Budgets and bronzes creep well together. A tweet from @Suzanne_Heath in Bath in the United Kingdom somewhere, that I find highly appropriate under the current gilded circumstance across the length and breath (sick) of South Africa, motivates me to do my own crawl, whereupon within the time it takes to type google, I find this, The Boll Weevil Monument, in a town called Enterprise in Alabama.
Of course, this little mite made it all the way to the deep south from Mexico, and its proud heritage includes the complete devastation of the cotton farms that, in retrospect, the event of which the town has embraced as a herald of prosperity, because after that they all had to grow peanuts instead ~ and made fortunes.
I could get fond of this (sic) tick though - in bronze, maybe giant size, huge, massive, a mega-golden parktown prawn bridge as the entrance to Joburg or something. You drive underneath it. We could have our own bronze cockroach to celebrate our hope that the plague of the times is a blessing in heavy disguise. The antennae could be wireless transmitters for commuters on their way to and from Pretoria. Or it could be a tollgate. That's it. An e-toll memorial. We could have a Sanral logo on it. Or the eyes could be that blue neon. Even. To remember them by.
Ridiculous video here. Nothing about slavery.
This is the original version of this piece.
Inner City Joburg yesterday the 22nd of May 2013. During the Mayor's Budget Speech.
on every posctard of our city
who owns your view?
who sees their view?
looking right, and left, and right again. who looks up?
have you got a license for that reflection?
the boy in front saw something fosho. but what?
This is where I was born at the Florence Nightingale Hospital in Hillbrow, inner city Jhb in 1961. That was the year after the Sharpeville Massacres and the year before Marilyn Monroe died. It is strange the names you always knew and remember and the names you never knew. It's also strange what you have to edit out for your TED Talk because of time and inclination. This post doesn't worry about leaving anything out although I would hate to ramble.
My mom says this was the poshest nursing home in the whole of Johannesburg. She also says when I came out of her my hair was standing straight on end and that I looked exactly like a toilet brush. Thanks mom. She already told everyone or I might have hesitated. I think my hair stood on end because I had some kind of premonition of the future. Two years later I was back in the Florence having an emergency tracheotomy with no anaesthetic because most of the specialists were in shul because it was Rosh ha Shona and they were Jewish. The surgeon told my mom and dad to expect the worst and they went home and cried under a tree in our garden in the rain.
As you know by now I did not peg, yet. That grey building is where I landed up about 18 years later, still in Hillbrow, learning drama in case there wasn't enough in my life, with a wonderful teacher by the name of Lyndsay Reardon who I love and trust though I haven't seem him in an age.
Before it was a drama school, it was painted in all psychaedelic colours and called Narnia and I am told that my dad went there once in a slight rage looking for my one sister and when he didn't find her he took all the chairs and tables out of the top floor and threw them over what is now this gated balcony. I wonder if they put up the bars to stop more fathers.
Anyway, after it was a drama school, it was well known as Club 58 where many of my friends like Joanna Weinberg and Natalie Gamsu and Soli Philander got a bit famous. Next door was a restaurant on the corner called Lucky Luke's where we all used to hangout for hours because the service was so bad they never used to move you on if you had no money. And next to that was a clothing shop where the beautiful young Stan James worked. Some people used to hang out at Lucky Luke's just to catch a glimpse of him, hearts fluttering. I got this information from a friend and this part was also not in my TED Talk but I hope it came across in the sub-text.
Here's Olivia Court where I lived also in the corner flat with two balconies, first with my first love and then with his friend who I married. Moving along swiftly ...
Speaking of firsts, this was my first place in Hillbrow where I moved when I left school. I lived under this house in a little flatlet that had a grate where a wall used to be. In the house, at that time, were Boetie, Loftie, Buzzard and Mrs Doreen Baptiste. There are stories about them and those days still to come, suffice now to say that Loftie was as big as Ponte and he wore a vest and kicked the dog and scratched. Here is a close-up Johannes Dreyer, who took all these photographs, captured before we kind of made our way rather fast out of this particular street after getting that feeling.
When I lived there circa 1979 it was not a wank. This fact was in my TED Talk but I am not sure the audience got it. The photograph probably made them feel a bit anxious and apparently they don't wank. I mean they don't use the word wank so much in America. I am sure they play with themselves though and there are lots of banks that get bailed out and everything.
artatwork's CEO is going to TED2013 to cause as much generous disruption as possible. She is looking forward to making the best and shortest speech of her life, and thanks all her colleagues and intense fans for voting on her audition and saying nice things. You may have seen the new celebratory blog posts on her posterous site here, but if you haven't here's a taste. Our very own big TED hugging Sipho who has no home in all the world, at the Troyeville Bedtime Story a few dark nights hence.
Lesley loves eye-sores because they remind her, on very bad days, exactly why she was born. From now on you can expect irregular postings of images and texts on this here blog featuring them in all their splendour - ... so that none of us forget how completely unacceptable we find them. This, iSore #1, named after myPhone, was seen at Eastgate Shopping Centre a few days back. I am afraid shopping malls are currently not considered for neighbourhood target practice, replete as they are with men with big guns and walkie-talkies ... otherwise we might have just turned it into something more interesting. Although it does pose a serious question: Is public space where the people are? And are the people in the shops trying hard to find ways to avoid being useful by emptying their pockets for things they do not need?
This is not a miniature man. This is Cratefan Elliot in Cape Town. He has thousands of red crates clad
over 36 tonnes of excruciatingly beautiful steel armature that you can't even see. He is made of strong
stuff this dude. He has steel cable ties. He has giant water bottles deep inside him to keep him from
walking away, over the Fancy Grace and up Table Mountain. This is the great artist of the world,
Porky Hefer's little notion for the Olympics. And there's more to come.
If he does escape his weights, Cratefan Elliot has promised me he is coming to Joburg before he jets
off on the new SpaceShip those scientists at CERN don't even know they are making yet out of Higgs
Bosons. And because he is carrying this torch for all of us little particles.
I said for all of us. Flames of hope for a Gold. And Oscar Pistorius, if you are the one, Cratefan
Elliot's going to run to the airport to give you a big red monster hug when you come home.
I will see to it in our dreams. You are our Iron Giants you two. Porky on the other hand, is a
gentle soul. With a name like Pig how could you imagine otherwise?
Thanks to Coca Cola for opening happiness and making it possible for Cratefan Elliot to represent the
"endeavour for protection, the struggle for victory, the light of spirit, knowledge and life."
And to Robin Sprong for the images. I feel like springing.