Moshekwa Langa
Encountering Ramothibedi, the accompanying label reveals itself lacking. ‘Mixed media on paper’ might do for the coincidence of established mediums – watercolour, oil stick, pastel, etc. – on a shared substrate, but here says nothing of the artist’s material dexterity. The label would perhaps better include a more exhaustive list: assorted studio detritus, sketches torn from a notebook, facsimiles, packaging tape, biro, glue or varnish, words and phrases. Among the texts written in sloping script, the name ‘Ramothibedi’ is repeated, as are the phrases ‘Le bonheur qui se t’ai donne’ (The happiness that was given to you) and ‘Contre ma volonté’ (Against my will). In block letters, partially obscured, ‘PASSION FRUIT’ is inscribed in white paint; a pencil drawing of two figures – adult and child – accompanied by the caption ‘Rolling Stone’. The texts, taken together, afford no clarity, performing as obscure coordinates significant only to the artist. “There were too many stimuli at once, and everything was slippery. I needed something to ground myself…” Langa said of his notetaking in a conversation towards You to Me, Me to You, an exhibition in A4’s Gallery. “Shorthand became the material for me to make sense of my world.”
Included in Ramothibedi’s collaged elements are traces towards a later series of untitled, greyscale works (all 2004) composed of cut-out eyes photocopied from magazines and newspapers. Five of these were featured in Moshekwa Langa | How to make a book, an exhibition and bookmaking process at A4 that drew a selection of the artist’s work into proximity. Seen together, the two modes of making offer insight into the generative spillage that occurs between Langa’s works and the accumulative form of their compositions.
Asked for an adjective to describe his practice, Moshekwa Langa replies with fugitive. In medium, his work is disparate; in sensibility, inconstant and changeable. He moves across such mediums as installation, drawing, video and sculpture with easy fluency, his materials as various as string, paper bags, oil paint, words, photographs, and found images. Like an anthropologist recording his surroundings in obscure maps, Langa’s practice is an exercise in visual note-taking. It is perhaps fugitive in that the artist’s attention is transitory, each work an index of a moment soon passed. In a text accompanying the exhibition Ellipsis (2016), the artist’s wandering mind is made evident: “Something broke in the description,” he writes, “and I am just leaving it here for the moment and I will open another topic because I am talking about many different things… There is a break because I get distracted – maybe it was sunny and then it started raining, and then suddenly, I do not know, something else happened.” His work is a gesture of time-keeping, a record of things come and gone. Langa’s maps may be illegible, unfinished, without compass, but they pose a curious visual question: how might one transcribe a life in all its routine complexity?