Lylia Hafiz in Conversation with William Kentridge
William Kentridge is an internationally acclaimed South African artist born on April 28, 1955. He grew up in Johannesburg during the apartheid era, and his parents, prominent human-rights lawyers, played key roles in South Africa’s fight for justice. Kentridge is renowned for his interdisciplinary work encompassing drawing, opera, sculpture, film, and theatre. Deeply influenced by his country's social and political history, his practice explores themes related to the impacts of colonialism and totalitarianism. His distinctive style often incorporates charcoal drawings, which he transforms into stop-motion animations, delving into themes of collective memory, history, and the complexities of the human condition.
William recently inaugurated A Shadow of a Shadow, showcasing 17 of his performances at the Sharjah Art Foundation. The exhibition features his interpretations of King Ubu and Mozart’s The Magic Flute, as well as original works such as The Head and the Load (2018) amongst other pieces.
For this exclusive MADE IN BED interview, we sat down in one of the exhibition rooms on the opening night of the show, surrounded by the buzzing energy of the event and a charcoal drawing William had sketched on the wall behind us. As we chatted, the artwork embodied the themes of transformation and process that underpin much of his practice. During our conversation, William opened up about his evolution as an artist, the meaning of archives and the studio, as well as the connection between his work and history.
Lylia Hafiz: To get us started, can you tell me more about your show at the Sharjah Art Foundation?
William Kentridge: The exhibition includes 17 different performances, each with its own room, starting in 1984 up to the last couple of years. All of them are looking at a mixture of the productive records of the productions—artefacts, drawings, sculptures, and installations that came out of them. So I suppose it is about the migration of images from theatre, out of theatre, into things that start as drawings, that become productions and so on.
LH: Since it spans from the 1980s to today; how would you say your practice has evolved over time?
WK: Well, my practice started as a mixture of theatre and drawing. I tried to be an actor, which I failed at, then I had a period of just making drawings, thinking I needed to do one or the other to be good at it. Gradually, the drawings became films, and the films turned into productions. I eventually gave up trying to predict what came first: chicken, egg, drawing, or theatre production. Sometimes, the theatre production is a complicated way of arriving into a set of drawings that wouldn’t have otherwise been done, and other times, the drawings are the starting point for a piece of theatre.
LH: What are you looking forward to the most with this show, and what messages do you wish to convey?
WK: Messages? I never have! I’m interested in showing process and the openness of process, and making it clear to an audience that they're looking as part of the construction of the meaning.
LH: What significance does charcoal have within your work, and why do you return to this medium frequently?
WK: Charcoal is the basic medium largely because it is so changeable. You can do a charcoal drawing like these wall drawings, and with a cloth and one swipe, you can erase and redraw. You get a ghosting of what was there. If you’re interested in transformation or provisionality, it’s the natural medium to use. But of course what happened is that I started with charcoal and then discovered the themes of provisionality, changeability, and metamorphosis rather than the other way around.
LH: I have noticed quite a lot of archival works throughout the show – can you tell me more about the role they play in your practice?
WK: There are different archives—historical archives that I might look at to arrive at a series of images for production, and then there are the archives, which are the residues of the work itself. This exhibition has quite a lot of those things that would normally just sit in crates—old masks, pieces of paper, sketches—which here are shown as part of the process of making.
LH: How important is the studio in your creative process?
WK: The studio is essential, both as a physical space of making and a metaphoric space of making meaning. For me, it is very much a physical space to walk around, to think, to have all the different possibilities on the walls at the same time. When I’m traveling, for example, in a hotel room, it’s very rare that I end up thinking about new ideas or making sketches or drawings. I might have something in my head that will wait until I'm back in the studio to manifest itself.
LH: Many international observers are hopeful about improved stability in South Africa after the recent election results. Do you share this optimism, and how do you see the future of South Africa unfolding?
WK: I suppose I am cautiously pessimistic. Someone has to understand that there are many futures unfolding in South Africa—pessimistic and optimistic. To say you are an optimist is to blind yourself to a lot of the disasters that are happening. To be a pessimist blinds you to a lot of extraordinary initiatives. Both futures are unfolding, and in retrospect, it will be clear which way it was going, but in the moment, it's important to hang on to the possibilities.
LH: Would you say that your practice resonates with global issues beyond Africa, such as the political turmoil currently felt across the world?
WK: That is what I am interested to see, whether it does or doesn’t resonate, and which things people respond to it. I know there have been people from Algeria and Sudan who suddenly felt the colonial elements. So, it’s interesting to see which works have echoes. If one looks back at a lot of the projects, the theater projects, but also the non-theater film projects, many have some link to specific history—whether it's the First World War, the Italians in Ethiopia, or the Germans in Southeast Africa. A lot of them are about Africa and Europe, which is where I am—sort of in Africa, strongly connected to Europe, but with that sense of the ambiguity and paradoxes of Europe and Africa.
LH: Do you think about your legacy as an artist? How would you like future generations to interpret your work?
WK: I was once with a South African poet, and people asked her about legacy. She gave the best answer: “What would you like to be remembered for?” She said, “I'd like to be remembered for a big scandal.” That's a good thing to be remembered for! She’s more adventurous than I am, so she's more likely to have a big scandal.
LH: And to finish, can you speak about what you are currently exploring or working on?
WK: The current project is a Monteverdi opera. There's one Monteverdi opera here, The Return of Ulysses. This is the first opera, Orfeo. It's an existing libretto, existing music, done as it is, but it’s a way of looking again at what image and music do together. It’s also about considerations of death and the unconscious. But at the moment, it's about making drawings and seeing how the drawings talk to the music.
Many thanks to William Kentridge and the Sharjah Art Foundation on behalf of MADE IN BED.
William Kentridge: A Shadow of a Shadow is on view from 28 September to 8 December 2024 at Bait Al Serkal, Arts Square in Sharjah, UAE.
Lylia Hafiz
Agents of Change Co-Editor, MADE IN BED