Rowan Smith by WHATIFTHEWORLD

CONTENTS

NO EVERYTHING 2014

4 Symphony of Destruction: An Entropic reading of Rowan Smith’s ‘No Everything’ Tim Leibbrandt

Where There is Smoke 2012

36 Where There is Smoke Tracy Jeanne Rosenthal

48 DOES POSTCOLONIALISM MATTER ANYMORE ELIOT GARDEPE 56 CATASTROPHIC INSTRUCTIONS JEN HUTTON

All rights reserved, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, electronic, photocopying, or other means without the prior permission of the copyright holders. © Whatiftheworld 2014 © Images and works: Rowan Smith

If You Get Far Enough Away, You’ll Be On Your Way Back Home 2009

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Future Shock Lost 2008

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86 Curriculum Vitae

Photo credits: NO EVERYTHING ~ Hayden Phipps Where There is Smoke and 2011/12 work ~ Jason Davis and Vidisha Saini Come On You Fuckers ~ Jason Davis If You Get Far Enough Away, You’ll be On Your Way Back Home ~ Hayden Phipps Future Shock Lost ~ Mario Todeschini

No Everything 2014

Symphony of Destruction: An Entropic reading of Rowan Smith’s ‘No Everything’ TIM LEIBBRANDT

[T]he image that survives the work of destruction is the image of destruction. -Boris Groys, Becoming Revolutionary, 2013 In Rowan Smith’s most recent body of work, ‘No Everything’, images of destruction abound. The combined effect of the exhibition’s works create an impression of a site in the aftermath of demolition. As the title implies, all of the works in the space have undergone some form of destruction or degradation: piles of rubble, detritus, broken glass, effaced signage, vandalised statues, liquescent driftwood and scattered litter. Following the lead of Smith’s 2012 exhibition ‘Where There’s Smoke’ (which was heavily centred on imagery with connotations to late apartheid such as burning tyres and references to Paul Simon’s 1986 album Graceland), ‘No Everything’ arrives at a juncture in post-apartheid South Africa. Opening within a month of South Africa’s national elections and marking twenty years since the country’s first democratic elections in 1994, the exhibition examines the complexities and contradictions of contemporary South Africa two decades after seemingly transitioning non-violently into post-apartheid. Taking Oh nationalism, you look so beautiful in ruin; but we never really loved you and chicken just tastes better as an indicator, Smith’s conclusion appears to be that post-apartheid South Africa as it currently exists is built on unstable nationalist constructs which are liable to collapse. Having come to the deduction of a self-destructive path, Smith presents detritic imagery in order to metaphorically collapse these flimsy underlying structures for the viewer, bringing forth an ideology conducive to imagining alternative states. He is certainly not alone in his means of expressing this sentiment and similar assertions have been made by thinkers such as Neville Alexander and Edgar Pieterse. In Thoughts on the New South Africa, Alexander accuses the ruling party and dominant elites in South Africa of “wilfully creating or, at best, tolerating a situation that in all likelihood will degenerate into […] a war of all against all, such as we saw in Lebanon in the 1980s and in the former Yugoslavia in the 1990s”1 . As with Smith, Alexander goes on to say that the accusation is made with the intent of prompting the powers that be to focus on “addressing the danger systematically and seriously, with a view to averting the disaster.”2 Focussing specifically on Cape Town (where Smith currently works and lives) and coming from an environmentally as well as socio-politically conscious perspective, Edgar Pieterse states rather bluntly that:

“Cape Town is heading for disaster and is already in deep crisis if one cares to look close enough […] Cape Town’s grim future is born out of the confluence of the globalised economic and ecological collapse that is fast becoming the defining feature of the twenty-first century.” 3

As with Smith and Alexander, Pieterse is not pessimistic about the situation; merely realistic. He concludes the chapter by expressing hope that with “robust and sustained public engagement, adaptive leadership, mutual partnerships and a collective determination to fulfil the city’s potential […] Cape Town can save itself and lead others”4. What is important to note with all three of Alexander, Pieterse and now Smith’s views is a projection onto a destructive end (“war of all against all”, “deep crisis” and “no everything” respectively) with the intent of prompting an ideological reconsideration of the paths that appear set to arrive at this destination. In varying degrees, all three find a combination of inept political vision and short-sighted capitalist consumption as primary causes of this demarcated path. As Alexander rightly observes, scathing descents into genocide have occurred in the postcolonial transitions in Rwanda, the Congo and Zimbabwe. That South Africa averted all-out bloodshed in a seemingly non-violent transition into post-apartheid does not mean that this apparent position as an exception is secured. As with the central support beam in Robert Smithson’s Partially Buried Woodshed (1970), if cumulative force is continuously applied to a structure that is not reinforced to withstand the pressure it will eventually cave in (Smithson’s work took 12 years 5). By imagining iconic signifiers of contemporary South African existence in a state of ruin, Smith is not arguing that “we are all fucked” or anything suitably reductive as that. Rather (as with Alexander and Pieterse) he is pointing to the hubris in assuming that nothing in the present situation needs to change or that some hypothetical future development will emerge to avert this outcome. The notion of hubris will be returned to later in this discussion. The aesthetics of destruction then serves a dual role. It points to the collapsing of a specific mindset or ideology while also serving allegorical foreshadowing. In developing his concept of defacement, Michael Taussig argues that in demonstrating the potential for something to be destroyed (he is discussing the defacing or vandalising of significant statues), “the critique supplied by defacement is already inscribed within the object” and consequently defacement “brings these otherwise obscure

or concealed inner powers [referred to as the “public secret”] flooding forth.” 6 Taussig’s conclusion is that “the negation merely completes the object of critique and was its destiny.” 7 By symbolically depicting the end point of the current trajectory of post-apartheid South Africa, Smith points out that while it may not necessarily be obvious at present (and this is debatable), imminent collapse is ingrained within its current underlying structures. It is here that the role of Groys’ revolutionary artist emerges. Ultimately, it is not the role of the revolutionary artist to define a better society. As Groys notes, “that is the goal of the postrevolutionary period” 8 . The revolutionary artist expands, enhances and stokes the regenerative ideology of the collective determination that Pieterse spoke of. Rendering a South African post-apartheid capitalist wasteland tangible is such an act. In visualising this concept as something which can be physically perceived, Smith generates an acknowledgment in the mind of the viewer of its (metaphorical) potential to exist. In light of these ideas, I wish to suggest a reading of Smith’s work through the lens of entropy. The concept derives from the second law of thermodynamics but has served diverse applications from a critique of capitalism in Nicholas GeorgescuRoegen’s The Entropy Law and the Economic Process, to Rosalind Krauss’ reading of Roger Caillois’ musings on animal mimicry 9 and is a central tenant of Robert Smithson and Gordon MattaClark’s art production. In thermodynamics entropy is outlined as such:

In an isolated system, the amount of energy remains constant while the available energy continuously and irrevocably degrades into unavailable states. Entropy is then the measure of the amount of unavailable energy in the system, where maximum entropy demarcates total exhaustion 10.

In thermodynamics this pertains to heat energy moving from areas of high heat to low. But when entropy is used metaphorically (perhaps allegorically) the nature of the energy that is ultimately depleted depends on the system under discussion. It should also be stressed that this demarcates the limits of entropy as it will be applied here as a metaphorical model. I am in no way claiming to be an expert in the complexities of thermodynamics. An example: When British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan delivered his seminal “Winds of Change” speech11 to South African parliament on 03 February 1960, he asserted that

the process of decolonisation in Africa was underway and irreversible. This is an entropic assertion in the sense that it suggests the eventual but inevitable exhaustion of the energies which perpetuate colonialism. As entropy gathers momentum, this process becomes increasingly irreversible and final. In theory then, post-colonialism and post-apartheid should exist in the wake of their respective exhaustions. This is the condition which Smith critiques in ‘No Everything’; in fact the title itself is a revolutionary statement of “everything” reaching maximum entropy (or at least everything that defines post-apartheid South Africa). The transition into post-apartheid brought with it a period of idealism and optimism typified by ideological nationalist constructs such as the “rainbow nation” which sought to create the impression of a country unified and peacefully coexisting across racial lines and actively striving towards addressing the wounds and inequalities of the past. Along with this came the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) aimed at assisting the country in coming to terms with the atrocities of apartheid and facilitating a sense of reconciliation and healing12 . Fundamentally these endeavours brought with them an alternating sense of rapprochement and amnesia. There were also aspects of translation into spectacle in the sense that many of the hearings were broadcast publicly and received extensive media coverage.13 For a second, picture South Africa at the moment of postapartheid as being represented by a shattered car window, shards of glass scattered in heaps in the area surrounding the site of impact/trauma. If we allow ourselves this mental image then it could be said that the TRC envisioned a goal of recombining these fragments into something representing a new, unified whole; clean, glistening and without trace of the trauma from which it was forged. A blank slate. The contradiction inherent in this is succinctly expressed by Brandon Hamber and Richard A. Wilson when they assert that:

Nations do not have collective psyches which can be healed, nor do whole nations suffer post-traumatic stress disorder and to assert otherwise is to psychologise an abstract entity which exists primarily in the minds of nation-building politicians.14

In other words, presenting reconciliation as something which can take place collectively by a nation is a fallacy that ignores the relativity and subjectivity of individual trauma and instead serves specific political functions. In so doing, it also generates a

scenario where those not suffering post-apartheid trauma view themselves as being rehabilitated and reconciled and expect this to be the state of things across the board. This marks a condition reflected in a pervasive attitude, characterised by complacency, of many in the contemporary South African middle to upper class: Apartheid is over, we had a TRC, it’s been 20 years, why can’t people forgive/forget and move on? Smith astutely presents a metaphorical engagement with this contradiction through his troika of reconstituted automotive glass works Untitled (Toyota Tazz), Untitled (Citi Golf) and Untitled (Opel Kadett). Laboriously sifting through the contents of the vacuum cleaners at an auto glass repair centre, Smith amassed a stockpile of glass shards derived from broken windows; hence materials with a charged history. Recombining these to once again assume the form of specific car windows, the impossibility of circumventing the disparity between the individual pieces becomes readily apparent. The windows represent a fractured recombination of shattered elements (each with their own past trauma) that while comprising a whole shaped as a car window, cannot necessarily be viewed as being homogenous. The same is true of the people that occupy the area of land delineated as “South Africa” by the political constructs of borders, geography and nationalism. The three works then also demonstrate the concept of entropy as irreversible when considered in light of Robert Smithson’s famous “jejune” experiment wherein a sandbox divided in half between two different colours of sand15 is stirred by a child running in a clockwise direction repeatedly for hundreds of rotations. Changing direction “will not be a restoration of the original division but a greater degree of greyness and an increase of entropy”16 .

nationalism and the idea of nation-building are constructed impositions, willingly abandoned at a moment’s notice in favour of the creature comforts of frivolous capitalist consumption because “we never really loved it and chicken just tastes better”. The suggestion is of a collapsed monument of South African post-apartheid excess.

the select few who benefit under post-apartheid and those left out in the cold is extended even wider. Alexander summarises that “If we fail to address the question of values with even a modicum of success, we will inevitably arrive at the edge of the abyss, pushed there by the logic of capitalism.” 21 Extending our metaphor, this abyss is then the point of maximum entropy.

Placing the plethora of cruel human rights abuses aside for a minute and looking at it from a specifically economic perspective, one of the outcomes of the apartheid system’s design was the generation of extreme economic disadvantage along racial lines.

In emphasising how the current post-apartheid condition perpetuates many existing oppressive apartheid/colonial structures, Paul Maylam makes the uncomfortable suggestion that

Post-apartheid nation-building is an empty gesture when its applications are limited to collectively supporting the national rugby team on occasion (ergo the springbok horns) and doing little else to rectify this economic disparity.

Georgescu-Roegen has offered an hourglass metaphor to demonstrate a relationship between the entropy law and economics, wherein the “stuff of the upper half stands for low entropy and by pouring down it degrades into high entropy (waste).”18 In this respect, the faux potato chip packets of Smith’s Emptiness series (reductively carved from jelutong wood) act as an efficient visual translation. Depleted, consumed; their energy has been exhausted and they now lie scattered in the streets as litter (waste).

An element of Oh Nationalism which hasn’t been discussed as of yet is the rubble itself. Besides pointing to ruin in a general sense, rubble also implies the prior existence of walls; another signifier which serves a key role in constructing an image of post-apartheid South African identity. During apartheid, separations in terms of which spaces one was permitted to be in were defined on racial grounds. Particularly in relation to living spaces, this perpetuated a clear division between white suburbia and black townships. During apartheid in Johannesburg, it was in these townships where crime was forcibly contained by the apartheid system 23.

The point is that transitioning to a post-apartheid system which fails to sufficiently address this disparity does not mark a resetting of the entropic hourglass, just a renaming. Discussing the ideology behind the fact that one of Evo Morales’ first acts as president of Bolivia was to pass a law that reduced his presidential salary by 57%, Neville Alexander observes that in post-apartheid South Africa the exact opposite occurred from the get-go:

This reading is not a perfect metaphor in the sense that there never was a shiny original South Africa window that preceded the shattering force of apartheid, but it still serves to convey the fragmented and disparate nature of the contemporary South African whole. If we extend the scope of the shattering trauma to include the broader colonial project preceding the 1948 implementation of apartheid legislation then this problem is further alleviated. The inclusion by Smith of imagery pertaining to Cecil John Rhodes in the exhibition itself certainly supports this.

If this initial phase of post-apartheid “rainbow” nation-building exercises marked a “consensual hallucination” (to borrow a term from William Gibson17), Smith examines the conditions for its collapse from these rickety foundations with Oh nationalism’s mound of rubble and detritus. Smith’s suggestion here is that

The point ultimately is that a system infused with a capitalist logic that extends right to the top will inevitably benefit a few and completely fail to address those who are desperately in need of it. Official means of redress are superficial at best and do little to address the broader problem 20. As such, the chasm between

The recommendations of the Melamet Commission of 1994 and the subsequent annual increases recommended by the Independent Commission for the Remuneration of Public Office Bearers, based on the principles of remuneration of the apartheid dispensation, were accepted without much soul searching among the new elite. This, in my view, was the first signal that we were headed in the wrong direction.19

The present South African government’s [neo-liberal] economic policy has, for the most part, been capital-friendly. If Rhodes were alive today, he would be given plenty of scope for making profit. 22

Post-apartheid opened up the space of suburbia for diversification, something which Lindsay Bremner suggests has created a kind of anxiety generated by an imagined Other understood to be criminal. Bremner notes that “As political, social and economic barriers have broken down, anxiety has ensured that others have been erected” 24 . Frank Lewingberg goes on to suggest that “Johannesburg today is a city of walls, substituting for the invisible walls of apartheid through which the Other was kept in its place.” 25 This is a consequence of post-apartheid capitalist logic, the more one imagines and projects a hypothetical criminal Other who lacks but desires, the higher the walls go to prevent this perceived Other from acting on this disparity. Call it the Jenga effect, the result is a nationalism built on shakier and shakier ground, ultimately looking beautiful in ruin. If the rainbow nation was a consensual hallucination then Fuck Your Beach House, Smith’s series of bronzes depicting driftwood in a state of nightmarish liquefaction, visually mark the point of descent into bad acid trip. “All that is solid melts into air,” was the decidedly entropic vision of capitalism famously put

forward by Marx and Engels in The Communist Manifesto. 26 In a country where a large portion of the population live in informal settlements, the concept of owning an additional ‘getaway house’ used intermittently on weekends solely for leisure reads as pure excess and indulgence; waste. Critiquing the idea of “rustic” as an aesthetic décor choice through the driftwood imagery, Smith paradoxically (confrontationally) preserves the upper-middle to upper class beach house dream in bronze at the moment of literally melting into air; a petit monument to bourgeois hubris. Entropy and hubris are tightly intertwined. Stated simply, hubris can be viewed as the denial of entropy. This can also be extended into equivalence between entropy and mortality. As suggested by the title, there is a duel ode to hubris in the decapitated equestrian monument of Nothing Lasts Forever Cecil. On the one hand the ruined statue recalls the “half sunk shattered visage” of the eroded remnants of the monument in Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Ozymandias. The other reference stems from arguably the most iconic moment in Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather (1972). There is an established trajectory here that flows from vanity to hubris and finally to entropy. Maylam notes that Rhodes’ “quest for immortality” resulted from his being a “supreme egotist, driven by vanity.” 27 Taussig infers that “to erect a statue is to take revenge on reality,”28 in other words, to attempt to deny mortality and to maintain an immortal presence. There can be little doubt that Rhodes wished for “ye mighty” to look upon his works. As the stark sands which surround the decaying wreckage of Ozymandias’ statue remind us, this is a futile gesture that will inevitably and unavoidably corrode. Ultimately, Rhodes bought his (temporary) immortality and it is “his money […] that preserves his presence amid the spires” 29 . Of the numerous memorial statues which exist in commemoration of Rhodes, it is George Frederick Watts’ Physical Energy, a bronze cast originally conceived in 1870, which has since become inseparable with the man, despite sharing no real physical resemblance to him 30. At present three casts exist, one in Cape Town’s Rhodes Memorial, one in London’s Kensington Park and a perpetually unloved casting, a gift from the BSA company unveiled by the Queen Mother in Lusaka in May 1960 31 , that has since been abandoned to the garden of Zimbabwe’s national archives. It is this third version which provided the inspiration for Smith’s work; linked to an incident in which a visitor to the Zimbabwean national archives allegedly found bees nesting in the mouth of the statue. 32 The horse head in Nothing Lasts Forever Cecil is an exact recreation of the Rhodes Memorial casting.

A more explicit reference of equestrian desecration and hubris than Ozymandius derives from the encounter between Jack Woltz (portrayed by John Marley) and the mafia in The Godfather. Given “an offer he cannot refuse” from Marlon Brando’s Don Corleone, Hollywood mogul Woltz declines this offer on the basis of pride (“a man in my position can’t afford to be made to look ridiculous”) and hubris in his misguided faith that his connections to the FBI and the White House will protect him. Woltz quickly finds that these layers of safety and protection are not nearly as impenetrable as he foolishly perceived, awakening to find the head of his prized $600,000 stallion Khartoum laying on his bed sheets as a warning for denying Don Corleone his request. It shouldn’t be inferred that Smith’s simulated defacement of George Frederick Watts’ statue is similarly an assault on one of Rhode’s prized horses (Rhodes was in fact a lamentable horseman33 ). Instead it is an attack on what the reared horse stands for in colonial imagery, what Watts described as “a symbol of that restless physical impulse to seek the still unachieved in the domain of material things.” 34 Smith defaces this symbol of the colonialist/ imperialist impetus to perpetually claim, reducing it to an icon of failure. The work diminishes Rhodes from ambitious, all-conquering Imperialist to the chummy “Cecil” (apparently on a first name basis with the speaker) faced with the reality of the impermanence of his life’s quest for immortality. In reading this entropically, Watts’ title, Physical Energy, could not be more perfect. Smith’s act of defacement symbolically marks the exhaustion of the colonial “physical impulse”, expediting this to a point of maximum entropy. Wall-mounted like a hunting trophy, the addition of a living swarm of bees takes the symbolism of Smith’s iconoclastic gesture a step further. By drawing inspiration from the aforementioned discovery in the Zimbabwean national archives, the swarm of bees residing in Smith’s horse head prompts consideration in relation to the ancient Mediterranean ritual of bougonia, wherein it was believed that bees could parthenogenetically emerge from the corpse of an ox. In Book Four of Virgil’s Georgics, there are two different descriptions of how bougonia may be achieved. The first is of less relevance to the discussion at hand and entails killing a two year old steer by blows, ensuring that the fatal injuries are internal and no blood is spilled. According to Virgil, leaving the corpse in a sealed chamber for an undisclosed period of time will result in “the rotting blood of an ox [bringing] forth bees” 35. The second method, which bears a more specific relation to Smith’s defacing gesture, involves the ritual slaughter of “prime bulls of the best conformation” in a leafy grove, throats slit, drained and left for nine days.

Upon returning, the aspiring bee conjurer will encounter:

a sudden omen, plain to see, almost incredible to tell: out of the putrefying bovine guts, out of the bellies and burst sides, bees, buzzing, swarming, then streaming upward in huge clouds till they join in a treetop and hang in a great ball from a bending branch 36

According to Taussig, the decapitation of a statue marks a sort of ritual sacrifice in the name of defacement; one which reveals the public secret. By metaphorically sacrificing Rhode’s steed to yield a swarm of bees, Smith enacts a kind of bougonia of the second sort described by Virgil. The bees mark the deceasing of the horse head as colonial/ imperialist signifier and reincarnate it as hive. There are echoes here of the Old Testament parable of Samson in the book of Judges, wherein Samson poses the riddle: “Out of the eater came something to eat, out of the strong came something sweet.”37 In the wake of the desecration of the horse/ox/lion, the bees become the living, thriving image of destruction. As Thomas N. Habinek observes in his reading of Virgil’s ox-born bees:

It is through an account of conventional animal sacrifice, the central and defining ritual of Roman as well as of Greek religion, that Vergil completes the history of the bees, and celebrates the potential for the renewal of human society as well.38

It is here that Taussig and Groys find equivalence between their defacing and revolutionary artists. Both attempt to uncover some kernel of truth excavated through their iconoclastic gestures of negation. Smith as entropic artist enters the fray as a third equivalence; rendering visible the point of collapse/exhaustion at maximum entropy, simultaneously raising both Groys’ image of destruction and Taussig’s public secret.

[1] Alexander, N. 2013. Thoughts on the New South Africa. Auckland Park: Jacana

[18] Georgescu-Roegen, 1986: 14

Media. 157.

[19] Alexander, 2013: 193.

[2] ibid

[20] “If we had overthrown the apartheid state by military means, we would

[3] Pieterse, E. 2010. ‘Introduction’. in Pieterse, E. 2010. Counter-Currents: Experiments

certainly not have had any reason to implement ‘affirmative action’ in its present

in Sustainability in the Cape Town Region. Auckland Park: Jacana Media. 13.

form”. ibid: 161.

[4] Ibid:23.

[21] ibid: 195.

[5] Mundy, J. 2012. Lost Art: Robert Smithson. Available: http://www.tate.org.uk/

[22] Maylam, P. 2005. The Cult of Rhodes: Remembering an Imperialist in Africa.

context-comment/articles/gallery-lost-art-robert-smithson [06/06/2014].

Claremont: David Philip. 139.

[6] Taussig, M. 1999. Defacement: Public Secrecy and the Labour of the Negative.

[23] Bremner, L. 2004. ‘Bounded Space: Demographic Anxieties in Post-Apartheid

California: Stanford University Press. 43.

Johannesburg’. in Social Identities. 10(4). 460.

[7] ibid

[24] ibid: 465.

[8] Groys,B. 2013. ‘Becoming Revolutionary’. in E-flux Journal # 47. 3

[25] Quoted in ibid: 464.

[9] See: Bois, Y and Krauss, R. 1996. ‘A User’s Guide to Entropy’. in October, 78. 38-42.

[26] Marx, K and Engels,F. 2008. The Manifesto of the Communist Party. Translated

[10] Georgescu-Roegen, 1986. ‘The Entropy Law and the Economic Process in

by Moore, S. Utrecht: Open Source Socialist Publishing. 10.

Retrospect’.in Eastern Economic Journal. 12(1). [4-5].

[27] Maylam, 2005: 30.

[11] To hear the entire speech, see: BBC Archive. n.d. Apartheid in South Africa:

[28] Taussig, 1999: 21.

Tour of South Africa | Rt Hon Macmillan. Available: http://www.bbc.co.uk/archive/

[39] Maylam, 2005: 31.

apartheid/7203.shtml [31/05/2014].

[30] Ibid: 53.

[12] See: Truth and Reconciliation Commission [n.d]. Available: http://www.justice.

[31] Ibid: 54

gov.za/trc/ [06/06/2014].

[32] Ibid: 55.

[13] See: Bird,E and Garda, Z. 1997. ‘Reporting the Truth Commission:Analysis

[33] Ibid: 53.

of Media Coverage of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of South Africa’.in

[34] Quoted in Royal Parks, 2012. Physical Energy Statue. Available: http://www.

International Communication Gazette. 59(4). 331-343.

royalparks.org.uk/parks/kensington-gardens/kensington-gardens-attractions/

[14] Hamber, B and Wilson, R. 2002. ‘Symbolic Closure through Memory, Reparation

physical-energy-statue [04/06/2014]

and Revenge in Post-conflict Societies’. in Journal of Human Rights, 1(1). 35-53.

[35] Virgil. 2005. Vigil’s Georgics: A New Verse Translation. Translated by Lembkhe,

[15] I have intentionally avoided specifically referring to the black and white

J. New Haven: Yale University Press . 69 [285].

division of sand suggested by Smithson to prevent this from being contextually

[36] Ibid: 78 [538-557].

read as a reductive racial metaphor. The colours of the sand are irrelevant to the

[37] Judges 14:14

underlying principle anyway.

[38] Habinek, T. 1990. ‘Sacrifice, Society and Vergel’s Ox-born Bees’.in Griffith, M and

[16] Smithson, R. 1967. ‘A Tour of the Monuments of Passaic, New Jersey’. in Flam, J (ed.).

Mastronarde (eds.)1990. Cabinet of the Muses: essays on classical and comparative

1996. Robert Smithson: The Collected Writings. Berkley: University of California Press. 74.

literature in honor of Thomas G. Rosenmeyer. Atlanta: Department of Classics,

[17] Gibson, W. 1984. Neuromancer. New York: ACE. 51.

University of California Berkley. 212.

As with the emblematic semiotic apparition in Smith’s The Official Restaurant of the South African Family, the resultant spectre is reduced to its core, revealing a previously-concealed truth while collapsing in on itself. A plausible resistance to entropy as it has been discussed here lies in the impulse to sustainable preservation of something broader than just the self (society). Instead of waiting for the system to exhaust itself in maximum entropy and attempting to rebuild from the rubble, the image of destruction prompts an ideological reconsideration of how to reintroduce expedient energy into the existing system. Ultimately this is the motive undertaken by Rowan Smith with ‘No Everything”.

Untitled (Opel Kadett) 2014 Reconstituted automotive glass 45cm x 55cm x 4mm Next page (Left) > Untitled (Citi Golf) 2014 Reconstituted automotive glass 50cm x 46.5cm x 4mm Next page (Right) > Untitled (Toyota Tazz) 2014 Reconstituted automotive glass 47cm x 76cm x 4mm

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I Have Reason to Believe We All Will Be Received in Graceland 2012 Patrolman portable radio, FM Transmitter, Paul Simon’s Graceland (1986) 33 x 25.4 cm I Have Reason to Believe We All Will Be Received in Graceland 2012 Patrolman portable radio, FM Transmitter, Paul Simon’s Graceland (1986) 33 x 25.4 cm I Have Reason to Believe We All Will Be Received in Graceland 2012 Patrolman portable radio, FM Transmitter, Paul Simon’s Graceland (1986) 33 x 25.4 cm

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Emptiness (Salted) 2014

Emptiness (Salt and Vinegar I) 2014

Jelutong,enamel and chrome

Jelutong, enamel and chrome

19 x 15 x 7 cm

20 x 14.5 x 9 cm

18 x 14 x 6 cm

Emptiness (Original Cheese Flavour) 2014

2014 Jelutong, enamel and chrome

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Fuck Your Beach House V 2014

Fuck Your Beach House IV 2014

Fuck Your Beach House II

Bronze

14 x 36 x 17.5 cm

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4 x 33.5 x 28.2 cm

10 x 40 x 16 cm

Fuck Your Beach House III

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WHERE THERE IS SMOKE 2012

Where There is Smoke Tracy Jeanne Rosenthal

How many maps might be needed to deal exhaustively with a given space, to code and decode all its meanings and contents? Things do not speak the truth about themselves. On the contrary, it is in their nature as things to conceal that truth, to dissimulate the social relationships of exploitation and domination on which they are founded. —Henri Lefebvre Rowan Smith is as much a cartographer as he is an artist. Each one of the objects in his latest collection functions as a map, charting the embroiled territories of semiotics and history as they’re dissimulated into the language of things. How many maps does it take to chart the landscape of post-apartheid South Africa? With Where There is Smoke, Smith offers us six. Shosholoza/Inside Outside presents a closed intercom system, average enough for any middle class home, their seeming permanence and banality punctured by the haunting lyrics of ‘Shosholoza’ a call for forward progress and for escape. The stark black and white of the intercom’s colours leaves no mistaking who is inside and who is outside, who belongs, and whose power it is to enable entry. The meaning of home is at question in the legacy of apartheid, and on both sides of the intercom. Will the door open? Or is home forever haunted by the ghosts of those it excludes, those whom economic inequality continue to keep out. Miriam Basu makes no explicit demands, her disembodied voice filtered by mediated communication: a folk song form and a knotted, mess of wire, drooping to the floor. The Official Restaurant of the South African Family centres on the logo of Spur Restaurant Group, a South African franchise with over 250 locations. The display of correspondence from the restaurant’s Executive Chairman lays bare the dissimulating labour of images: apparently, the Chairman designed the ‘colourful’ ‘Red Indian’ theme to welcome people of colour. Rather than advocate a response (like indignant rage or despair), Smith focuses on mapping the path meaning has taken here, presenting us with an ambivalent, neon copy of the surface of the logo, cleansed of facial detail and ready to accept projection. Smith portrays this landscape of racial ideology as a palimpsest: meanings scraped off and re-inscribed. For I Have Reason To Believe We Will All Be Received In Graceland, Paul Simon’s Graceland plays in perpetuity, broadcasted to a portable Patrolman radio. Smith wields the album’s notorious recording history—Simon broke a boycott to record the album in South Africa during apartheid and later failed to give full credit to the artists featured. Smith points to the hypocrisy of the album’s titular track, on which Simon proselytises the Mecca of American rock ‘n roll. A celebratory homecoming to the city of Graceland is satirised by Smith’s bold inscription of ‘Radio Bantu’ on the radio’s façade, which hails to

the forced segregation of blacks into Bantustans, or ‘homelands’. Meaning in both cases, Smith tells us, works as propaganda, creating a false narrative of solidarity. Made of glass, as if the shattered windows and storefronts have re-constituted in the image of the bricks that broke them, Who Took My Stuff / The Promise of Housing / In Advance of Delayed Construction (Geers Repair) maps a particular thread from the history of apartheid, finding a circular violence in unrest, government ineptitude, and protest. As the title suggests, the brick signals a break-in robbery, broken promises for housing reparations, and the breaking of a window as an act of resistance (which Kendell Geers performed in 1994, throwing a brick through the window of Johannesburg gallery). With effect and cause collapsed into each other, Who Took asks with equal parts nihilism and pathos whether a brick through a window results in anything besides broken glass. How Meaning Can Change Over Time Through The Degradation of Speakers echoes this concern. The heads of the ominously stacked speakers degrade, piling in pieces on the floor as a protest song plays through them. The pun on ‘speakers’ plays up the song’s history: once rallying solidarity, the song has recently been blamed for inciting factionalism within activist communities. As the installation continues, the message of the song loses the media that would carry it. Memory terminates in detritus. The history of resistance threatens to deteriorate, the past made unspeakable in the present. Untitled (Tyre) and Untitled (Burn) offer process and product, but hide the human. While a burning tyre has entered the international vocabulary of contemporary protests, it’s central to the practice of necklacing, by which certain members of the South African black community punished those accused of collaborating with the apartheid regime—forcing petrol-soaked tyres around victims and setting them alight. Is this murderous remembered in the act’s murder-less global rehearsal? Or has burning a tyre become a ready-made gesture, dissimulating its contexts? Untitled (Tyre) and Untitled (Burn) perform this dilemma and implicate Smith’s own project. Plucked from life, Smith’s tyre perches resolutely, as if it had been painted not burned; only the photo series forges the connection between the tyre’s gold veins and how they were made. Untitled (Tyre) and Untitled (Burn) beg the sombre question, does knowing ambivalence achieve any more than ignorance? In the appropriated vocabulary of resistance, Smith offers, meaning works to disjoin signifier from signified, and, as the tyre reveals with disturbing literalness, to structure absence where there once was presence. Smith shows us how meaning moves, changes, evacuates, distorts, and fuzzes. He maps it with models of circular systems, palimpsests, broadcasts, and decay. He evokes the lapse of a

message with the break-down of media, disillusionment with dissolution. Just as his art unpacks the language of things, Smith invites his viewers to unpack the language of his art. To evaluate Smith’s work is to uncover that which it dissimulates, to dig up its sources, to watch the meanings collide and conjecture a trace. To view it is to also participate in Smith’s investigation. Where there is smoke, there’s fire. But who lit it? Who was burned? What was destroyed? And what grew out of the ashenriched soil? Smith gives us a reality haunted by representation, and representations haunted by their repression of the real. He maps the machinations of ‘post’ to make us wade through the labyrinthine territory of the present. Tracy Jeanne Rosenthal is a pop culture rubbernecker originally from NYC. She earned a BA from Vassar, is finishing an MFA at CalArts, and was a 2011 Lambda Literary Fellow. Her writing has been published in The Collagist, GOOD, PANK, and WorkMagazines, presented at the &Now Festival of Innovative Writing, and is forthcoming in the inaugural Artists Among Artists collection Faggot Dinosaur.

Rowan Smith <rowansmith@alum.calarts.edu>

re: Spur Research 3 messages

Allen Ambor <AllenA@spur.co.za> To: "rowansmith@alum.calarts.edu" <rowansmith@alum.calarts.edu>

Mon, Oct 31, 2011 at 6:25 AM

Dear Rowan

To answer your questions:

1. Regarding Spur’s native American theme: What happened was that I originated the décor. We started off being more like cowboys and Indians, but the cowboy soon fell away as the Indians were far more colourful, interesting and of far more stature. Having said that, the original Spur logo was the spur that goes on the back of a cowboy boot (over a number of years). Initially it had a circle behind it to try and give it a sense of strength and draw more attention to it, then a sheriff’s badge, etc.

There came a time when I purchased a building, which I wanted to house the company in, near the centre of town overlooking a highway. It had a particularly attractive façade and I commissioned somebody to design a https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=37caf10556&view=pt&q=allen&qs=true&search=query&th=1335… CalArts Students and Alumni 11/27/11 1/5 Mail - re: Spur Research red Indian themed “nature type hippy scene” of forests, eagles, teepees and a red Indian including the old Spur logo with the sky above, symbolized by stars in a royal blue background. The rest of the colour theme was in a rainbow coloured format starting from the lightest progressing up to the blue above. When the Indian was finally completed, in terms of him being young, virile and exactly what was right for the brand, I then took the decision (as a signal to people of colour in South Africa to show them that they were more than welcome in Spur) and (as a result I did what all marketing men will tell you never to do) is, I changed the logo of our company. This just before the time (1984) when we went to market and became a public company. It was an appropriate time to make the change because we were now getting a lot of exposure and media in the financial and other press, as well as a lot of growth occasioned by going public and looking far more significant as a public company as a result, i.e. we were given credibility by the fact that we were now a public company, as were a couple of others in the same industry.

As far as the décor was concerned, that carried on becoming more and more colourful and more and more Red Indian in character. I am interested in the second part of your sentence about “the culture in which we operate as an American Indian themed restaurant group in the South African culture”. I think what has happened is that the circle has been closed now that we in South Africa are part of the global community. (Which we weren’t before). So what was initially an anomaly is now less of an anomaly and our brand is accepted as such by people who have grown up with it, such as yourself and others, i.e. they do not question its “get up”, it is what it is.

2. As far as your second question is concerned, if Spur served only South African cuisine, Spur would not exist. There have been one or two South African brand food offering type restaurants which have really not survived for any length of time except one in the depths of Hillbrow which, as Hillbrow Johannesburg changed, got to see its end after a couple of decades. There are some black African restaurants today, one in Cape Town called Manuel’s, but there will never be enough room or demand in the community for a chain or a group. There are however many stand alone stalls in poorer areas.

As far as cuisine is concerned, whether it be Thai, Chinese, Indian, Japanese sushi, Vietnamese or South African, I think what is culturally appropriate, isn’t the question. What the question is, is how the international market (whether they live in South Africa, Thailand, Japan, etc.) perceive a taste to be. Different food stuffs, their taste profile and how they appeal. I don’t believe South African food per se has “legs”, other than your normal barbecue or braai, certainly bobotie and those sort of stews (which are Cape coloured and Malay in nature) have a very limited appeal, even in South Africa. I think rather than your sentence which says …. “This question is of course incredibly complex and pertains to discourses around the nation of cultural authenticity”… I think its really all about taste, it’s what you put in your mouth and whether it appeals or not.

I do not really think it is that cultural although I do accept that Vietnamese, Japanese sushi, Indian food, etc. etc. is very different from American burgers and/or South African steaks and burgers. We also use various bastings and sauces which compliment and supplement our tastes and these are a part of our success. As far as you saying that we are all over South Africa, this is true, but in the United Kingdom and Australia we exist in a very limited way. In Australia, in fact, we have more Panarottis pizza restaurants than Spurs and in the UK, as well as Australia, we found the going tough. The theme does not determine where we open our restaurants and in America they might resent our native American theme and might contend that it is not respectful of the native Americans?? I wouldn’t know. I would say however, that Spur’s food has a place in America, but the question is to find somebody who is willing to put up, not only the financial muscle, but the actual muscle to operate stores in that region. That is the limiting factor apart from capital resources.

Rowan, I have explained above where the Spur logo fits in and why it came about and I do not feel in any way that you are being critical. https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=37caf10556&view=pt&q=allen&qs=true&search=query&th=1335… CalArts Students and Alumni 11/27/11 2/5 Mail - re: Spur Research

In conclusion, I want to thank you for your patience, sorry it has taken so long to get this back to you. I wish you well with all your activities. If you have further questions, fire away.

Kind regards

ALLEN AMBOR [EXECUTIVE CHAIRMAN] SPUR GROUP (PTY) LTD

14 Edison Way, Century Gate Business Park, Century City 7441, Cape Town, South Africa Tel: +27 21-555-5100 • Fax: 086-519-1353 • Cell: +27 72-778-7877 • Email: allena@spur.co.za Postal Address: Box 13034, Woodstock, 7915, Cape Town, South Africa PLEASE CONSIDER THE ENVIRONMENT BEFORE PRINTING THIS EMAIL - THANK YOU

Who Took My Stuff / The Promise of Housing / In Advance of Delayed Construction (Geers Repair) 2012 Glass 5 x 12.7 x 7.6 cm and 5 x 7.6 x 7.6 cm < Previous Page: The Official Restaurant of the South African Family (correspondence) 2012

Untitled (Tyre) 2012

Inkjet print

Bass wood

8.6 x 84 cm

11.4 x 32 x 28 cm

Untitled (Burn)â&#x20AC;&#x192; 2012 Digital prints 177.8 x 76.2 cm (each)

I Have Reason to Believe We All Will Be Received in Gracelandâ&#x20AC;&#x192; 2012 Patrolman portable radio, FM Transmitter, Paul Simonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Graceland (1986) 33 x 25.4 cm

How Meaning Changes Over Time Through the Degradation of Speakers / Ayesaba Amagwala (Dubula Ibunu) Versionâ&#x20AC;&#x192; 2012 8â&#x20AC;? Speakers, speaker wire, paper, wood, amplifier, sound recording 23:15 193 x 221 cm

does postcolonialism matter anymore? ELIOT GARDEPE

What is the state of postcolonialism today? While once a hot topic within Western academic circles, postcolonialism as an idea and a project has faded from the foreground in discussions on the contemporary moment. Although there have yet to emerge any signs of the waning ramifications of colonial and imperialist practices, it seems no longer in vogue to continue to address issues that remain extremely relevant in the contemporary moment. What is needed is a new approach to the postcolonial problem, a method that is skillfully taken by Rowan Smith’s exploration of aesthetics and politics in his new work. In order to understand the state of postcolonialism today, however, a brief history of Paul Simon is required. Paul Simon’s 1986 album Graceland stylistically combines Americana with South African musical traditions with an earnest sensibility that seems oblivious to the cultural and political context of late 1980s Africa. On a surface level analysis the album partakes in a particular type of colonial capitalism by appropriating elements of isicathamiya, mbube, and mbanqanqa and exploiting African musicians to create a commercially successfully product.* A deeper inspection, however, of Graceland’s connection to South Africa reveals that its commercial success is only one part of its story. There is no doubt a large amount of questionable appropriation and thematic choices made in Graceland.† Yet there is no question that indigenous and non-white South African music was suppressed and had little to no exposure outside of certain South African communities.‡ This dichotomy is at the forefront of Smith’s I Have Reason To Believe We All Will Be Received in Graceland, which displays Graceland clearly entrapped in the classical postcolonial dilemma first put forth by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak in her seminal essay “Can the Subaltern Speak?”§ Spivak’s own conclusion is that there is no way in which to speak for the Subaltern without committing a type of colonialism yet she believes, despite this double bind, that such actions must be taken nonetheless. It is within this unsolvable problem that the Smith asks the viewer to consider passive colonialism and cultural expression within the contemporary postcolonial context. This implicit colonialism exhibits itself as a theme in Smith’s work through subtle references to popular culture and history that relate anecdotally to his personal experience. While I Have Reason To Believe We All Will Be Received in Graceland points to the past as a method of historical reflection, The Official Restaurant of the South African Family (correspondence) looks to the present to express the effects of that history on the present. The Official Restaurant of the South African Family (correspondence) demonstrates the type of mindset that is typical in the postcolonial setting in which the response to Smith’s inquiry into the Spur brand lacks any sense of self-

awareness. Smith, in attempting to understand the aestheticopolitical realities of a well-established South African company, provides the viewer with a glimpse into post-apartheid culture as well as a commentary on globalization. The irony of using a caricature an oppressed indigenous group’s culture and image as focus of the Spur brand’s aesthetic vision within the context of analogous colonial histories is clearly lost upon the Executive Chairman of the Spur Group LTD.** Furthermore the use of globalization as a justification for cultural colonialism provides an insight into how colonialist practices continue and remain, for the most part, critically unchallenged.†† Smith, through a dark humor originating from the implicit irony presented in The Official Restaurant of the South African Family (correspondence), puts into question the passive acceptance of colonialism within the postcolonial subject and society. However unlike I Have Reason To Believe We All Will Be Received in Graceland, Smith chooses not to remain ambiguous and instead responds to this dialog powerfully with the partner piece The Official Restaurant of the South African Family. Hinting at the shape of the Spur logo, The Official Restaurant of the South African Family speaks volumes about the state of victims of colonialism in the contemporary moment. The Native American figure is effaced; an allegorical technique that distinctly criticizes how quickly colonialism and racial oppression has faded from the global collective memory. While directly referencing the colonial history of the United States and South Africa under apartheid, it goes further to critique both the dominance and hubris of the Western world. As with I Have Reason To Believe We All Will Be Received in Graceland, Smith returns thematically to the colonialism we partake in, both actively and passively, in our everyday lives. Over the course of his oeuvre, Smith has examined very different aspects of the history of South Africa as well as the postcolonial South African experience. While his work remains closely tied to an introspective and personal understanding of the past in relation to the present, it is here, however, where he has taken a political turn. It seems more and more that the role of the contemporary artist is no longer solely focused on the production of aesthetic objects created for the gallery circuit and, instead, has become a method in which to reshape the political discussions and commentaries of our increasingly apolitical world.‡‡ Smith’s new work has clearly risen to this challenge of promoting but remaining critical of the postcolonial situation.

* Graceland reached number three on the US Billboard 200 as well as topped the UK Album Chart. It won the 1986 Grammy Award for Album of the Year and the title track won the 1987 Grammy Award for Record of the Year. It is platinum certified in the United States, United Kingdom, France, and the Netherlands.

† The songs I Know What I Know, Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes, Under

African Skies, and Homeless are the most obvious examples.

‡ This is both because of the ramifications of apartheid in South Africa as well as the cultural boycott imposed by the rest of the world on South Africa in response to apartheid.

§ The issue is that there are groups of people (indigenous, racial, cultural, etc.) who are so oppressed that they themselves have no outlet in which to express themselves and make their situation known. However, speaking for these groups or trying to provide a method of which to give voice to their oppression is in and of itself a colonial act. Thus the postcolonial, in trying to rectify the ramifications of colonialism, becomes a colonialist. For more, see Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty.

Can the Subaltern Speak?. Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1988. Print.

** “As far as the décor was concerned, that carried on becoming more and more colourful and more and more Red Indian in character.”

†† . “ I think what has happened is that the circle has been closed now that we in South Africa are part of the global community. (Which we weren’t before). So what was initially an anomaly is now less of an anomaly and our brand is accepted as such by people who have grown up with it, such as yourself and others, i.e. they do not question its “get up”, it is what it is.”

‡‡ This is meant, of course, in the Arendtian sense. See Arendt, Hannah.

The Human Condition. Chicago: University of Chicago, 1958. Print.

White People 2012 Gouache on Strathmore watercolour paper 76.2 x 56.5 cm > Next page: You Need More Black Friends 2012 Gouache on Strathmore watercolour paper 76.2 x 56.5 cm

Sometimes I Listen To Innocuous Indie Music, But I Never Know How It Informs My African Identity 2012 Goache on Strathmore watercolour paper 76.2 x 55.6 cm > Next page: The Dark of Heartness 2014 Enamel, glass and black fabric 100 x 141.4 cm

Untitled (Rozor Wire)â&#x20AC;&#x192; 2013 Cane and Maple Veneer 110 x 60 x 70 cm

CATASTROPHIC INSTRUCTIONS JEN HUTTON

Rowan Smith and Ingrid Lee’s project Come On You Fuckers is a meeting of minds that belies the rough vernacular of its title. Smith, a visual artist who works at the intersection of art and music, and Lee, a composer and performer who gleans from the aural output of obsolete technology, generated a performance and project that concluded with the object you now hold in your possession. On one side is the sound of an electric guitar being smashed to pieces, and on the other is a musical transcription of the same played on piano. On the surface, Smith and Lee’s project seems to inhabit a conflicting dialectic between two musical forms from opposite sides of a 7-inch record, but each gesture rubs against their established cultural interpretations. Contrary to what some might expect, the initial recording of Smith destroying the guitar is not one terrific smash. Over three and a half minutes, the recording reconstructs the scene: after a quiet prelude, a pair of hands mauled the fretboard, and the guitar responded with dissonant chords and popping feedback. Between squeals from the monitor and the occasional muffled word, the guitar’s body hit the floor with sharp cracks. Parts clattered to the floor and crunched underfoot before it all ended with a metallic whine. After watching video clips of rockers smashing their instruments online, I confirmed that electric guitars are rarely offed in one swift blow. Unlike the hollow wooden body of an acoustic model, latter-day electrics have enameled bodies that are impervious to breakage. If anything, electric guitars almost always snap at the vulnerable fulcrum between the neck and the body, each piece haphazardly held together by its strings. Of all the documented instrument vandalism in the history of popular music, it could be said that the British rock band The Who hit the apogee of their fame only after guitarist Pete Townshend accidentally broke the neck on his guitar during a performance in 1964, and proceeded to smash it and another guitar to pieces (Keith Moon followed suit by destroying his drum kit the same night). From then on, the band garnered some notoriety for spectacle, and though it drove them into debt, destroying their instruments onstage was a concert climax that fans hungered after. Townshend later stated that the act was influenced by the work of Gustav Metzger, an artist whom the rocker studied with in college. Metzger proffered what he called Auto-Destructive art, in which objects were destroyed or left to rot as means of political protest. Metzger’s raison d’être was closely aligned with Fluxus ambitions, given the movement’s penchant for destabilizing the status quo. Fluxus event scores like Philip Corner’s composition Piano Activities called for any number of musicians to make a number of acts on a piano. When the piece was performed by George Maciunas, Dick Higgins and others at a Fluxus festival in Wiesbaden, Germany, in 1962, the

group rendered a piano to pieces. Similarly, Maciunas’ piece One for Violin Solo, performed by Nam June Paik in the same year, delivered the same result. But within the context of a rock concert, the guitar smash is as anarchic as The Sex Pistols: a posturing that is more swagger than content. In these clips, whatever sound the guitar might be making in its last breaths is always eclipsed by the roar of a crowd: to an audience, the sight of smashing is entertainment. In this context, Come On You Fuckers could be construed as a taunt made to sate a collective appetite for destruction. On the other hand, after listening to the guitar smash recording a second time, the audience seems completely absent. It’s plausible that there was never one to begin with. Without a visual, the guitar’s destruction is drained of the lawless spirit that the imagined act engaged. Instead, focusing on its sound, its destruction can be reimagined as an improvisation, a generative act stretched out over almost four minutes rather than a teleological one. While Smith’s act was potentially made in affectation of a lineage of instrument smashers and/or protest gestures, more importantly, wrecking a guitar subverts the way it is meant to be played. Certainly, the “musicality” of noise has been explored since the middle of the 20th century. Like John Cage’s aphorism, “Which is more musical: a truck passing by a factory or a truck passing by a music school?” , unmusical or extramusical sounds can be fodder for a score as long as one is willing to accept them as such. Cage is an interesting touchstone for Lee and Smith’s project, given his inclusion of incidental noise and emphasis on chance in his compositions. It is also interesting to note that much of what Cage produced was grounded in an inner peace from his devoted studies of Zen Buddhism, in opposition to the aggressive tendencies of a wrecked guitar. (However, the idea that classical music is antithetical to rock is false. One needn’t look too far to detect that same aggressiveness [in the works of Mahler and Prokofiev, for example], and Tchaikovsky used explosives on stage long before Keith Moon stuffed his drum kit full of them.) On the album’s b-side, Lee translated the guitar’s destruction to a beat-for-beat rendition on the piano. When played, the piano’s resonance softened the rawness of the guitar: heavy slams were thunderous, but less violent, while small incidentals were amplified with tinkling keys. Lee expanded the percussive potential of the piano by hitting and strumming the strings under the lid almost as much as she tapped the ivories. This approach, although preceded by Cage and others’ prescribed methodology for his prepared pianos, is a representation of a formally unconventional, if not radical, mode of playing to “playing” the guitar by striking it sharply against the ground.

While mimesis is an impossible task, the fidelity of the score to the original recording is an achievement not dissimilar to program music, the classical genre composed of “onomatopoetic” sounds, such as Messiaen’s Réveil des oiseaux, which was primarily based on transcriptions of birdsong recordings. But the core of Lee and Smith’s project exists in its translation between these twinned performances, whereby what is lost in one form is gained in another. In this mirroring, each performance folds together the distinctions between electric guitar and grand piano and breaks apart the codes that define them elsewhere. In a way, Come On You Fuckers is not just a performance meant to mimic a single destructive act, but a set of instructions on both counts for any instrument to be “played” conventionally or not according to Lee and Smith’s musical rules—though one (the smashing) is more susceptible to chance operations. Like a Fluxus event score—or any composition for that matter—any future performance of either will inevitably sound different even when faithfully followed by someone else.

[1] Similarly, watching documentation of a restaging of Corner’s piece at a festival in Virginia in March 2011 seems to reaffirm a contemporary audience’s reaction to general destruction, even in the name of art. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xHvElYfEIg

[2] From a lecture delivered by John Cage in 1958 at Rutgers University, New Jersey, titled, “Composition as Process: Communication”. Reprinted in Silence: Lectures and Writings by John Cage. Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press, 1961, 41.

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Come On You Fuckers 2012 Collaborative work between Ingrin Lee and Rowan Smith Electric guitar, music score, piano performance

The Thrill of it all / Little Lies / The Misunderstandingâ&#x20AC;&#x192; 2011 Star Piano Co. upright piano 76 x 75 x 37 cm

IF YOU GET FAR ENOUGH AWAY YOU WILL BE ON YOUR WAY HOME 2009

To the unexplored regina peldszus

In 1967, two years before the Moon landings took place, Frank Zappa named his eldest daughter Moon Unit. Personal motivations aside, his choice captured the fascination of the public with the out-of-this-world experience of spaceflight. Rowan Smith’s work addresses this phenomenon with all its emotional facets, from anticipation and excitement to spontaneous reactions and longterm responses of the public on one side, and isolation, wonder, questioning and thirst for knowledge on the side of the space programmes who produced the adventure. Anticipation is one theme in T-Minus and Waiting For Moonlanding. T-minus takes on the countdown before the launch of a shuttle. However, not all space programmes use the classic 10 second countdown sequences familiar from NASA broadcasts. During Russian launches at the cosmodrome in Kazakhstan, cosmonauts lie in their Soyuz seats awaiting take off, and do not have much of an indication of the exact point of time for blast-off (Yi, 2009). Not counting down at all might be more helpful than extending countdowns frequently and delivering an anti-climax that has become part of many Shuttle launches. T-minus reverts this relationship. An old-school digital clock counts down perpetually, maybe echoing the postponing of launches, maybe indicating a future of commercial spaceflight where frequent launches become routine. Reminiscent of Cildo Mereiles’ Babel (Brett, 2008) and echoing Smith’s earlier piece Radio Olympus Mons with its many antennas, Waiting For Moonlanding engulfes the listener in the faint static noise from a diverse cohort of radios. Their subtle whispering evokes memories of natural sounds of a stream or the canopy of a forest moving in the wind. It also reminds of the sound of the fans on a space station, equally reassuring in their role as part of the spacecraft’s environmental control system, vital in maintaining the life of the astronaut. Radio waves bring us, or rather information about us, much further away than we could possibly expect to achieve by embodied transportation. Does the assumption of going further away and thus being closer to home still grip in this context? Or is our sending of radio waves not a one-way ticket into remote distance per se, travelling without the intention of turning back? In The World Without Us, Alan Weisman points out how radio and TV waves would continue to travel and spread onwards into space as the last artefacts to remain if humans suddenly became extinct (2007). But not only are we sending our own signals out – those intended for our own entertainment, and those messages deliberately aimed at alerting potentially existing intelligent life to our presence. We also eavesdrop on the universe, collecting rays in order to elicit information on the origins of galaxies or life cycle of stars, as portrayed in the beautifully elusive 1/2000th of a Supernova.

Our practice of eavesdropping is not exclusively aimed at the uninhabited black void of space and its astronomical phenomena. Today, 6 people continuously live in Earth orbit, on board the International Space Station (ISS). Wake-up calls, as the one interpreted on a theremin in Going Back to Houston, are a tradition. Nevertheless, communication to ground is not an open-loop process. Monitoring and guiding activities on board through video and audio are integral to the everyday life and work on station, with its tight schedule of construction work, scientific experiments, public outreach activities, personal care, and station housekeeping. The wooden retro look of Intercommunication reflects an intimacy of communication tools and their literal and metaphorical link to Earth. They remind of the angular, (apparently faux) wood-veneer interior of the Moscow-based Mars500 space simulator (ESA, 2007) or the wooden trimmings in Russian space habitation prototypes that were supposed to provide a reminder of home (Dudley-Rowley et al., 2002; Zimmerman, 2003). This connection to Earth, and viewing it as one home planet without boundaries, is the central theme in Frank White’s 1987 book The Overview Effect [1]. Excerpts of this were used by Smith to engage with the topic of remoteness and its implication of sudden understanding. The concept of overview was ‘discovered’ during the Apollo era, both on a spiritual and rational level. Buckminster Fuller coined the term of Spaceship Earth and the need for a comprehensive view onto Earth as a system (1963:2008). Stewart Brand popularised the iconic images of the Earth taken from the Moon for a wider global audience (1968). Feeling connected, unconnected, part of or distinct from a system such as Earth acquires a new meaning in orbit. During EVAs (extravehicular activities = space walks), some astronauts appreciate the feeling of being ‘lost’ or ‘disconnected’ from a spacecraft as a positive and exhilarating experience (Hoffman, 2009). The distinction of below or above is rendered meaningless and humans orient themselves according to their own body axis and Earth-based intuition. When briefly letting go of a handle or truss, an astronaut exists in his or her own right in between the Earth and the inhabited space structure, sustained entirely by the space suit. This situation, which some find thrilling and insightful can cause discomfort to others (Clément & Reschke, 2008), although astronauts report window gazing from inside the spacecraft onto Earth to be their favourite acitivity on board (Kanas & Manzey, 2003). To see something as a system or as a whole, you may need a viewpoint a certain distance away from it. Alternatively, a change of angle can produce a similar effect. In a talk several years ago, cave explorer and astrobiologist Penny Boston tells of her favourite game on an airplane when looking out of the

window towards the horizon: “I always turn my head on the side. And that simple change makes me go from seeing this planet as home to seeing it as a planet.” (2006). A 90 degree tilt makes the curvature of the Earth appear not ‘below’ but parallel to her own body axis and presents a fresh perspective upon a system she is usually embedded in. Achieving a different dimension than a very emotional reponse to seeing the Earth from the distance, Boston seems to look on with objective curiosity. Extreme environments often offer an altered view on immediate surroundings and one’s own personal position. In polar exploration, for instance, the overview effect is traded with the so-called ‘long eye’, a vague stare into the distance triggered by sensory and social deprivation in an isolated and remote environment (Suedfeld & Steel, 2000). And what happens when the world shrinks to pea-size during a trip to Mars? Will we feel closer to home at this type of distance? How will those who travel and see the Earth that way manage to obtain the balance of rationality and intuition, of curiosity and compassion that is essential in their roles as flight engineers, scientists, pilots or doctors on board? One of the main problems would be readaptation upon returning to Earth. If life was fundamentally altered for those who walked on the Moon, it is to be seen how the experience of Mars explorers can be translated into meaningful insight for the public on Earth, let alone how explorers themselves can re- integrate into a society they have been separated from for so long. Would a Mars landing be too abstract for those who stay at ‘home’, too incomprehensible? Will the comprehension acquired by zooming out on the Earth be locked to the direct experience of astronauts? In 2003, the Mars Global Surveyer probe beamed the first images of Earth taken from Mars orbit back to us. Referring to an image showing the blue planet and its lunar trabant, chief scientist Michael Malin who was responsible for operating the camera suggests that ‘this image gives us a new perspective on that neighborhood, one in which we can see our own planet as one among many’ (National Geographic News, 2003). How much more will this paradigm shift when a picture is taken with our own hands, in case an interplanetary human mission succeeds? The conveying of experience to an audience would become the key in attempting a change of perspective, and subsequent – possible – comprehension amongst a wider public. Remote communication and augmented media would become a critical component in telling personal stories, much as colour images and personal accounts of astronauts began to relate their adventures during the 70s. In this respect it is interesting that

Smith’s show is void of popular space branding or iconography, bar the painting of the Challenger explosion that is identifiable even for those with only passing interest in space, although the actual launcher is not featured. Instead, it places the personal photograph from Finding Lunar Hattingh in juxtaposition with metaphysical, more abstract concepts. It acknowledges the scale and weighting of humanity and Earth as one component in the larger system of the universe, and reminds us of our own unique but incredibly minute position. Smith’s varied methodologies and media – both of investigation and production – reflect the multidisciplinary nature of his topic and the industrial processes or materials derived from space spin-offs that are sometimes utilised in contemporary art. Producing art or producing a space mission differ vastly in terms of time lines and resources, but some principles of production are similar. While ready-mades would be called commercial ‘off-the-shelf’ products in the space sector, they mean essentially the same; often, artefacts designed for space are one-offs, as they are in art; and the level of conceptual and manual skill required in both fields can be compared. There is an argument that the motivation behind and outcome of space activities often resemble art more than science (Triscott, 2006). In fact, this interpretation seems especially applicable when directed at the equally absurd, meaningful, outright fun and extremely difficult undertaking of landing on the Moon. Right now, while Pretoria-raised entrepreneur Elon Musk develops rockets for commercial spaceflight in the California desert and South Africa establishes its own national space agency, Smith’s work assumes a position not only in an art context, but also in, and as interpreter of, his country’s emerging space industry.

References: ~ Boston, Penelope (2006) Penelope Boston says there might be life on Mars. [video] TED Conference, 2006. [online] http://www.ted.com/talks/penelope_boston. html [Available 17th Aug 2009]. ~ Brand, Stewart (Ed) (1968) Whole Earth Catalog: Access To Tools. Fall 1968. s.l.: Stewart Brand. ~ Brett, Guy (2008) Cildo Mereiles. London: Tate Publishing. ~ Buckminster Fuller, Richard (1963:2008) Operating Manual For Spaceship Earth. Baden: Lars Müller Publishers. ~ Clément, Gilles & Reschke, Millard F. (2008) Neuroscience In Space. New York: Springer. ~ Dudley-Rowley, Marilyn et al. (2002) Crew size, composition, and time: Implications for exploration design AIAA 2002-6111. AIAA Space Architecture Symposium. Houston, Texas, US 10-11 October 2002.. s.l.: AIAA. ~ ESA (2007) [podcast] Preparing for Mars – A Simulated Mission to Mars. ESApod 2nd Oct 2007 [online] www.esa.int [available 19th Oct 2007]. ~ Hoffman, Jeff (2009) [conversation] (personal communication, July 2009, Mountain View). ~ Kanas, N. & Manzey, D. (2003) Space Psychology and Psychiatry. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers; and El Segundo: Microcosm. ~ National Geographic News (2003) First Picture Of Earth From Mars. 22nd May 2003 [online] http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2003/05/0522_030522_ earthmars.html [Available 17th Aug 2009]. ~ Suedfeld, P. & Steel, G.D. (2000) The Environmental Psychology of Capsule Habitats. In: Annual Review of Psychology. No 51, pp 227-253. ~ Triscott, Nicola (2006) [conversation] (personal communication, June 2006, London). ~ Weisman, Alan (2007) The World Without Us. New York: Picador. ~ Yi, Soyeon (2009) [talk] (personal communication, August 2009, Mountain View). ~ Zimmerman, Robert (2003) Leaving Earth: Space Stations, Rival Superpowers, and the Quest for Interplanetary Travel. Washington: Joseph Henry Press.

Regina Peldszus develops design strategies for the habitability of spacecraft for extended missions at the Design Research Centre and Astronautics & Space Systems, Kingston University London, UK. [1] In fact, though, boundaries of all kinds are quite visible from space. Satellite images illustrating nocturnal illumination on Earth underscore the reality of a global north-south divide and the discrepancy between urban and rural areas; data on land use and agriculture clearly shows the irrigated fields of one country next to the starkly parched and eroded plains of their neighbours. Interestingly, our attention was drawn to many of these border relationships precisely because of views provided by satellite applications in space.

1/2000th of a supernovaâ&#x20AC;&#x192;2009 Camera flashes, timer circuitry Dimensions variable

Ad Inexplorataâ&#x20AC;&#x192;2009 Cane, Imbuia, Jelutong and various veneers Dimensions variable

Space Age Popâ&#x20AC;&#x192;2009 Bronze 46 x 40 x 30 cm Edition of 3 + 1 AP

FUTURE SHOCK LOST 2008

TERRA NOVA RALPH BORLAND

It is just over one hundred years since electricity generation started, seventy since radio transmissions began, and fifty since radar and telecommunications entered our environment.1 —Anthony Dunne, Hertzian Tales, 2005

Three dot-matrix printers hang suspended like the steps of a staircase or an escalator; a loop of paper threads them, one large curve connecting first to last, two shallow cascades between. The printers’ sprockets turn, engaging with the perforated edges of paper feed, turning the loop. As the printers pass the paper through themselves and to each other, tiny people appear on the white wood-pulp, clusters of dots picking out business-people with brief-cases, children standing, a jogger. Busily the printers shift across the moving surface; a population grows, hundreds of characters appearing in evolving tableaux, a crowd-scene growing denser all the time – the looms of the three Fates weaving all people and their stories into the warp of the world. 2 If it continues, will mechanical styluses wear through paper made black with people, tear it into a ragged loop still pushed and pulled through its orbit till it parts and the paper falls to the floor? And still the wheels would turn, printers printing on their own revolving insides, the machinery running on after the people have gone. But before that apocalyptic vision, before the end of the world – a world. ‘Dot Matrix Loop’ revolving on itself, sealed, hermetic: a mechanical terrarium. A tiny world that grows before us, until its creator unthreads its over-populated matrix, and slips in a blank ream on which to start again. The dot-matrix printers are themselves inhabitants of a smaller world, a world quarantined, closed off by changes in technology, by successive waves of newer electronic products. Now they can talk only to themselves or – through the intervention of artist and engineer – revived for new purposes. The artist Corey Arcangel makes the closed worlds of defunct technology his material and medium. He uses old computer-game consoles (like the Nintendo game console rendered in marquetry on the walls of this exhibition) to make new works, rewriting parts of their code, replacing pieces of their circuitry. In Super Mario Clouds (2003), he rewrote the code for the classic 80s arcade game Mario Bros to erase all elements of the game play, all images and animation, but for the sky, and clouds: white clouds on a blue sky, floating endlessly by.3 He worked directly on the original game cartridge, replacing the program chip with one of his own, and leaving the original graphics chip intact.

Corey Arcangel’s use of old technology is tactical, a way of coping, as an electronic artist, with the rapid evolution of electronic media. Seeking some technical mastery in a continually evolving field, he decided to limit his medium to computer technology that would not change, to computer systems no longer in development. “I wanted to work with machines that were fixed in time, like a fixed architecture... The Nintendo stuff is a perfect example. I know it’s cheap, but it’s never gonna change, because it’s already obsolete.”4 “Imagine trying to play Bach on the piano if they switched keys around every few years ... and charged you for it!”5 Not only that, but: “the limited capabilities of these computers allows us to understand every aspect of the machine. Thus we can (pardon the phrase) become ‘experts’.”6 There’s a certain poignancy in becoming master of an abandoned realm, a fixed and static world in a field of technology largely motivated by continual change and development. These worlds, of dot-matrix printers and old game consoles, are perhaps more approachable, more ‘human’, in their fallibility. Doesn’t the plea ‘I’m only human’, mean ‘I make mistakes; I am fallible’? Obsolescent electronic products are one reminder of the limits of technology: what was once new is now old; once fast, now slow. But accidental failures of our technology sometimes give us more spectacular reminders of its (and our own) fallibility... Extensions of the Universe (2007) is a group of circular portraits of high technology disasters – images of the night sky, the constellations seen from the location of each of four major space disasters: the spacecraft Soyuz 1, which crashed on 23 April 1967 after a series of technical failures; the Soyuz 11, whose three cosmonauts died in the final stages of an otherwise perfect mission: probably from failing to properly close a hatch door, on 30 June 1971; the Challenger space shuttle, whose seven crew died shortly after launch in an explosion caused by the rupturing of rubber seals made weak by the winter cold, on 28 January 1986; and the Columbia space shuttle, which was destroyed on re-entry, along with its seven crew, on 1 February 2003, from damage caused during its launch two weeks earlier. Each circular panel of the work has an electrical cable running from it, unplugged. On closer inspection the cable and the plug it terminates in prove to be made of wood, incapable of carrying electricity. What power do they carry? The exhibition’s other power-cable and plug connects Dot Matrix Loop (2007) to its power supply. This is a world selfcontained but for creator and power-source: its connection to the electrical mains, this world’s sun.

The cable is its vulnerable point, a fragile linkage to its life source; pull the plug and, like the Extensions of the Universe (2007), suddenly no people moving across the world, no machines in motion, only stillness. Fragile umbilical cords lie coiled, homages to power, wooden relics. No electrons flow here. While the movement of electronic product development is towards dematerialisation, miniaturization and software, towards ‘pure information’, a corresponding and largely invisible hardware base grows to support it, requiring more and more power. Google is buying land near hydro-electrical stations so they can reliably and independently power their ever-growing

Commercial technology developers may tell us to move bravely forward and discard the old; humanness prevents us from doing so easily. Art works such as these make stories with and about old technologies that also, naturally, spin tales about that which can’t be separated from technology: us.

server farms in a future where energy-provision may become... unreliable. “With the vast concentration of energy needed to run the megaservers – and equal and opposite megawattage needed to remove the excess heat – power and cooling have surfaced as critical issues in the expansion of global IT.”7 While new technologies hide their vulnerabilities, older ones have no choice but to reveal theirs. These older technologies, with their superfluity of signs (whirring, pixellated) provide material for the artist, supplying extra, emotive stimuli: slow, noisy, ponderous, forgotten. Artists like Rowan and Cory reassemble old electronic artefacts to invite new readings, new meanings. Like the clouds floating by in Super Mario Clouds (2003), with all competition, all labour gone, so the printers of Dot Matrix Loop might be imagined collectively dreaming, the paper loop like a thought bubble passed between them. Dreamers now, not workers. As the designer Anthony Dunne writes of the tendency of electronic products to spill their own electromagnetic fields into the space around them, to slip their containers, they could be said to ‘dream’: “Despite the images of control and efficiency conveyed through a beige visual language of intelligibility and smartness, electronic objects, it might be imagined, are irrational – or at least allow their thoughts to wander. Thinking of them in terms of dreaminess rather than smartness opens them to more interesting interpretations.”8 More interesting interpretations: printers as looms, spinning worlds; power cables as suns; cables as reliquary; game consoles as cherished ancestor, rendered in marquetry. Nintendo Marquetry acknowledges our electronic products as more than tools, pays homage to them as part of our ‘artefactual culture’9: framed and rendered through pain-staking handicraft. Getting beyond the intended function of electronic products to other meanings – easier to acknowledge when they’re past their use, when they’ve been succeeded by more ‘able’ descendants. They activate other senses, other feelings: empathy? We understand ‘not working’.

design, appropriate technology and grassroots activist tactics in South Africa. See ralphborland.net

Ralph Borland has an Honours degree in Fine Art, and a Masters degree in Interactive Telecommunications from New York University. He recently completed his PhD in the School of Engineering at Trinity College, Dublin, submitting a thesis that analysed the relationship of interventionist art practice, critical

[1] Anthony Dunne, Hertzian Tales, MIT Press, 2006, p.101 [2] In Greek and Roman mythology, the world is sometimes depicted as a woven cloth passing through the looms of the Moirae, or the three Fates. [3] Corey’s Web-log, Super Mario Clouds – 2005 rewrite, http://beigerecords.com/ cory/Things_I_Made_in_2003/mario_clouds_2005.html [4] Profile: Corey Arcangel’, Corey Arcangel interviewed by Cathleen Chaffee for Contemporary Magazine no.84, 2006. Reproduced by the NY MoMA in 2007 for the show ‘Automatic Update’, http://www.moma.org/exhibitions/2007/ automatic_update/subs_wrapper.php?section=arcangel_interview.html [5] ‘Cory Arcangel Doesn’t Even Like Super Mario Brothers’, Corey Arcangel interviewed by Eryk Salvaggio, 2003, http://www.turbulence.org/curators/ salvaggio/arcangel.html [6] Ibid [7] Kate Rich, ‘Promised Lands’, MUTE magazine, May 2007, http://www. metamute.org/en/Promised-Lands-Google-and-Morningstar [8] Anthony Dunne, ‘Hertzian Tales’, MIT Press, 2006, p.117 [9] Ibid

Dot-Matrix Loopâ&#x20AC;&#x192;2007 Mixed media Dimensions variable

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Curriculum Vitae Rowan Smith

E ducation 2010– ~ M FA Fine Art, California Institute of the Arts, 2012 California, USA

2012

~ VOLTA NY 2012, New York*

2011

2004– ~ BA Fine Art, Michaelis School of Fine Art, University 2007 of Cape Town, Cape Town, South Africa

~ Where There is Smoke, California Institute of the Arts, Valencia, California ~ How Are You All Feeling Tonight?, California Institute of the Arts, Valencia, California

2002

2009 ~ If You Get Far Enough Away, You’ll Be On Your Way Back Home, Whatiftheworld Gallery, Cape Town, South Africa and CO-OP Gallery Johannesburg, South Africa*

2008

2007

~ 3C–Committee and Critics Choice, Association for Visual Arts, Cape Town, South Africa

2006

~ Creatures Great and Small, Whatiftheworld Gallery, Cape Town, South Africa ~ Choice Assortment, Whatiftheworld Gallery, Cape Town, South Africa ~ Not Yet Famous: Nobody Likes Nothing, Whatiftheworld Gallery, Cape Town, South Africa

~D iploma in Sound Recording & Engineering, City Varsity, Cape Town, South Africa

Prizes and Awards 2012 ~ Joan Mitchell Foundation MFA Grant 2011

~ Oppenheimer Memorial Trust Grant ~ David Bermant Fellowship in Art an Technology, California Institute of the Arts ~ A rt School Faculty Scholarship, California Institute of the Arts ~ Rondebosch Old Boys’ Union Overseas Study Scholarship ~ A rt School Project Grant, California Institute of the Arts ~S tudent Affairs Project Grant, California Institute of the Arts

2010

~O ppenheimer Memorial Trust Grant ~D avid Bermant Fellowship in Art an Technology, California Institute of the Arts

2007

~M ichaelis Prize, Michaelis School of Fine Art, University of Cape Town, South Africa ~S imon Gerson Prize, Michaelis School of Fine Art, University of Cape Town, South Africa

~ Future Shock Lost, Whatiftheworld Gallery, Cape Town, South Africa*

Selected Group Exhibitions 2014 ~ Bazaar, Atlantic House, Cape Town 2013 ~ Green Flower Street, Istanbul Off Biennial, Istanbul ~ FNB Johannesburg Art Fair, Johannesburg, South Africa ~ Speak Now. Deering Estate. Miami, Florida 2012 ~ Positive Tension, Whatiftheworld Gallery, Cape Town, South Africa ~ Closer, Spinello Projects, Miami, Florida ~ “COME ON YOU FUCKERS”, The Wulf, Los Angeles* 2011

1998

~ Hegemony is a Hard Word to Pronounce, Main Gallery, California Institute of the Arts ~ We Got Next, Untitled Art Projects, Los Angeles ~ Circulate, Exchange: nugget and gravy, White Gallery, UCLA, Los Angeles* ~ Chain Letter, Shoshana Wayne Gallery, Los Angeles

~ First in Grade 10 & 11 Michaelis School of Fine Art Fairheads Trust Award, University of Cape Town, South Africa

2010 ~ Ampersand: A dialogue of contemporary art from South Africa & the Daimler Art Collection, Daimler Contemporary, Berlin, Germany* ~ Twenty: South African sculpture of the last two decades, Nirox sculpture park, Johannesburg, South Africa ~ Ways of Seeing, ORE Gallery, Cape Town, South African

Residencies 2012 ~ T he Fountainhead Residency, Miami, Florida

Solo Exhibitions 2014 ~ N o Everything, Whatiftheworld Gallery, Cape Town, South Africa * indicates a catalogue

2009

~ Holiday, Whatiftheworld Gallery, Cape Town, South Africa ~ Wood, Association for Visual Arts, Cape Town, South Africa

~ Social Pattern, Association for Visual Arts, Cape Town South Africa ~ Printing Money, South African Print Gallery, Cape Town ~ Objects of Revolution, Dominique Fiat Gallery, Paris, France

~ Prints and Editions, Whatiftheworld Gallery, Cape Town South Africa ~ Greatest Hits 2007, Association for Visual Arts, Cape Town, South Africa

2003 ~ Picnic, Brendan Bell Roberts Gallery, Cape Town, South Africa 2000 ~ Soft Serve 2, South African National Gallery, Cape Town, South Africa

Selected Bibliography ~ Stupart, L, 2010, Artist Melts Down Carrol Boyes for Fresh New Work. The South African Art Times, April 2010. ~ Leibbrant, T, 2009, Big Wednesday at Whatiftheworld Gallery, Artthrob, February 2009. (http://www. artthrob.co.za/09feb/reviews/witw.html) ~ Partridge, M, 2009. Big Wednesday. Art South Africa, V7.3, January 2009. ~ Jacobs, K, 2009, ‘Social Pattern’ at AVA, Artthrob, April 2009. (http://www.artthrob.co.za/09apr/reviews/ava. html) ~ Edmunds, P, 2009, Is there Anybody Out There?, Arthrob, September 2009. (http://www.artthrob.co.za/ Diary/Artthrob-Diary.aspx) ~ Sloon, R, 2009, Interview with Rowan Smith. September 2009. (http://artheat.net/) ~ O’Toole, S, 2009, If You Get Far Enough Away, You’ll Be On Your Way Back Home. Artthrob. October 2009. (http://www.artthrob.co.za/Reviews/Review-of-If-You-

Get-Far-Enough-Away-You%E2%80%99ll-Be-On-YourWay-Back-Home-by-Sean-OToole-at-Whatiftheworld_ slash_gallery.aspx) ~ Paradissis, A, 2009, Checkout[GLOBAL ART] – South Africa. Checkout [Art}, November 2009. (http://www. checkoutart.ca/global-art/global-art-south-africa-1/) ~ Botha, N, 2008, Bright Young Things: Nostalgic Technological Futures, Art South Africa, V7.1,September 2008. ~ Cotton, S. 2008, Rowan Smith’s Future Shock Lost. A Student Review, ArtHeat, Thursday 28 August 2008.( http://artheat.net/labels/listings.html) ~ Suptow, F, 2008, Michaelis Graduate Show at Michaelis, Artthrob, January 2008. (http://www. artthrob.co.za/08jan/reviews/michaelis.html) ~ Jacobs, K, 2008, Rowan Smith at Whatiftheworld Gallery, Artthrob, September 2008. (http://www. artthrob.co.za/08sept/reviews/witw.html) ~ Keylock, M, 2008, Bleak Future, Mail and Guardian, August 15 to 21 2008.

Publications ~ Smith R, 2008, Future Shock Lost. Whatiftheworld: Cape Town, South Africa (with essays by Linda Stupart, Chad Russouw and Ralph Borland) ~ Smith R, 2009, If You Get Far Enough Away, You’ll Be on Your Way Back Home, Whatiftheworld: Cape Town, South Africa (with essays by Linda Stupart, Tymon Smith and Regina Peldszus)