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suffers also in some measure afflicts the black woman because she loses, not only her voice, but her authority—little as it was—in relation to white women. She had something with this child. Then she loses the child. The child quite literally goes away to school and she is structured into a different relationship with it which involves rejection. That child becomes a person who calls her by a name that is not her name, that orders her around. He might even use her body sexually, and he becomes the boss, the master. The loss that she suffers is all the greater because she has experienced a genuine affection both from and for the child who has now withdrawn from her. And he must suffer some loss in relation to that black woman. And I suppose what I’m trying to work through is the nature of that loss, such trauma which occurred in the apartheid years—things that can’t be spoken. I’m completely fascinated by this incredibly powerful constellation of relations and feelings as something that is just so much part of this society and cries for representation. AC: Do you think you’ve actually been able to represent in some way that psychic dimension of loss to both parties that you were talking about? PS: There is an asymmetry here. I cannot and do not claim to do justice to ‘both’ parties. I’ve tried to put objects which speak, if you like, socially and psychoanalytically. These objects are resonant, suggestive. AC: The three works which make up the Tula-Tula series, perhaps more than any other, try and resolve in a representational form the absent psychic dimension of that loss. You’ve deliberately used the image of your brother as a child as a way of bringing in a personal dimension. PS: I’ve used a blown-up negative from a photo of my brother with his nanny. The image itself is very suggestive in terms of the mother/child relationship. The nanny is sitting down with him on her lap and his hand is on hers. There are lots of details which would signify to a South African viewer—the child’s little hat, his sandals—things typical of a white little boy child. I’ve tried to work up the negative spaces of the photocopy, particularly around her face and his face. Because it is a photographic negative, she’s in fact white, if you like, colourwise, and he’s black, but his eyes are white. I’ve tried to invert value-laden colour. His eyes are in some ways absent or blank because in the original photograph they would have been black. Thinking psychoanalytically about vision and power the child’s ‘blank’ eyes and the nanny’s gaze become crucial details. She looks down at him and he looks out at the viewer. I’ve also deliberately and painstakingly built up her face materially with paint because I wanted to produce a strong point of identification. The act of painting, the physical presence of working up the surface tends to create an affective relationship which may
DOI link for suffers also in some measure afflicts the black woman because she loses, not only her voice, but her authority—little as it was—in relation to white women. She had something with this child. Then she loses the child. The child quite literally goes away to school and she is structured into a different relationship with it which involves rejection. That child becomes a person who calls her by a name that is not her name, that orders her around. He might even use her body sexually, and he becomes the boss, the master. The loss that she suffers is all the greater because she has experienced a genuine affection both from and for the child who has now withdrawn from her. And he must suffer some loss in relation to that black woman. And I suppose what I’m trying to work through is the nature of that loss, such trauma which occurred in the apartheid years—things that can’t be spoken. I’m completely fascinated by this incredibly powerful constellation of relations and feelings as something that is just so much part of this society and cries for representation. AC: Do you think you’ve actually been able to represent in some way that psychic dimension of loss to both parties that you were talking about? PS: There is an asymmetry here. I cannot and do not claim to do justice to ‘both’ parties. I’ve tried to put objects which speak, if you like, socially and psychoanalytically. These objects are resonant, suggestive. AC: The three works which make up the Tula-Tula series, perhaps more than any other, try and resolve in a representational form the absent psychic dimension of that loss. You’ve deliberately used the image of your brother as a child as a way of bringing in a personal dimension. PS: I’ve used a blown-up negative from a photo of my brother with his nanny. The image itself is very suggestive in terms of the mother/child relationship. The nanny is sitting down with him on her lap and his hand is on hers. There are lots of details which would signify to a South African viewer—the child’s little hat, his sandals—things typical of a white little boy child. I’ve tried to work up the negative spaces of the photocopy, particularly around her face and his face. Because it is a photographic negative, she’s in fact white, if you like, colourwise, and he’s black, but his eyes are white. I’ve tried to invert value-laden colour. His eyes are in some ways absent or blank because in the original photograph they would have been black. Thinking psychoanalytically about vision and power the child’s ‘blank’ eyes and the nanny’s gaze become crucial details. She looks down at him and he looks out at the viewer. I’ve also deliberately and painstakingly built up her face materially with paint because I wanted to produce a strong point of identification. The act of painting, the physical presence of working up the surface tends to create an affective relationship which may
suffers also in some measure afflicts the black woman because she loses, not only her voice, but her authority—little as it was—in relation to white women. She had something with this child. Then she loses the child. The child quite literally goes away to school and she is structured into a different relationship with it which involves rejection. That child becomes a person who calls her by a name that is not her name, that orders her around. He might even use her body sexually, and he becomes the boss, the master. The loss that she suffers is all the greater because she has experienced a genuine affection both from and for the child who has now withdrawn from her. And he must suffer some loss in relation to that black woman. And I suppose what I’m trying to work through is the nature of that loss, such trauma which occurred in the apartheid years—things that can’t be spoken. I’m completely fascinated by this incredibly powerful constellation of relations and feelings as something that is just so much part of this society and cries for representation. AC: Do you think you’ve actually been able to represent in some way that psychic dimension of loss to both parties that you were talking about? PS: There is an asymmetry here. I cannot and do not claim to do justice to ‘both’ parties. I’ve tried to put objects which speak, if you like, socially and psychoanalytically. These objects are resonant, suggestive. AC: The three works which make up the Tula-Tula series, perhaps more than any other, try and resolve in a representational form the absent psychic dimension of that loss. You’ve deliberately used the image of your brother as a child as a way of bringing in a personal dimension. PS: I’ve used a blown-up negative from a photo of my brother with his nanny. The image itself is very suggestive in terms of the mother/child relationship. The nanny is sitting down with him on her lap and his hand is on hers. There are lots of details which would signify to a South African viewer—the child’s little hat, his sandals—things typical of a white little boy child. I’ve tried to work up the negative spaces of the photocopy, particularly around her face and his face. Because it is a photographic negative, she’s in fact white, if you like, colourwise, and he’s black, but his eyes are white. I’ve tried to invert value-laden colour. His eyes are in some ways absent or blank because in the original photograph they would have been black. Thinking psychoanalytically about vision and power the child’s ‘blank’ eyes and the nanny’s gaze become crucial details. She looks down at him and he looks out at the viewer. I’ve also deliberately and painstakingly built up her face materially with paint because I wanted to produce a strong point of identification. The act of painting, the physical presence of working up the surface tends to create an affective relationship which may
ABSTRACT
suffers also in some measure afflicts the black woman because she loses, not only her voice, but her authority-little as it was-in relation to white women. She had something with this child. Then she loses the child. The child quite literally goes away to school and she is structured into a different relationship with it which involves rejection. That child becomes a person who calls her by a name that is not her name, that orders her around. He might even use her body sexually, and he becomes the boss, the master. The loss that she suffers is all the greater because she has experienced a genuine affection both from and for the child who has now withdrawn from her. And he must suffer some loss in relation to that black woman. And I suppose what I’m trying to work through is the nature of that loss, such trauma which occurred in the apartheid years-things that can’t be spoken. I’m completely fascinated by this incredibly powerful constellation of relations and feelings as something that is just so much part of this society and cries for representation.
