The Object Biography of an Object in the Wits Art Musem
Transcript of The Object Biography of an Object in the Wits Art Musem
Object BiographyHART 4018/7024
Megan Kidd
Student Number: 329449
Isiaiah“Good Morning Gentlemen Give me a CUT”
Mixed Media on Metal49 x 60cm
Signed: “Isiaiah” (Lower/Right)
Acquired: 16/11/1993 by Peter Schütz from a barbershop in MaiMai Market, Johannesburg.
Exhibited: 17/6/1998 – 25/7/1998 in 100 Contemporary Works from theStandard Bank African Art Collection, Standard Bank Gallery.
(Photo image by Megan Kidd)
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Introduction
The object biography approach is a theoretical framework that
allows one to create a research question out of an object. By
maintaining one’s focus on an object throughout the research
of its life, one is encouraged to peer at it through different
lenses and to expand on social, economic and political
discourses that have had an impact on the course of the
object’s existence. Although the findings and insights
reflected on in this paper are ongoing, this is an object
biography in its most finished form at present. Elizabeth
Mansfield likens art history to detective work in a way that
resonates with the object biography approach:
Investigation is provoked by a work of art. Like the crime
story victim, the work of art mutely offers itself as testimony
to a hidden motive. The site of the artwork’s discovery –
whether an artist’s studio, a collector’s cabinet, a museum’s
galleries, or a dealer’s vault – may offer information about
the work’s production or reception (2002: 21).
The investigative aspect of this theoretical framework is what
makes it rewarding, frustrating, and always interesting.
The object discussed in this paper is a re-purposed piece
of metal that once existed as a Pepsi-Cola advertisement. The
metal sheet, at an unverified point in its life, had a crude
wooden frame nailed onto it by an anonymous framer. An artist
named Isiaiah then used this framed piece of metal as a
support for his painting titled “Good Morning Gentlemen Give
me a CUT”. Isiaiah painted what appears to be a still-life
and/or an advertisement for a barbershop. The artist depicted
several everyday objects in his composition and pasted a paper
cut-out onto the surface of the metal sheet that features a
popular motif included in African barbershop signs. According
to the Wits Art Museum database, the object was collected by
Peter Schütz on the 16th November 1993 from a barbershop in the
Mai Mai Market in Johannesburg and was subsequently added to
the Wits Art Museum Collection. The object was exhibited from
the 17th June 1998 to 25th July 1998 in the exhibition titled
100 Contemporary Works from the Standard Bank African Art Collection at the
Standard Bank Gallery in Johannesburg. These are the only
confirmed facts that are currently available on this object’s
biography, but they are facts that lead to a wealth of
fascinating ideas, understandings and insights.
Isiaiah’s artwork has been cautiously placed in the
category of barbershop signs, but the object biography to
follow illustrates that the only category comfortably suited
to this object is that of re-purposed objects. Due to the
layered nature of the information that has come to light
during the research of this object, the structure of the paper
shall follow that of a palimpsest. A palimpsest is a
manuscript or writing surface from which the original text has
been erased or partially removed so that it can be used again
(Dillon 2007: 332). The strata of the object are examined in
this paper from the deepest layer to the most superficial: the
Pepsi-Cola surface, the frame mounted onto the Pepsi-Cola
surface, the painting by Isiaiah, the paper cut-out and
finally the environment and events surrounding the object’s
life path. By unpeeling the layers of physical and implied
content of the object, I discuss the larger discourses
surrounding its production, collection and display.
Layer One: Pepsi-Cola Sign (Circa: 1946)
Close inspection of Isiaiah’s “Good Morning Gentlemen
Give me a CUT” reveals a raised Pepsi-Cola logo underneath the
paint. The curved writing of the logo spreads across the
centre of the board, surrounded by a smooth, raised circle.
The circle is bordered by raised, curly shapes, which
represent the edges of a bottle cap. Placed upright, in the
portrait layout intended for the display of the Pepsi-Cola
sign, the words “QUALITY” and “QUANTITY” are barely legible at
the top and bottom of the metal board. The cursive font in
which the words “Pepsi-Cola” are written, the bottle-cap
motif, and the words “QUALITY” and “QUANTITY” served as
excellent clues in the process of dating the Pepsi-Cola sign.
I discovered another Pepsi–Cola sign including the words
“Quality” and “Quantity” in its design on an auction website
named Sporting Collectibles that sells memorabilia and
collectable items. The website labelled the object as follows:
“Porcelain Pepsi Enamel Sign, 13 1/4" x 13 1/4". Full Color
Raised or Embossed Image of The Pepsi Bottle Cap. Found In
The Netherlands. Made Just After WWII, Circa 1946. Thick
Heavy Finish, Great Luster. Some Scratches. Scarce Piece.
$450” (www.sportingcollectibles.com).
The similarities between the Sporting Collectibles item
and the sign painted over by Isiaiah lead one to assume that
the two objects were produced in the same era. There are
marked differences between the two objects, for instance the
sizes of the two objects are different and the Sporting
Collectables item consists of porcelain and enamel whereas
Isiaiah’s Pepsi-Cola sign is a type of zinc metal, but the
assumption could be made that the Pepsi-Cola company would
produce one logo brand to market its product at one time.
The history of the Pepsi-Cola logo and advertising
strategy, as well as the history of the drink itself, is
accessible via the Pepsi–Cola website. In order to understand
how the Pepsi-Cola sign painted over by Isiaiah came into
being, the history of the product itself must be appreciated.
Pepsi-Cola was invented in the early 1890s by Caleb Bradham, a
pharmacist based in North Carolina. The drink was first named
“Brad’s Drink”, but as it gained popularity it was renamed
“Pepsi-Cola” and given a cursive typeface. As the brand grew,
the logo evolved into a modified script logo in 1905. Once the
United States entered World War Two in the late 1940s, Pepsi-
Cola’s logo was re-designed to show support for the U.S
troops. The Pepsi Globe was revealed as a bottle cap motif
that surrounded the cursive Pepsi-Cola lettering in curved red
and blue colours on a white background. The use of the colour
scheme of the American flag was meant as a show of patriotism
to the United States of America. The script pressed out from
the metal sheet researched for this paper matches the script
illustrated on Pepsi-Cola’s website as the late 1940’s logo
(www.pepsico.com). With this information, as well as the
similarities to the Sporting Collectables object dated 1946,
one could deduce that the Pepsi-Cola sign painted over by
Isiaiah was produced in the late 1940s.
The lack of information on the artist Isiaiah has left a
vacuum of knowledge regarding how, why, where or when the
artist painted “Good Morning Gentlemen Give me a CUT”. Whether
it was painted locally or abroad, we know for sure that it was
collected by Peter Schütz in South Africa in 1993. The
significance of the Pepsi-Cola brand in South Africa before
the birth of South Africa’s democracy in 1994 is discussed by
John Spivey in his thesis titled Coke vs. Pepsi: The Cola Wars in South
Africa during The Anti-Apartheid Era (2009). According to Spivey (2009:
17), Pepsi-Cola arrived in South Africa the late 1948. The
fact that the sign used by Isiaiah also came from the late
1940s should not be overlooked, but this does not serve as
proof that this sign was an accompaniment to one of the first
South African Pepsi-Cola batches, or that Isiaiah was based in
South Africa. Spivey elaborates on how Pepsi-Cola and Coca-
Cola both “attempted to ingratiate themselves with black South
Africans – and American investors – as being leaders in the
movement that gave birth to a new and democratic age” (2009:
13). Pepsi-Cola left South Africa in 1985 in protest against
the apartheid regime, leaving a small portion of the company
to be run by black Sowetan businessmen. Soon after this
transition took place, however, Pepsi-Cola failed financially,
and Pepsi-Cola was no longer available in South Africa. After
Nelson Mandela (1918 - 2013) became President of South Africa
in 1994 Pepsi-Cola officially returned with great pomp and
ceremony (Spivey, 2009).
The sign painted by Isiaiah was collected in 1993, two
years before Pepsi-Cola officially returned to South Africa.
If this painting was indeed painted locally, one could deduce
that the Pepsi-Cola advertisement was rendered useless by the
withdrawal of Pepsi-Cola from South Africa, and thus put to
better use as a still-life painting or barbershop
advertisement by Isiaiah. Pepsi-Cola was marketed directly to
black South Africans (Spivey 2009: 13) and as this object was
collected in 1993, it was definitely painted in a time when
the black South African population was suppressed. One
interpretation of this sub-surface layer being painted over is
that a feeling of helplessness or frustrated surrender induced
the removal of the Pepsi-Cola sign from its advertising post.
By accepting that the stocks of a brand that “implicitly
peddles democratic ideals” (Spivey 2009: 5) and that so
strongly identifies with black South Africans does not need
advertising, the artist, on some level, could have been
conceding that the Pepsi-Cola brand no longer had a place in
the then still undemocratic South Africa. Of course, another
interpretation could be that the need for the painting by
Isiaiah simply outweighed the need for the Pepsi-Cola sign, or
that the artist used the Pepsi-Cola sign as a means to express
himself. In any scenario, a point made by Byrne et al. rings
true here: “Thus, artefacts are involved in a complex web of
agency, as they produce and are produced by their interactions
with other agents and the world” (2011: 6). The first layer of
this multifaceted object provides copious material for
research and investigation.
Layer Two: The Frame
Close examination of the object reveals that Isiaiah
painted “Good Morning Gentlemen Give me a CUT” once the frame
had already been crudely mounted onto the Pepsi-Cola sign.
Strokes of paint from Isiaiah’s brush spill over from the
support of the metal sheet onto the wooden frame, implying
that the Pepsi-Cola sign was dismounted from its advertising
post, had a frame nailed onto it, and was then painted over by
Isiaiah. We do not know if this was of the artist’s own accord
or if it was a commission, but the addition of the very
Western tradition of framing to this object encourages a
conversation surrounding notions of African art in relation to
European artistic traditions and expectations.
Information on the exhibition in which this object was
exhibited, 100 Contemporary Works from the Standard Bank African Art
Collection (1998), is severely lacking. It has not been possible
to identify the curators of this exhibition or to locate a
published catalogue for the show. It is therefore impossible
to examine the context in which this object was displayed in
the exhibition. However, the mere fact that this object was
included in such an exhibition is significant. It is
unconfirmed whether this object was created as an artwork or
as an advertisement, but it has nevertheless been established
as part of the Wits Art Museum Collection and has been
displayed in one of the finest art galleries in the country.
The display of African objects, that were not necessarily
created to be appreciated in a Western artistic context,
within traditionally Western art historical spaces such as
museums or galleries, draws on notions explored by Kasfir:
Historically there have been two kinds of distinctions
entangled in (European) belief, that between art (supposedly
non-utilitarian) and craft (utilitarian) and a second between
art (supposedly non-commercial) and commodity (commercial).
Neither of these methods of categorization, which derive from
European aesthetics and artisanal traditions, are, however, an
accurate reflection of African cultural realities (1998: 102).
This statement resonates with the questionable
classification of this object, as it teeters tentatively at
the intersection of artwork/commodity. Vorster & Kumeke’s
chapter on barbershop signs in Lifelines: Object Biographies from the
Standard Bank Art Collection (2013) examines the transition of an
object’s existence as an advertisement for a barbershop to an
artwork stored at Wits Art Museum in Johannesburg and
currently on display at Standard Bank Gallery. The authors
assert that it “demonstrates the shifting values in collecting
African art objects” and illustrates that “the object has
lived two lives that have been made tangible and shared with a
broader audience through research” (2013: 54). The object
researched in this paper may have experienced similar shifts
in its own life, but whilst the object discussed by Vorster &
Kumeke was definitely a barbershop sign, Isiaiah’s painting
has more than one possible original use. Speaking about
African objects that could be classified as art or artefacts,
Susan Vogel claims that “the category of African objects
defined as art has steadily expanded throughout the twentieth
century” (1988: 12).
The frame mounted onto this African object stimulates
questions about Western ideas of art display versus African
ideas of art display. The discourse surrounding the
differences between these visual cultures is explored by
authors such as Arthur Danto who examines how Western curators
and museums display African objects as art as it suits their
own agency because of “aesthetic similarities” to Western
artworks, thus re-classifying “objects that do not enjoy that
status (of artworks) in the societies they come from” (1988:
32). As Isiaiah’s painting was not necessarily created with
the intention of being collected and displayed in a Western
museum context, this discussion is highly relevant to its
biography.
Layer Three: The Painting by Isiaiah
Isiaiah’s “Good Morning Gentlemen Give me a CUT” consists
of a still-life arrangement including a vase filled with red
flowers, a pipe and a book on a table. Beneath the edge of the
table the artist has painted the words “Good Morning Gentlemen
Give me a CUT.” A green curtain hangs behind the table to the
right, and to the curtain’s left hangs a painting of a
mountainous landscape in its own painted frame. Beneath the
landscape painting the artist has pasted a paper cut-out
featuring a motif popular with barbershop sign painters. I
liaised with Dr. Doran Ross, a knowledgeable documenter of
African barbershop signs, regarding Isiaiah’s artwork. Dr.
Ross informed me that the hairstyle section is an image based
on the famous artist Joel Ola Wouwo Odunmaruna from Abidjan,
whose recognisable compositional trait is a heart shaped
outline around the human heads that he paints. The pipe
painted by Isiaiah could be seen as a visual reference to the
pipe painted by René Magritte (1898 - 1967) in Ceci N’est Pas Une
Pipe (1929), as although the pipe is not precisely the same it
is painted in the same palette and is structured in the same
way. Both pipes have a brown bowl, a silver metal band and a
black tip. The painted words “Good Morning Gentlemen Give me a
CUT.” have been painted in careful cursive writing, similar to
the script used in Magritte’s artwork. The red flowers in the
vase could be stylistically compared to Henri Matisse (1869 -
1954).
The painting gives the impression that the artist is
making reference to a number of different sources, assembling
everyday objects and allusions to modern European art masters
in a still-life composition. The reference to René Magritte,
and possibly Henri Matisse, could imply that Isiaiah is or was
an art history student, or just someone aware of modern
European masters. Magritte’s painting is, however, reproduced
in hundreds of publications and posters, making it possible
that the artist spotted it in passing. It is fitting that this
painting by Magritte, so multi-layered in its meanings and
implications, has been referenced in this veritable
smorgasbord of media, messages and meaning, as is illustrated
by Tom Hardy’s statement that:
René Magritte’s play with meaning (i.e. this is not a pipe, it is a painting) heralded the post-structural wrestle with
linguistic reliability and, in turn, the postmodern quest by
visual artists for interactive dialogue and playful ambiguity
(2006:17).
The notion of borrowing in African art lies in direct
contrast to the European tradition of originality associated
with fine art. Kasfir questions notions of copyright in an
African context by saying: “Not only are Western ideas and
goods appropriated, but extensive cultural borrowing and
reinterpretation also occurs” (1999: 18-19). Kasfir claims
that the Western belief is that an artwork ought to be unique
whilst African art “is marketed unpretentiously as
merchandise. It only begins to take on an ‘art’ status when it
becomes part of Western or elite collections” (1999: 22). This
statement correlates with Isiaiah’s painting, which explicitly
alludes to other works of art, and has now become part of a
museum collection. Another author who investigates this idea
is Karin Barber, who points out that the responsibility of the
artist to produce a once-off creation is “important to the
understanding of art in Western bourgeois society” (1997: 102)
but that in African society, artists “may have given birth to
forms, but these forms did not become the bearers of the
artist’s social identity. And the artist held no copyright
over any form unless politically authorized to do so” (1997:
102).
Certain facts surrounding aspects of Isiaiah’s chosen
subject matter remain unknown; we do not know why he chose to
represent those specific everyday objects in his composition.
The object biography approach, however, allows one to approach
the subject matter featured in this object in a different way,
working through and around the absence of information. As
Parsons says “The object biography concept provides a useful
framework for dealing with materials that have lost their
archaeological context” (2003: 54). Although this object was
not recovered in an archaeological context, this statement
highlights the support that the object biography approach
gives to fleshing out various areas of an object’s lifeline.
Layer Four: The Paper Cut-Out
The paper cut-out that Isiaiah has pasted onto the
surface of the metal Pepsi-Cola sign features a design popular
with barbershop sign painters. The motif, attributed to Joel
Ola Wouwo Odunmaruna, consists of five portraits advertising
five different hairstyles, between which winds a leafy vine
with red daisy-like flowers. Each hairstyle name is detailed
in French, one of them being “Azazou”. Azazou is a famous
rapper from the Ivory Coast, prompting one to ask if this
image was cut out from a magazine from the Ivory Coast. This
does not solidify any assumptions as to the artist’s location,
as he could also have obtained an Ivory Coast publication
anywhere in the world. It is this small cut-out, along with
the word “CUT” painted by the artist that has led to this work
being categorised as a barbershop sign.
This problematic categorisation has had a significant
impact on the biography of the object. It has been displayed
alongside the barbershop sign researched by Vorster & Kumeke
in the Standard Bank Exhibition Lifelines: Object Biographies from the
Standard Bank Art Collection (2013). The choice to display this
object as a barbershop sign harks to the need for hasty
categorisation within the Western art historical tradition.
The semiotic territory that this object occupies is debateable
and the original intention for the painting is still unclear.
What this pasted cut-out signifies then is that factors or
elements added on or attached to an object can raise more
questions as opposed to clarifying questions.
Layer Five: The Layers Beyond the Physical Artwork: The
Collection and The Collector
Although it has not been determined how the object came
to be at the Mai Mai Market, this location, the year in which
this object was collected, and the collector himself are all
full of interesting facts and insights. Alberti states that
“the prehistory of the object, its original context, changes
radically when it is collected” (2005: 562). This paper has
already engaged in the discourse surrounding African objects
being placed into a Western art historical context, but
Alberti’s statement is also applicable to the idea that the
process of collection has a significant part to play in an
object’s biography. The object was collected from the Mai Mai
Market in Johannesburg. Established in the early 1940s, the
market is one of the oldest in Johannesburg and is often
referred to as “Place of Healers (Ezinyangeni)”
(www.joburg.org.za). At the Mai Mai Market, one can find a
remarkable range of self-employed traders, such as herbalists,
carpenters and carvers of traditional African objects such as
snuff boxes and sjamboks. The shops are teeming with herbal
remedies, animal parts and other traditional African objects.
The Mai Mai Market is also home to approximately 600 people,
many of whom have lived there for decades. The culture of the
Mai Mai Market is not a static tourist-orientated environment,
but is rather a contemporary, African experience that
encapsulates the intersection between modern, urban African
and traditional beliefs (www.joburg.org.za).
The texts on the Mai Mai Market make no mention of any
interference from the apartheid government, suggesting that
the Market has existed in a political bubble over the last 80
years. The apartheid government had vested interests in
keeping traditional cultures celebrates and practised by black
South Africans culture alive, as one of their policies was to
expand and highlight the actual and constructed differences
between white and black South African culture (Berger 2002:
2). The “African-ness” of the Mai Mai Market could have been
what saved it from political meddling, as it was left
comfortably alone.
Peter Schütz was an artist, a collector and teacher at
the University of Witwatersrand. Schütz passed away in 2008,
entailing any investigation of the collector to consist of
published texts and interviews with those who knew him. I
conferred with Fiona Rankin-Smith, who was close friends with
Peter Schütz. Rankin-Smith often accompanied Schütz to the Mai
Mai Market and remembers the Market as being a place where
fascinating items could be found and purchased, but does not
recall a barbershop ever being there. Peter Schütz, according
to Rankin-Smith, found it to be a veritable treasure trove and
frequented the Market often. No barbershops currently exist at
the Mai Mai Market, and the informality of the setting up and
shutting down of the businesses there make the traceability of
the 1993 barbershop difficult.
The significance of 1993 being the year of collection is
that South Africa was undergoing major political upheaval at
the time. It was a time of change, insecurity and disruption
of the status quo. With racial tensions running high, for a
white, German professor to venture into an area of downtown
Johannesburg occupied by black residents, to purchase an
African artwork, was fairly risqué. It illustrates the avant-
garde, liberal state of mind of the collector. As Byrne et al.
says “Each transaction between creator communities and
collectors has its own peculiar and distinct history and
historicity; each is fixed in a particular moment in time”
(2011: 16). 1993 was a difficult time for South Africa, on the
cusp of democracy the nation was hanging in the balance and
any radical behaviour was seen as suspicious. Byrne et al.
makes another point that relates to Schütz’s collecting habits
in saying “in addition to the personal histories of
individuals in understanding their collecting practices, we
must also consider the political context and personal networks
in which individuals were involved as part of their collecting
process” (2011: 17).
I consulted with one of his fellow professors, Walter
Oltmann, who was a close friend of his. According to Oltmann,
Schütz’s office was an installation itself; the walls, floors
and any available surface were covered in strange and
wonderful objects. Reingard Nethersole has written a paper
based on Schütz’s collecting habits titled Visions and Recollections
of the Commonplace (1995). Nethersole writes that:
The artist enjoys rummaging through flea markets, junk shops
like Mai-Mai in Johannesburg, old churches, and galleries and
museums abroad. Constantly in search of visual pleasures, he
adds to his ever growing archive all sorts of images and
objects that delight him for many reasons (1995: 49).
Schütz used his collected objects as a direct reference
for his own art, thereby creating his own palimpsestic
artworks as he re-used and re-cycled the ideas behind these
collected items. “’Collected things’, Schütz confesses, give
him the ‘confidence to do it myself’” (Nethersole 1995: 50).
According to Nethersole, “the emergence of Schütz’s artistic
career with the painted fibreglass wall-hanging Look Out! in the
early seventies coincided with the spread and steady
acceptance of Pop Art” (1995: 43). One of the defining
principles of Pop Art is the use and depiction of everyday
objects (www.moma.org). The inclusion of commonplace, mass-
produced objects in “Good Morning Gentlemen Give me a CUT” can
be compared to visual language used in Pop Art in this way. As
Schütz resonated with the aesthetics and ideas of Pop Art,
these everyday objects could have been what caused Schütz to
purchase it. Kasfir mentioned the depiction of everyday
objects when writing about barbershop signs in a way that
suggests it is common practice for barbershop sign painters:
For the works are not so much expressions of events and
feelings as recollections of existing visual references drawn
from the artist’s locale, high art, popular culture, and the
taxidermist’s workshop among others (1999: 45).
Baudrillard (1994) talks about the nature of collecting
and how value is ascribed to objects because of their absence
from a collection. From Nethersole’s text (1995), as well as
Rankin-Smith’s interview (2014), I have gleaned that Schütz
was not a systematic collector attempting to compile a
complete series of objects. He was what I have called an
“obsessive acquirer”. Baudrillard mentions that once an object
is no longer “defined by its function, its meaning is entirely
up to the subject. The result is that all objects in a
collection become equivalent, thanks to that process of
passionate abstraction we call possession” (1994: 8). Schütz’s
office, which I described earlier, can be mirrored in
Baudrillard’s statement that: “Surrounded by the objects he
possesses, the collector is pre-eminently the sultan of a
secret seraglio” (1994: 10). My interview with Rankin-Smith
concluded with her digging through her office cupboards,
pulling out numerous objects that many would consider to be
rubbish. The objects were mostly broken, dirty and had no
functioning uses, but she had kept them all. One last poignant
statement made by Baudrillard relates to Schütz’s collected
objects, as he writes:
In our daily lives, we will continue to enact the mourning for
our own person through the intercession of objects, and this
allows us, albeit regressively, to live out our lives. The man
who collects things may already be dead, yet he manages
literally to outlive himself through his collection, which,
originating within this life, recapitulates him indefinitely
beyond the point of death by absorbing death itself into the
series and the cycle (1994: 17).
The theory around the notion of collecting is very interesting
as it contributes to an understanding of the context in which
the sign was collected. The potential this object had to
function as inspiration for another artist was activated as
the prolific collector, Schütz, decided to acquire it.
Conclusion
Throughout their lives, people, objects and spaces
collect memory. They move through time, as Donald Preziosi
says, “preserv(ing) a memory trace of all that life has been
on this planet” (2002: 30). This accumulation of experiences
allows for a rich tapestry of research potential, each thread
a possible avenue for investigation and discovery for the
researcher. The absence of information on particular aspects
of the object's life can diminish the chronological structure
of the biography, but the flexibility that the object
biography approach allows for encourages a non-sequential
organisation of information and interpretations. As mentioned
in the introduction, the research process required by the
object biography approach can be likened to detective work,
encouraging investigation of comprehensive topics and broad
issues surrounding the numerous phases of an object’s life,
or, in this case, the various lives of an object.
Word count: 4595
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