On a visit to Bronwen Vaughan-Evans studio earlier this year I found her paused in the post-coital catharsis of her last exhibition home is where the heart is. She was sitting alone, in a now desolate studio, free of the imposing portraits and figures that had crowded the studio walls for the past eighteen-months. After so much time spent in their company, the sight of her, abandoned in that that Spartan white space, reminded me of a mother having just sent her grown kids off into the big wide world. Yet I recall how excited I felt at that moment, to catch the artist in that rare moment of solace, poised, catching breathe before commencing with her next journey/body of work which was to become Memento Mori (now on at Bank Gallery).

A handful of Vaughan-Evans’ portraits in home is where the heart is re-emerge in Memento Mori and wandering between the two, both their synergy and difference is striking. The portraits from the former exhibition–contained in separate room within the gallery– are far warmer in tone and temperament, at times intimidating in their scale and presence. Here we find each subject’s essence exquisitely distilled, lovingly etched out: eyes alive with strength, weakness, curiosity, fear, insecurity and fragility.

home is where the heart is (Michael)
2008
Gesso and Oil on Board

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What do a philosophising frog farmer, a ropey plastic surgeon, a fat-cat politician and a professional kidnapper all have in common? You might be forgiven for thinking they are the odd ball line up of characters constituting the cast- list for the next Coen brothers film. These are however all too real people–each of whom plays a crucial role in the sprawling cycle of violence and corruption currently plaguing modern Brazil.

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To the unseasoned classical concert attendee—such as myself—spectating a Symphony concert for the first time can be a pretty intimidating experience. At a Thursday evening concert’ held at the Durban City Hall in February (part of the Kwa-Zulu Natal Philharmonic Orchestra’s (KZNPO) World Symphony Summer Series) I was to learn the hard way—arriving in the somewhat inappropriate attire of slops, jeans and a t-shirt and then proceeding to burst into applause during the performance at the most inopportune moments (after and never between the movements-a disapproving audience member is quick to inform me.) Read the rest of this entry »

On my drive along the N2 up the North Coast to meet acoustic maestro Guy Buttery, I pop his album ‘Songs from the Cane Fields’ into my CD player. It’s a sound that instantly connects me to the unraveling KZN landscapes. Compositions that reflect none of the clamor evident in the long line of property development that ruins the Indian Ocean side view of my widow, but rather let rip when soaring through those wide open Kwa- Zulu Natal expanses. Spaces where Buttery’s finely plucked strings may conspire with the valley’s that roll across my review mirror while transforming lowly crows into inspired notes along fleeting telephone lines.  Read the rest of this entry »