ARTISTS TALKING

# 34 [9 February 2010]

Tiervlei, Lwandle and a bed called Home

Tuesday 26th January: Katy and I drive out to the N1 City Mall, a sprawling metropolis of warehouse buildings housing chain stores and fast food restaurants, next to the highway. I have boycotted MacDonald’s for my whole adult life, but today we enter the dreaded golden arches for, of all things, a community arts meeting. The oddness of the setting begins to make sense as Edwina and Sheila explain their project. The whole area where the mall now presides used to be called Tiervlei, but the 'coloured' residents were moved off this land by the Apartheid government in the resettlements of the 1950s. The area their community lives in is now called Ravensmead, but the older folk still call it Tiervlei. Edwina and Sheila are setting up a cultural centre in an attempt to keep the history of this place alive, and provide much needed space and activities for young people in the area. They give us a tour, pointing out a few old houses that still remain, and the course of the buried river and marshlands that people had to build on. They show us how the highway cuts the community in half, and tell us about the riots in the 1980s, when this was the main route from the airport to the rich white neighbourhoods. It’s a fascinating place, and a classic example of the systematic division imposed on people by apartheid. We have been invited by Edwina & Sheila to run creative workshops with different generations in Tiervlei, to make some artwork to help launch their centre in an old school building.

The following week, we go to the township of Lwandle, to visit the Migrant Labour Museum. This museum documents the migrant labour system and the hostels that started here in the 1950s, to house workers coming mostly from the Eastern Cape. The hostels permitted only employed men over 18 years of age, and their work meant that they would only go home for a few weeks per year.  We are shown round by the curator, Lunga Smile. He is a fantastic guide, and he talks us through the displays, telling stories of overcrowding, divided families, and the dehumanising laws of the Apartheid system. We see some incredible photographs: David Goldblatt’s haunting images of workers queuing for the bus at 3am, to begin their 18 hour day; an image of a whole family occupying a bunk with another family on the bunk below them; a newspaper clipping from the 1980s showing a man proudly standing in his shack, smiling, accompanied by a derogatory article suggesting that the township bred disease. Lunga asked us to think carefully about how we represent Lwandle and it’s inhabitants in our own photographs.

The township that has developed around the old hostels now houses around 80,000 people, in converted hostels, houses and shacks. Conditions aren’t exactly luxurious, but there are no longer four families sharing one tiny room. Lunga takes us to see Hostel 33 – the one hostel that has been left in its original form, and we stand inside, trying to imagine how so many people lived together in this space. I am struck by what a luxury it is to have space and privacy. Mine and Katy’s concerns about having to share a room pale into insignificance.

Lunga asks each of us what ‘home’ means to us, and where it is. We discuss this for a while, thinking about the homes we grew up in, and the various places we call home now. He tells us about a book, ‘A Bed Called Home’ and ponders on whether the cramped bunks of the hostels were ever truly home for their occupants. For some people, Lwandle was never home, but always a temporary dwelling – a necessary but unwelcomed place. For others the hostels and then the township became home, and their children and grandchildren were born here. I think about the elderly people in Tiervlei, who will always remember the homes lost to them when they were forced to move. South Africa is scarred with memories of injustice, of forced ‘resettlement’ and appalling conditions for people of colour. But people in places like Lwandle and Tiervlei are proudly keeping their histories alive, not wanting the younger generations to forget how they came to be here, and the rights they have won through years of struggle.

Rebecca Beinart

# 33 [9 February 2010]

Holy Coke

Friday 29th January.

We go up to the University of Cape Town, where two generations of Beinarts have worked or studied, to visit the Kaplan Centre for Jewish studies. The campus is beautiful, up on the side of the mountain with Ivy-clad buildings and a panoramic view of the city and the sea. We are greeted by Milton Shain, a historian who remembers Granddad Ben and our Dad. He is very helpful and takes us down to the library where we look through books and documents relating to Jewish migration into S.A. We read an interview with Ziporah Beinart, who married Koppel Beinart, describing life in Malmesbury in the 1920s. We see extracts from a Yiddish cook-book and another book in Yiddish which contains some pictures of Rakishok (Rokiskis) - the Lithuanian town we believe our ancestors came from.

In the archives, I look at photos of Cape Town docks from the 1890s and 1900s, and try to get an idea of what Woolf, Gittel and their contemporaries might have seen on their first arrival. The librarian working there remembers our aunt Helen, from her student days. It sometimes feels like ‘Beinart’ is a magic word here – it allows us access into the South African Jewish community, and people are very friendly and willing to help.

In the evening, we have been invited for Friday night supper, Shabbat, at the home of another relative. Hilary Joffe is the Granddaughter of Chana Beinart, who was Woolf’s sister. The dinner is at her son, Ivor’s flat. Ivor is a Cantor at the local Shul, and officiates at weddings, funerals and bar mitzvahs. I find myself stumbling over the terminology connected to the Jewish faith – we have been bought up with none of this in our lives, and I feel ignorant about Jewish customs and beliefs. The family are very welcoming. Ivor’s sister Peta is also there, and Hilary’s mother, husband, cousin Cynthia and her husband. There is much talk before supper of who’s related to whom and how, of facial characteristics and pondering over the family tree. Then Grandmother lights the candles and we sit down at the table. I am a little nervous – I’m not sure exactly what will happen and how I should behave. Ivor fills up the silver cup with special kosher wine and says the Kiddush prayer, to which the others occasionally respond. He fills up small cups for each of us with the blessed wine. Then something very strange happens – he pops open a can of Coca-Cola and fills the holy silver cup with that, repeating the prayer to bless the brown fizzy liquid. He gives the holy coke to his grandmother, explaining that she doesn’t drink alcohol. I ask if that’s traditional and they laugh. Next, Hilary’s husband cuts the challah, the plaited bread, and sprinkles it with salt before passing us each a piece. Katy and I are fascinated by this – it seems our bread and salt obsession is still relevant to Jewish culture. After that, we are served a feast of soup, followed by fish and vegetables, and finally cake. Before we leave, this generous family invites us to their other daughter’s wedding. We say we’ll come – perhaps this will be the only Jewish wedding we’re ever invited to.

The following week we have lunch with Gail, another Beinart. Her father was Abe, Woolf’s youngest son, and she tells us the story of how he ran away to join the army when he was seventeen. As soon as the train pulled out of Malmesbury station and his strict father was out of sight, the young man threw his prayer shawl and cap out of the train window. But in the end he married a woman from an orthodox family, so he didn’t reject Jewish customs entirely. I am struck by the way that one generation holds tightly to their traditional culture, whilst their children reject it, and their grandchildren search for it. That seems to be a typical pattern in migratory families. I find myself confused as to whether I am trying to understand Judaism as a culture or a religion, and whether the two can be separated. But at least the centrality of abundant shared meals in our lives has remained.

# 32 [28 January 2010]

Relationship Issues

 An artistic collaboration between siblings seems to fascinate other people, perhaps partly because they are secretly wondering if we fight all the time. After 26 days in a small cabin aboard a ship together and 3 weeks sharing our bedroom and studio space, Katy and I have been feeling the pressure a little. Before we reach the point of playing mean tricks or pulling each other’s hair, we had a grown-up chat about our relationship. We realised we’re starting to feel like a couple who never have any time apart – it stops us from appreciating each other, and squashes our creative relationship. So we’ve decided to have some time apart, pursue our own interests and plan a special date. We haven’t written to Mariella Frostrup yet.

# 31 [28 January 2010]

“Sewe Sakke Sout”

 Tuesday 27^th January: We set off early and head north out of Cape Town on the N7. It is raining slightly, and the morning traffic crawls around the knotty road junctions. Soon we are away from the city, driving past dry yellow fields with dark mountains in the distance. We pass the turn-off to Malmesbury and keep going. We are looking for Velddrif, at the mouth of the Berg River, where salt is still harvested. It’s further than we’d thought, and we drive 60km on a small bumpy road that cuts through the velt, with barely any other people or buildings to be seen. We do see several tortoises, ambling slowly across the road with no concern for the large lumps of metal hurtling by.

We reach Velddrif town and look for the Khoisan Salt factory, where we’ve arranged a tour. We are greeted by the friendly manager, who sits down with us and patiently explains the process of salt evaporation that they use here. He shows us a technical graph depicting how long different concentrations of salty water take to evaporate, and the trace elements you find in salts. Then he draws us a beautifully confusing map and sends us off to see the huge salt lakes where they harvest the salt.

Katy drives along the precarious sandy road between the lakes, and we see flamingos sunning themselves in the shallow water. It’s a remarkable and strange landscape. In the centre of this complex of water we find a mountain-range of salt, which a group of men are mining to fill sacks that are then loaded onto a lorry. We are given a tour by Isac. He takes us to the first pond, where 400-year old briney water filters through a bed of seashells which are the remnants of an ancient seabed. He explains that their salt contains calcium and other trace elements due to this source. From here, the water flows 6km as it filters through the complex, becoming increasingly concentrated, so that the last ponds are thick with pink-white salt. We see the small pans where the finest grade of salt crystals are hand-harvested, to make ‘fleur de sel’ – the salt of the Pharaohs.

Kathryn Smith had told us about an Afrikaans saying, “Sewe Sakke Sout”:  If you have shared Seven Sacks of Salt with someone, it means you have walked a long way with them.

Rebecca Beinart

# 30 [28 January 2010]

Stellenbosch

We visit Stellenbosch to see the University gallery, where we’ll be showing our work in March. It’s an amazing venue, in an old church with a beautiful vaulted ceiling and old chandeliers. There’s great potential in such a big space. But it also made us look at the calendar with a quiver of fear: despite Bergsonian philosophising, time is passing fast.

Walking around the sleepy streets of typical Cape Dutch architecture now filled with chichi shops and cafes, we spot a toy and miniature museum. We appear to be the only visitors, and get a personal tour. As I have just started to construct miniature stage sets, it seems optimal timing by the universe to drop this in our laps. We marvel at the tiny recreations of a basement garage (complete with crushed coke can). The curator has extensive knowledge of plants and shows us the museum grounds, explaining the origination of the trees and plants.

I am struck by the imposition of environments, so that the whole of Stellenbosch is really like one of the miniature models, a constructed world, an amalgamation of styles and mismatched objects, plants and trees, brought together to create a new version of place and identity for the colonists.  And our tourist experience is yet another veneer of artificiality, a reconstructed pastiche of this reconstruction of place.

At Stellenbosch University, we have a long chat with Kathryn Smith, artist, curator and lecturer in fine art. I notice her collection of minituare cameras, each offering views of famous tourist sites of the world. Somehow it is an apt ending to our day to look at technicolour views of the Eiffel Tower and the Taj Mahal.

Katy Beinart

# 29 [28 January 2010]

Baking in Cape Town

Our culture has survived 26 days at sea, two weeks in a fridge in Cape Town, and a power cut. It was definitely high time to let it express itself in some loaves. At the weekend we decided to make our first batch of South African bread, and started the process in the kitchen at Alfred Street. The culture smelt ripe, and responded the warmth of unexpected summer with enthusiastic bubbling. On Saturday evening, the dough was ready and we baked three small loaves, which were enjoyed hot and buttery by our housemates.

# 28 [28 January 2010]

 Searching for clues

 I am looking for the Deeds Office on Plein Street. There’s a huge imposing building that looks official, so I go in through the rotating doors and the security check and ask if I’m in the right place. The man at the desk tells me to go to the thirteenth floor. There, I wait for my number to be called as a smelly gentleman talks incessantly to me about his claim on his late mother’s house. Finally, I am summonsed to the enquiry counter by the moustachioed Eugene. I tell him I am looking for ownership records of the farms around Darling from the 1930s. He tells me I must go to the Surveyor General office on the 11^th floor to find out the numbers of the farms. Downstairs there is more waiting as a guy uses a confusing computer program to try and match up the names I give him with numbers allocated to each plot of land. Finally I am equipped with the information and I head back to Eugene, to give him the numbers.

I am handed a huge heavy volume full of carefully handwritten deeds showing the ownership of the farms around Malmesbury & Darling from the 1900s-1950s. I go through each of the farms in the Kikoesvlei area, looking for evidence of the Beinarts. We thought that possibly Woolf might have owned some of the land where the Salt Pans are located. The documents are fascinating, but bear no Beinart fruit. However, I realise that Mr Basson, the farmer who kindly showed us the salt pans, is part of a family who has owned land in that area for over 100 years.

I leave the building with no further clues as to exactly which pan our Great-Grandfather would have harvested salt from, but with the satisfaction of feeling like a detective.

Rebecca Beinart

# 27 [19 January 2010]

Oh! Darling..

Visiting the State archives on Roeland St, we find our way through the many keys and locks to a bare room with empty desks and piles of brown cardboard boxes. Eventually we suss the form filling system and order up documents, pertaining to our great-grandfather Woolf Beinart and his business interests. We hit a goldmine: the Darling Salt Pans and Produce Company, Ltd., was evidentially a going concern circa 1929 and there are a multitude of polite letters back and forward in his scratchy handwriting on headed paper, assuring the planning department of the hygienic nature of skin-preserving. We also find a blueprint for a railway siding at Kikoesvlei, near Darling, where he had his salt stores...

So on Saturday we set off to Darling, and firstly visit the Darling Museum, home of South Africa's foremost Butter-making artefact collection. There we find more evidence of Beinarts in the area, as there was a Beinart tailors in Darlings' early days. From Darling we head north down a dirt track to Kikoesvlei, which consists of a railway siding and a sign. We look for evidence but find nothing, and so we head to the nearby farm. The farmer turns out to know the local history, and takes us to the site where he says the salt stores were, in his 4 x 4, past the Ostrich farm. There we find some remains of foundations, and a house on a pole, which he says is an owl house. They encourage the owls to live there to eat the mice that eat the wheat. Organic pest control.

Then we drive past a huge dairy farm (not so organic) to Koekiespan, another farm, and the site of a salt pan. It is an eerie, uncanny place, a vast stretch of white emptiness under the blue sky. You walk onto it and it feels like desert, but also like ice, and you feel it could give way at any moment. I take photographs and the light is blinding. I feel a bit like I have landed on the moon.

We collect the salt and add to our collection of envelopes, started with salt from the decks of the ships where sea-water has pooled and evaporated, leaving white crystals in patterns on the green paintwork.

Katy Beinart

# 26 [19 January 2010]

Homecoming

From the immigration office, we were picked up by Robyn, a friendly tour guide who drove us to our new home in Observatory, a quirky suburb west of the city centre. We arrived at the house in Alfred Street where we met two of our fellow visiting artists: Emmet (from London) and Evelyn (from Holland). This is to be our home for the next three months. In the front garden, an old hammock hangs under a Frangipani tree, but it looks like it might collapse if you were to actually sit on it. In the back yard, an avocado tree overhangs the wall, with promising green fruit that we hope will ripen before we have to leave.

On Monday we went to Greatmore studios, to be welcomed by Mishkaah and given the tour by Aunty Yvonne. There’s a lot to take in, especially after our confinement on the ship, but it’s great to finally be here. We start to occupy our studio, filling the walls with ideas, drawings and texts. We meet some of the other artists and Kim arrives from Namibia, also staying at Alfred Street. We have a house excursion to an opening at Joao Ferriera gallery, for a show by Leon Botha and Gordon Clark, which is an intense introduction to the South African art world. Or perhaps one facet of it.

Katy & Rebecca Beinart

# 25 [19 January 2010]

Arrival

On Sunday 10^th January 2010, twenty-five days after leaving Antwerp, the Green Cape docked in Cape Town. Our arrival faithfully imitated the journey: nothing was going to happen in a hurry.

On Saturday, Table Mountain appeared, distant and hazy on the horizon. We watched all day as it grew larger and more solid, the city eventually becoming visible at the base of the mountain. We dropped anchor in Table Bay and spent twenty hours waiting for a space in the harbour. We had a fantastic view of Table Mountain and watched as the sun set and the lights of Cape Town gradually twinkled into life. I was reminded of the writing of a Jewish migrant who had made this journey in the 1900s:

“ We were more than pleased when our wandering had come to an end. The ship now lay peacefully in the harbour and our wonder grew as we looked at Table Mountain with its tremendous tablecloth of cloud. It was one of the most magnificent sights I had seen in my life...” Moishe Levin¹

At 2pm on Sunday, the ship docked in the harbour, and we lined up our bags, ready to disembark. As soon as the Captain allowed it, we triumphantly left the ship, skipping down the rickety steps to stand on South African soil. Several hours later, we were still sitting on the harbour-side, waiting for a mythical taxi that was supposed to take us to immigration. Eventually, the second mate appeared, and explained that our ride wouldn’t arrive until 6pm due to mysterious circumstances involving paperwork for drivers entering the port. He persuaded us to get back on board and have a final drink with the crew. We started to feel like we’d never leave: that we were a permanent fixture of the Green Cape. We sat in the kitchen drinking a vodka-based beverage with the cooks, half-laughing half-crying at our predicament. But at 6pm we were finally put in the back of a pick-up truck and taken to a decrepit, imposing 1970s building that houses the immigration office. Our passports were checked and stamped, and we were officially in South Africa.

Rebecca Beinart

1From Eastern Europe to South Africa: Memories of an Epic Journey 1880 – 1937, Gwynne Schrire