that, without trying to justify a particular colour choice. I settle on a colour depending on whether it brings me peace. When I look at it after, I want to feel an attraction to the work. If I use one colour and it doesn’t give me that, I’ll change it. But in the context of what you’re saying, yes, sometimes people pretend not to have, so they can travel safely. Other people don’t always dress so modestly. You expect to see those people in places like Sandton, where they feel safe, but you won’t see them in the CBD.

SC: So when did you move to Johannesburg?

CM: I came to Joburg to study from 1997 to 1999. After that I went for a workshop in the Netherlands for two or three months, then came back, went back home to the rural village in Limpopo, stayed there for the latter part of 2000, 2001, then moved back to Joburg again in 2002. I’ve been in Joburg ever since.

SC: Does it feel like it’s changed much? Have you stayed in one place?

CM: I’ve stayed in different places. When I was studying I was fortunate to live in Hillbrow and Berea. Then, it wasn’t very safe. I was afraid to carry my phone when walking in the city, or to have anything important with me. That’s when a lot of people began moving into Hillbrow, because it was thought to be a kind of upmarket suburb, a residential area where people could live in quiet. But as more people arrived it became noisy. There were lots of robberies and stuff. Today security has been beefed up, or maybe it’s because I’m now used to the city. I’m no longer afraid. Because it wasn’t only the tsotsis; it was also the police. We were always asked for our passport, thinking that we were foreigners. If you gave your ID, they’d ask where you come from. They thought you mi- ght be lying or that you acquired your ID fraudulently. When I returned in 2002 I came to stay in a township, Thembisa. That’s when I started to experiment more, and to experience township life, which is different to the CBD, Hillbrow, my home village... I don’t experience all of that these days. Perhaps it’s just that I’m more confident, or because I now drive to the city — I no longer walk. I’m actually kind of free.

SC: Do all of these experiences come through in your art?

CM: Yes. As an artist it gives you a different way of un- derstanding things. Through my art, I can talk about the rural village where I come from, and incorporate ele- ments of the city and the township, where I live. I moved to where I am now about five years ago. Before that, I used to work outside. I enjoyed seeing people walking around. It inspired me to make more, bringing in all of those elements. If I see something that I like — if I feel that it can be a part of my work — I explore it. If you look at the one work, in which the figure is wearing trousers, there’s a pattern on the belt and shirt [p. 60]. That’s some- thing that I saw. I loved it. My son started wearing these colourful belts. When I spoke at the opening, I mentioned the buttons on the new work that I made specifically for Afropolitanism. Those buttons have horizontal bars in the centre, to resemble the wool you use to sew them on. They remind me of a ‘no entry’ sign. For me, politics is the rea- son our cities are in the state they’re in. Once people are in power, they decide on things that others cannot have a say in. So once they’ve blocked everything, there’s no way in.

SC: You also mentioned experiencing a certain degree of freedom now, being able to drive into the city, and no longer being harassed by the police. It’s as if, now that you have a car, you’re no longer really seen as a threat, someone who might be causing trouble.

CM: I also think it has to do with knowing what to say to police whenever they stop you. Back in the day we didn’t know what to say or how to address them. One becomes a city person, and then one walks with confidence, ma- king sure that people are aware that you also belong to the city.

SC: You mentioned this kind of indirectly, but the expe- rience of xenophobia — do you find it also extends to other South Africans who are not local to Johannesburg? I was reading a newspaper story the other day about people being stopped and asked if they understood what ‘indololwane’ meant?1

CM: I’ve never experienced it, but I’ve heard stories. My language originated in Mozambique. I speak Tson- ga-Shangaan. So others refer to us as amaShangaan. There are lots of us in Limpopo, in the former Gazanku- lu area and many other parts of the country, such as Gauteng. It’s just that most — because they have lived amongst the Sothos, Zulus, and so on — tend to speak those languages. Still, there are certain areas where we are not welcome. So xenophobia can be a problem for people like myself. When it’s bad we are very careful, because we might become victims. Most of us come from different parts of the country, but some feel like they own the city. Those who come from the rural villages are referred to as people from the farms, or something like that. It’s like we’re not considered as belonging to the city.

SC: You said something about having to adapt — knowing what to say, how to act. There’s a kind of perfor- mativity involved, where one adopts a persona in order to navigate the city. I’m wondering if that extends to how you dress?

CM: Ja, certain clothes will distinguish you from the crowd. Most Nigerian people have a way of dressing; the Shangaan people have a way of dressing; the Zulus have got their way of dressing — you can be easily distin- guished from the crowd, because city people wear things that are acceptable according to city norms, you see?

SC: So the suit and tie becomes a sort of disguise, some- thing that isn’t so easily identifiable — it helps one blend in, but it also becomes the basis for your next job appli- cation, when you put on the suit and do the thing. I’m thinking again about the artworks on show, the fact that they’re cropped, that there are no faces to these figures — they’re not identifiable in that way.

CM: In my other works, you can often tell, ‘Ok, this is a lady who is wearing Venda regalia; this is a Tsonga-Sha- ngaan woman; this is a Zulu woman...’ So ja, without even seeing their faces, without giving any more details, that kind of clothing is easily identifiable. That’s something I always think about.

SC: That’s interesting for me in the context of Afropolita- nism, because so much of it is tied to the idea of move- ment, of multicultural spaces, but also of affluence, where you get a blending of people from all over. It feels like people are almost expected to ‘put aside their differen- ces’ and adopt something that is ‘universal’, but that so- mething also seems tied commerce and capitalism?

CM: From my cultural view, and having lived in the city, there’s that understanding of how one thinks — of ok, people can actually relate to this, to one another, or so- mething like that. So this type of clothing is very much ac- ceptable back in the rural area, and this type of clothing can also be acceptable while living in the city, but like I said, it makes you easily identifiable.