Racist tweets: a strange new twist

It’s been a busy few days on Twitter, what with Jessica Leandra coming down with foot in mouth disease to be quickly followed by Tshidi, and now the prospect of Jessica and Tshidi having dinner with DA national spokesperson Mmusi Maimane to kiss and make up. Tshidi has deleted her profile and Jessica has gone to ground, presumably to think in cursive strings of words, but without necessarily sharing whatever her explosively creative mind comes up with. Twitter will move on, as it always does, to be distracted by the next brand to step into the dwang, as always happens.

Jessica profile

But as it turns out, this story is taking another turn, because another atom bomb of a tweet has surfaced, one that manages to take racism and sexism and combine them into a statement so breathtakingly offensive it has left many people who have seen it feeling quite ill. I’m uploading it here for two reasons:

1. People on Twitter have asked what I’m referring to and because he’s deleted his profile, I can’t send them there to see for themselves and

2. People should be accountable for what they say and do online, and there’s no accountability if there’s no record.

Jessica rape tweetI scrolled through Itumeleng’s timeline for a sense of the person who could come up with this kind of bile, and found very little of interest. It was utterly banal: meeting up with friends, studying, one reference to a sexist hip hop track. Overall, nothing about his profile suggests a likely candidate for this kind of outburst. He’s a B.Com Accounting student with dreams of being a CA. Greatness personified indeed:

Itumeleng's Twitter profile

In one of his tweets, he links to his blog, so I went along to check it out, and what I found left me gobsmacked, because nothing in it indicates that this is the kind of person who’d come up with the kind of hate speech he directs at Jessica. Here’s a quote from an entry he wrote on Father’s Day last year (he makes reference to the fact that he grew up without a father – possibly there is a clue in that):

This brings me to the very reason why I decided to write this blog in the first place; to express my gratitude to the father of democracy,Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela.In the year 1994,amidst all the racial discrimination and warfare in South Africa,a baby called Democracy was conceived.This baby,with support from it’s dad,Mr Mandela,successfully brought an end to the Apartheid regime.It is because of Mr Mandela’s ‘fathering skills’ that our country now enjoys racial equality and decent human rights policies. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank Mr Mandela for excellently playing his role as a father to his beloved son,Democracy.

Apart from the willful refusal to punctuate correctly, there’s nothing offensive in that; just the opposite in fact. (He’s a fan of Julius Malema, but that’s hardly a smoking gun.) Later on, he posts a transcription of a discussion with Kerwin Lebone of the South African Institute of Race Relations (SAIRR) on the subject of fatherless households. It’s all thoughtful, considered and evidence of somebody who is interested in human rights.

So what’s going on here? Why would somebody self-immolate online in the way that Itumeleng appears to have done? (This kind of thing, where a racist rant has led to dismissal, has happened before, but on Facebook.) He’s been reported to Unisa, and because Google has a long memory, he can probably kiss a future career in a nice accounting firm goodbye. Since his tweet was discovered, he’s deleted his Twitter and Facebook profiles and I’m guessing the blog is going to follow too, but it’s all in vain.

Nowhere to hide

But something funny is going on here. There’s such a contrast between those tweets and the blog that I wonder whether Itumeleng’s account had been hacked. That second tweet, the one about ‘Tata Madiba’ is the really intriguing one, because it suggests that its author and the writer of the blog is one and the same. @LifeisSavage has reported that there are ‘damning Facebook pics’ but the account had been deleted before I had a chance to look, so I don’t know what to make of it.

If he has been hacked, then I feel incredibly sorry for him, because this is an exceptionally nasty case of sabotage at a time when racist tweeting is such a hot button issue (and so is gender-based violence).

But if it hasn’t been hacked, what’s his excuse? Alcohol? Drugs? A really bad day? If that’s the case, the guy clearly needs therapy. So, yes, I’m horrified. But I’m also curious, because there’s more going on here than a simple case of a hateful racist pig venting online. There’s a story behind those tweets. Whatever the truth, I hope it comes out.

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New work for the Art with Heart charity art sale

Earlier this year I was asked, along with other artists,  to donate work to the Art With Heart art sale in aid of Rays of Hope. Each piece had to be A3 in size, and will be sold for R500. The triptych of Johannesburg was painted specially for the sale, which takes place at the Maboneng Precinct on Tuesday.

The work includes the triptych I posted earlier, as well as this view of Joburg, titled “City of Gold”:

Lipstick painting of Joburg

This work, “Cathedrals of Commerce” tackles the Sandton skyline (that’s the Brixton tower to the left, which can be seen in the distance):

Painting of Sandton skyline

And because I can’t possibly not include a painting of my favourite subject, horses, I added this:

Lipstick painting of horse

My favourites out of all the works I’ve submitted are relatively  unusual subjects, an onion:

Lipstick painting of onion

And a rhino:

Lipstick painting of rhino

I hope that all 11 will find good homes. The R500 is going to a very good cause, after all.

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13 types of awkward hugs

To hug or not to hug? That is the question. We are usually forced to answer it one way or another when during those social occasions, having met someone for the first time, you are eventually required say goodbye.

It’s especially awkward if the new person happens to be accompanying a friend you usually do hug. There’s this sort of mutual hugathon and then you get to the new person and… what do you do? You don’t know them well enough to justify a hug, but not hugging would be weird and slightly embarrassing because… well, it just would. So you end up falling back on that staple of uncomfortable social encounters, the half hug.

When I asked around about this on Twitter and Facebook (it’s called crowdsourcing), it turned out that hug anxiety is actually quite common. In fact, hug anxiety is something that all of us must grapple with almost every day. My parents’ generation don’t hug, but it’s de rigueur amongst Gen X and Gen Y.

I know all about hug anxiety. I come from a family that has no tradition of hugging, so, when I arrived at high school and discovered that absolutely everyone in Std 6 hugged everyone else in Std 6, I was traumatized. Since then, I have embraced hug culture, pun possibly intended, and have come to understand how careful one must be when it comes to the physical embrace.

There are several types of hug which can prompt hug anxiety. Peruse, if you will, the following list:

1. The half hug: one arm – usually the left – hugs, the other remains at the side. As mentioned above, this is the type of hug that generally presents itself when there is uncertainty as to whether or not to hug, but a sense of duty prevails and you end up hedging your bets. The half hug is the classic symptom of hug anxiety. People have told me that they live by the half hug.

2. The no pressure hug: this looks like a hug, but isn’t. Arms are placed around the other party, generally somebody one knows well, but no pressure is applied. Both my brothers do this, as did the Jedi Master when I first met him. The no pressure hug annoys me no end. If you’re going to hug and you’re friends or blood relatives, be committed to the hug. No excuse.

3. A variation of the no pressure hug is the one-sided hug, the you-like-me-more-than-I –like-you hug. A male friend describes this as “the hug that you get from a woman you’re besotted with who just wants to be friends…. one hug, two readings”. Being either the hugger or the huggee in this situation is very tense. Similar to the one-sided hug is the stick hug, where the other person tenses up because they don’t want or like physical contact.

4. The air hug: similar to the air kiss, involving no physical contact. The ghost hug, when you hug someone as though there is someone in between you, falls into the same broad category. This is similar to what a friend of mine describes “The Women Who Hate Each Other Tooth-Smile and Keening Hug. Usually done in public with both participants making a loudly descending sigh and patting each other on the back with their one free hand (the other is full of phone or shopping).”

5. The enthusiast: this is a hug between a man and a woman in which the man hugs just a leetle too firmly and a leetle too long, primarily for the purpose of feeling the woman’s boobs.

6. The manly slap on back hug: two men approach one another, embrace and include a slap or pat on the back. This reduces the possibility of any homoerotic subtext

7. The python: squeeze until your counterpart turns blue and collapses to the floor. Then your hug is done.

8. The python surprise: This is conducted from behind and usually involves an attempt to lift the huggee. Popular with drunken friends arriving late.

9. The pity hug: physical contact with someone you’d normally avoid like the plague, but feel you must comfort in their hour of need.

10. The teen Hollywood hug: this girl-only version involves shrieking, hands thrown in the air, and mwah mwah in the air next to each cheek. Not recommended for anyone over the age of 15.

11. The Christian side hug: aside from being a useful way to avoid front-on contact for persons of any religion, this is a huge global cultural phenomenon. Look it up on YouTube, and become the 866,206th person to watch the video.

12. The risky hug:  this involves a frisson of forbidden sexual tension between hugger and huggee; as a result, the hug lasts for a much shorter length of time than both parties would like it to, but are mutually aware that anything longer would be … asking for trouble.

13. Finally, my personal favourite, the stand-back-and-hope-nobody-attempts-anything-non-hug: keep a wide enough distance between you and the other person in order to avoid the question of a hug coming up altogether.

There, more or less, the list of awkward hugs. Oh, there are good hugs, great hugs, the ones where you bury yourself in the other, blanketed in love, and wish this moment would last forever. But those hugs are rare, and the ones that prompt hug anxiety are far more common.

And that’s not where anxiety ends – or begins for that matter – not by any means at all. Greetings are an entire category of social awkwardness on their own. That will have to be a separate blog, though. Bye til next time [cue awkward side hug].

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Steer by the stars

This is an icon I produced a couple of weeks ago, the birth of what I hope will be a meme. Not necessarily in this form, but something that gives what could be a disparate collection of thoughts a focused identity. I painted the sky with water colours and then stuck a gold star in the middle. The idea is that we need a star to steer by, whether as individuals or as an entire nation. Or, to paraphrase Oscar Wilde, some of us are stuck in a pothole, but we are looking at the stars.

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Swimming at night

This work is significant for one reason: it’s the first time I’ve included a reference to myself in my Joburg paintings. I once painted a self-portrait in lipstick; it was a less than stellar success (I managed to make myself look like a man). But with one or two exceptions, I’ve kept figures out of my Joburg paintings.

Lipstick painting of swimming at night

And then, tonight, as I was swimming, an idea for a painting began to form. I had been ploughing through the water, back and forth, trying to stave off one of my anxiety attacks. Inside the house, I watched my brother sit down at the piano and begin playing a Brahms intermezzo. Then, to the sound of the music, I leaned back and gazed up at the darkening sky. Every now and then a bat would flutter into view and then out again. I felt my arms and legs moving slowly through the water and wondered what that feeling would look like. I’ve juxtaposed swimming pools with the city skyline before and I thought about what I would paint in the water. Sharks? Crocodiles? Fish? And then, as the warm dark water burbled softly around me, I had an idea. Why not paint a human figure? It could be me; it could be a generic representation of an idea of what it is to be human.

As it turned out, it is me. The figure is a more a suggestion than an attempt to capture my likeness (I’m feeling fat as it is, so not a good idea). But the feeling of myself is here. Over the past three summers, I have spent a lot of time in the pool, swimming lengths or watching the sky turn orange, then lilac, then indigo. One night, a spotted eagle owl landed on the garage roof and sat there like a statue while I watched it, transfixed. I have swum through the most terrible despair in that pool, and every time I step into the water, I step into a lake of memory.

It’s difficult to describe how this painting makes me feel. It surprised me – I never expected I would paint something like this when I waded into the water – and it has given me more pleasure to create it than anything else I have painted this year. I look at it and I am filled with emotion that wells up from the unfathomable dark, and my heart lifts to the heavens. Floating in the water, I am suspended between realities. In those few minutes of the eternal present, I am freed from myself, and it is good.

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Joburg morning, noon and night

A painting of Joburg nightlife (more about that in a future blog entry) I completed over the weekend inspired two others suggested by Joburg at different times of day. In the morning, the city is pink and fresh, full of commuters and children being dropped off at school. In the afternoon, it’s mellower – I’ve depicted it over a weekend rather than during the week – while at night it’s dark and dangerous, filled with animal energy. Here are all three paintings in sequence (the image of the morning painting is not particularly clear; it looks better in the flesh):

Three lipstick paintings of JoburgAll three are being donated to the Art With Heart charity art sale in aid of Rays of Hope, scheduled to take place on May 8.

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With love: a painting for a little girl

Recently I received a commission to paint one of my Joburg skylines for a little girl on the occasion of her first birthday. It was an unusual commission and one I loved doing: an excuse to use the softer pinks, browns and greys in my palette. This is not the frenetic, feral city of the reds and oranges. This is more a mellow Joburg of golden afternoons and fat, lazy bees hovering over the Oros, of sleepy doves and the smell of braai smoke, of laughing children and the murmur of the sport on TV.

It is filled with words: the names of Joburg roads significant to her mother, a message from her mother, and also messages from me. May you know love and laughter, I’ve written. May your sorrows be fleeting.

I hope that she grows up intrigued by it, seeing something different every time she looks at it. And that she sees that it was commissioned with love, and painted with love, and that love is all around her. 

 

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Conquering a fear: trying again

On Friday I started riding lessons again. Having spent my entire life obsessed with horses, it remains a dreadfully cruel irony that I am so utterly useless when it comes to riding them. In recent years I’ve developed a phobia, so that whenever my mount moves into a canter I become utterly panic-stricken. On Friday, I finally managed to persuade my mount, an old thoroughbred mare named Savannah, to move from a trot to a canter without having a meltdown.

Here I am with Savannah before the lesson:

Me with Savannah

The stables are based in Chartwell near Broadacres Shopping Centre. There’s a panoramic view of the informal settlement across the valley, so you’re never too far away from reality.

 

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12 Socially Awkward Situations

I am a social disaster. Despite my love of speaking (show me a stage and I long to be on it), I am painfully shy. I find social events excruciating. That’s why I have a drink first and sober up while everyone else except the designated drivers get steadily plastered. Sources of anxiety are numerous and include, but are not limited to:

  1. Walking into a room full of people at an event and frantically scanning them for a familiar face. That’s when you wish you had one of those cool radar scanning devices you used to see on Airwolf. I can’t wait for the socially awkward virtual reality app that will tell me who everybody is just by waving my iPhone at them.
  2. Establishing that there is nobody you know and standing in the corner with your canapés, observing everybody else and hoping you’re invisible.
  3. Wondering whether somebody knows who the hell you are when you meet them again. I tend to assume they don’t remember me, and reintroduce myself.
  4. Being that person who doesn’t remember the other person who just had to reintroduce themselves to you.
  5. Hovering near a person you wish to speak to, only they’re deep in conversation with somebody else so you have to wait. What is the accepted dwell time for speaking to somebody at a social event? 10 seconds? 30? At what point does it become obvious that you’re never going to be noticed, and it would be advisable to slink away with 30% of your dignity intact?
  6. Having to peer at somebody’s name badge at a networking event. Terribly awkward when it’s a woman in a low cut top.
  7. That moment when you’re in conversation with somebody and you’ve had enough, but don’t know how to leave politely.
  8. Being that other person who’s enjoying the conversation when the other isn’t.
  9. Meeting somebody you know when you’re out with somebody else, and you’re not sure whether to introduce them to one another. It’s worse when you’re the one left out and feeling like a spare kidney while they carry on yakking.
  10. Being marooned at the boring end of the dinner table when you’d rather be talking to one of the other guests, and having to soldier on through the thick muddy no man’s land of smiling and nodding. Surely one of the 12 labours of Hercules was Making Conversation.
  11. Crumbs present a special set of challenges. I am terrified of them. Either they’re dusted down my front when I’m wearing black, or clustered on my chin. I have no feeling in one side of my chin thanks to a wisdom tooth op, so this happens to me frequently.
  12. Seeing a mortal enemy and spending the entire evening blanking them. Blanking is very hard work and there’s always the risk of accidental direct eye contact.

There is more, but you’ll have to wait for the next installment.

 

 

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Happy hearts, cynical hearts and hearts with purpose

Hearts were always an obvious subject for me to tackle. Given that I paint with lipstick, there’s the obvious semiotic link to romance, gender and identity (a paper just waiting to be written). And because the hearts is a simple, iconic shape, easily recognised, you can play around with it and still make sense.

Naturally, I first started painting hearts after I got dumped. This is the earliest:

Lipstick heart

After the angry-dumpee hearts, I painted a commission for Rene Del Carme, whom I met when she filmed me for a segment for China Central Television. This year, I returned to hearts,  painting a series in time for Valentine’s Day. Two of them read “Love is dopamine” – which I’d love to turn into a T-shirt:

Broken hearts painted in lipstick

But I have a mushy side too, so this is a series of hearts each containing a positive, joyful word. These were on sale at Anima, and three of them have been bought by a woman for her daughter’s bedroom:

4 hearts painted in lipstick

Finally, this heart was painted for the We The People campaign. It contains the opening words of the preamble to the South African constitution:

Heart painted in lipstick - South African constitution Because we’re asking South Africans to tell the world why we love our constitution – this is the marketing month of love after all – it made sense to indulge in one of my favourite subjects.

My next challenge will be to paint hearts in turquoise – the buyer of the three hearts for one of her daughters wants three for the other, whose bedroom is a different colour scheme. I’m experimenting with eye pencils, and I will show you the results if they turn out well.

 

 

 

 

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