Phone Tag: Interview with Bronwyn Katz

Driekopsieland (Île à trois têtes) (2019). Mild steel, wire, steel wool, steel pot scourers, cardboard. Installation view at Biennale de Lyon, Lyon

Bronwyn Katz is a South African artist who frequently turns to metal, found metals, and other objects to consider structures of place and language. These resonant and unruly materials bring specificity and context to the minimalist forms. In this Phone Tag interview, Bronwyn describes her family connection to metalwork, the importance of sustaining networks, and how the different environments of Capetown and Johannesburg shape her practice.

Phone Tag is a generative interview format, where I ask each participating artist five questions (plus others as the discussion meanders). At the end, I ask him or her to introduce me to an artist whose attitude and work they find interesting and/or inspiring, who I then interview with the same five questions.

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Linnea West:  You mentioned that you are recently back from a project in Lyon. What were you working on there, and what are you working on now? 

Bronwyn Katz:  Currently I’m working in my studio. I’m preparing work for a solo show at Peres Projects in Berlin. While I was in Lyon, I was preparing work for the Biennale. I spent three weeks there preparing the work for the Biennale. 

LW:  Were you in Lyon for so long because you were making work there, or because it just takes that long to install, or…?

BK:  For the Biennale it was important that all of the artists make new works. Most of the works that were on show were new works created specifically for the Biennale. It was also important for the Biennale that we collaborate with local factories and local artisans. Many of the artists ended up producing the work from start to finish in Lyon.

Driekopsieland (Île à trois têtes) (2019). Mild steel, wire, steel wool, steel pot scourers, cardboard. Installation view at Biennale de Lyon, Lyon

LW:  What did you make?

BK:  I created an installation out of wire and steel wool. The installation is called Driekopsieland. Basically, it’s a continuation of work that I’ve done before, but on a larger scale. I was trying to also shift some of my previous thoughts and ideas about what I was making. Most of the work that I made for the Biennale is very similar to work that I made earlier, where I was working with the idea of language, language formation, and the possibility of creating an alternative language with material. Also sounds. I created sounds.

For the Biennale, using the same material, I was still interested in the sound but also in trying to create a landscape. I was also reflecting upon the fact that the Biennale was being held at an old washing machine factory, and so I wanted to create a type of metal landscape. The installation looks like a fuzzy cactus metal forest, and the wire extends from nine meters up so that it begins to look like a type of water source or rainfall.

LW:  That sounds amazing. The first image on your website is of some sculptures made out of steel wool. When I first looked at those, I didn’t know what that material was, and it almost looks like it could be soft instead of sharp. Why do you like working with steel wool? Where does that interest come from?

BK:  I think I’m generally interested in metal. Growing up, my father was a metal worker. He made gates and burglar bars, and I’ve always had a relationship with metal. I think that the work comes out the way it comes out, because I try to find alternative, quirky ways of working with the material. Instead of spending time welding a large structure, I’m more attracted to softer metals and also found metal.

Untitled, notes on perception (i) (2018). Wire and rope from used beds. 186 x 250 x 23 cm, 186 x 127 x 5 cm. Image courtesy of André Morin and the Palais de Tokyo

LW:  That’s sounds like it has been an interesting influence. I wonder who else or what else influences how you work now?

BK:  I’m not sure. I’m very influenced by my community that I grew up in, but also the community of artists that I practice with currently—my network basically. Also what’s happening in the country, in South Africa, but also the rest of the world. It’s difficult to point out one specific thing. It’s more about the way I’m living at the time, how the city works, or just what is around me and the space that I’m living in. So many things. I think place would be the number one influence on the work.

LW:  You mentioned working in a community of artists. Is that a community in Johannesburg? What’s that art scene like?

BK:  I’d say it’s a community between Johannesburg and Cape Town. I spent a lot of time in Cape Town. I studied in Cape Town. After studying, I spent two extra years in Cape Town. Most of my community is in Cape Town. Now, having moved to Jo’burg, I’ve been able to broaden my network and expand my community.

In Cape Town, I was part of iQhiya, a collective of 11 women. We all met at university, at different stages of university, and we decided to come together as a network to support each other’s practices. When I speak about a community or network, that was a very structured community-network.

In Jo’burg it is more fluid. There are artists in similar positions of their career that I’m engaging with. I’ve also recently joined a reading group called the Lessor Violence reading group. Just being able to share ideas with people on a regular basis is important for my practice.

LW:  Absolutely. I’m interested in this collective in Cape Town that you were part of. You mentioned that it was 11 women. Is it a coincidence that they all happen to be women, or was it specifically women coming together?

BK:  It was very specific. Like I said, at the time we were all studying together but at different stages. We were all black women students at the university, and the way that we were taught about art, the art world or just who was able to have a successful career or who was acknowledged within the institution… it was almost never a black woman. Coming together, we wanted to create that space where we give each other the attention and support that we were not finding within the university.

Droom boek (2017). Salvaged bed springs and mattress. 180 x 150 cm

LW:  It’s wonderful to make spaces like that. When did you first think of yourself as an artist?

BK:  I’m not sure.

[laughter]

LW:  Do you think of yourself as an artist?

BK:  I do, but I can’t think of a point where I didn’t think I was an artist or a point where I started to think that I was an artist. I’m not answering your question well. [laughs]

LW:  Well, one of the things it seems to me, from the outside, is that you’re younger and you’ve already been quite successful. That you have galleries in different places, and you’re showing work all over. Maybe you haven’t had to wrestle as much with that identity because you’ve been able to show work.

BK:  I agree with you. I was on a residency just outside of Jo’burg with an older artist a few years ago, and she was telling me every five years she had to make a decision to continue being an artist. In my career, this is something I haven’t experienced because my career has been so short. Maybe that’s a question for the future.

Untitled, notes on perception (iii) (2018). Wire. Image courtesy of André Morin and the Palais de Tokyo

LW:  Do you have a studio? What is an ideal day like in your studio?

BK:  Yes, I do have a studio. An ideal day is me waking up on time, going to studio, maybe reading for a bit, working on a project I’ve been working on, and hopefully somehow magically discover a breakthrough.

[laughter]

Or discover something that I haven’t seen in my work before or just lean something from the material. I think most days, I go to studio and I try and find something that I haven’t found yet. The ideal day would be finding something that I’m looking for.

LW:  You mentioned that you recently moved to Johannesburg. Do you think it’s important for an artist to be in a big city where there are galleries where you can see art, where you can make connections but where it’s often expensive or chaotic, or better to be somewhere smaller or quieter, where it’s a little easier to make?

BK:  Basically, this is my second time coming back to Johannesburg. I lived in Johannesburg in 2017 for a few months. I had moved from Cape Town to Johannesburg to test out how it would feel to live in the city. Then in February this year, I moved back to Johannesburg. I would say that there is a lot going on in Cape Town, in terms of cultural institutions. My gallery, for example, is not in Johannesburg; It is only in Cape Town. I don’t know if you’ve ever been, but the cities are on opposite ends [of South Africa], and they’re very different from each other.

My main reason for moving out of Cape Town was that Cape Town is a very expensive place to live, because it’s a tourist destination. It’s a lot cheaper to live as an artist in Johannesburg, especially in the center of the city. Most of the center has moved to other parts and the center has sort of been abandoned. The center is poor in Johannesburg, whereas in Cape Town the center is very wealthy. The poor in Cape Town are outside of the center, pushed out far outside of the center. It’s much more affordable to live in Jo’burg, and I would say it’s much more interesting to live in Jo’burg as well. I think Cape Town has the potential of becoming a bubble. There can be a disconnect from what’s actually happening in the rest of country. 

But in comparison to a place like Kimberly, which is a smaller city, where I’m from, that’s a different aspect of your question. I think it would be very hard at this stage of my career to live in a place like Kimberly where there is no art market. I think that maybe at a later stage of my career, that would be possible, but at such an early stage of my career I think it’s important that I live in either Cape Town or Jo’burg. And for the way that I wish my practice to grow, Jo’burg makes more sense.

LW:  That makes sense. It was great speaking with you—thank you!

BK:  Thank you.

Driekopsieland (Île à trois têtes) (2019). Mild steel, wire, steel wool, steel pot scourers, cardboard. Installation view at Biennale de Lyon, Lyon

Interview with Regina Rex up on Burnaway

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An interview I did with artist Anna Schachte is up at Burnaway Magazine. Anna is a member of the 12-person curatorial collective Regina Rex, located in Brooklyn. She has a lot of fascinating insights into the dynamics of that, and we also discuss how the group curated themselves in an exhibition up at The University of Georgia’s Gallery 307 currently.

Check out the interview here.

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Seth Price at Reena Spaulings (a fake gallery)

Contemporary Art Daily‘s post today is on Seth Price’s show at Reena Spaulings Fine Art, which I discovered was a block from my old apartment here, and half a block from my new one. Seeing it today reminded me of something I learned after attending the opening: Reena Spaulings is a fake.

It’s a real gallery…but there is no Reena or Spaulings or Reena Spaulings. Typically, galleries are named after their owners. To explain (sort of), we have the New York Times, as fine a news source on a Sunday morning as any:

“Behind the Spaulings name stands…the collective known as the Bernadette Corporation. Formed in 1994, the collective has produced films, albums, magazines and books. One of its permanent members, John Kelsey, is co-director, with Emily Sundblad, of Reena Spaulings Fine Art on the Lower East Side.”

So what the hell does that mean? “Reena Spaulings is a fictional artist, performer and art dealer,” but do we know who puts on the shows and who decides the artists. Is Seth Price a member of the collective that shows its own works? I called the gallery, but the phone just rang forever, and the only time I’ve seen a sign of life in that unremarkable doorway was at the opening.

Ah, the mysteries of the art world. Ah, the mysteries of life, which are best pondered on a fine Sunday morning on the terrace with coffee. Perhaps I’ll have more information for you after my afternoon nap.