Koooooos — my kind of artist

I’ve always wanted to be an artist. I may have the talent — that’s debatable. I have the work ethic, the determination, the discipline and perhaps even the bullshit quotient needed to make it in the art world. But what I don’t have is the audacity. It’s a sad admission, an even sadder omission. Which is why I’ve always admired it in others and recognised it instantly, appreciatively, when it appears. Koos Groenewald is exactly my kind of artist.

He has vision, unquestionably. He has talent – immense. He has a recognisable style, a mixture, no doubt, of his unique sense of humour and his irreverent world view. I find it intriguing. But what sets him apart, you can’t teach, especially not in art class: that subtle, persistent audacity.

A cursory scroll through his Instagram pages gives you an idea: a naked lady shimmying down a cactus; a man with a cellphone strung around his face covering his eyes, nose and mouth; a classical marble sculpture of a horse in crazy pink boots; a simple line drawing of a ghost with the messy words, “Could have been besties, now we’re just ghosties,” a scraggly man in his underpants on all fours, looking under the couch for his third eye. The characters that populate his drawings create a “Koos world” and you get the message, or you don’t. There’s something in his work that reminds me of Quentin Blake, the illustrator of Roald Dahl’s books – that same refusal to overwork a line, a distinctly adult sensibility, the existential smug shrug.

Put together, his work is a visual diary of his thoughts: quick drawings, loose lines, bodies – often half naked or naked – in awkward, improbable positions. He uses neither the usual shock tactics nor predictable vulgarity. There’s something more worthy of attention, subtler, more intelligent. His observations reframe moments, finding the absurdity in the ordinary and freezing it, just long enough for you to recognise it yourself.

I first met Groenewald years ago — or rather, clocked him — at a Loeries day party on the uShaka pier in Durban. It was the kind of event where everyone performs some version of themselves, and he seemed to understand that better than anyone. He was wearing oversized sunglasses with the words “FUCK” emblazoned across the frames — which, in that context, felt like reasonable commentary.

At the time, Jana + Koos — the design studio co-founded with Jana Hamman — was already gaining momentum. Over the years, they’ve become the Everest of South Africa’s creative landscape. The studio has built a reputation for crafting entire worlds rather than just building brands, pulling from art, design, humour and cultural reference points with recognisable brilliance. Their work seems loose, almost careless, unpretentious, until you realise how precisely constructed it is.

“Jana + Koos is a friendship, a family, a shared obscure sense of humour and a creative studio that’s attempted to share that kinship, taking the inside jokes and abstract thoughts into brand building, campaigns and art projects,” says Hamman, who befriended Groenewald in university when he was a professional cyclist and design was his backup plan. Now they describe their process as “that sticky thing” that gets their attention, and makes them think or laugh.

“Sometimes we’ll go too far and Jana says ‘That’s a bit yabbadabbadoo,’ but nothing is more satisfying than cracking a concept that’s both unique, interesting, special, but also simple – that it informs every aspect of the project,” says Groenewald. “That’s how a ‘world’ comes about.”

Parallel to that commercial success, another body of work has been evolving. Under the moniker “Koooooos” — the extended vowel like a sort of artistic howl — Groenewald’s personal practice has taken on a life of its own.

The subject matter is deceptively simple: bodies doing slightly off things. A figure bending at the wrong angle, a gesture held a second too long, a moment that feels uncomfortably familiar. Rather than heroic subjects, Groenewald captures the moments inbetween — the ones we don’t photograph, curate or particularly want to remember.

What Groenewald seems to say is that the human condition is most visible in these small, vulnerable failures of grace – the sock that won’t go on, the imbalance, the awkwardness of being inside this body at all.

And there’s always humour. “It’s a coping mechanism,” he says. “I find the world weird and abstract in its ‘normal’ state. Humour is a great way of dealing with complex issues and making sense of the nonsensical. My work celebrates the awkward moments that we think no one else has noticed, but that we universally share. It makes me love all humans more, seeing that we all have a body that we’re navigating through the same world. We have much more in common than not. And in a world that feels like it’s trying to separate and isolate us from each other, it feels important to highlight the things we share – mostly simple and stupid things. We all age, we lose our balance, we’re jealous, we love and lose love. We have awkward interactions with socks. This show has a painting dedicated to that, called ‘One Sock At A Time’ - a mantra that’s a daily coping mechanism itself.”

This is the thread that runs through his upcoming presentation at the Latitudes Art Fair, titled Performing Humanism – and other small awkward interactions with yourself (and others). Produced in collaboration with curator Samantha Whitaker of Curatorial Edge, the show marks a consolidation of his art.

The upcoming RMB Latitudes Art Fair this week makes a good setting for a first showing of Koooooos artworks in Joburg. Unlike more conventional fairs, this one likes looseness – perforated lines between viewers and artworks.

Whitaker’s role in shaping the exhibition is critical. Where Groenewald works instinctively — following a feeling, a line, a moment — she provides a framework that allows those instincts to cohere without losing their spontaneity. The result is a body of work that feels both immediate and considered, held together by a shared understanding rather than a rigid curatorial narrative. Groenewald, in his inimitable way, calls it “a mixed bag of nuts” – ceramics, painting, drawing and a limited edition zine with Gnossienne Press. The through-line remains consistent – being human in this absurd world. “The works are observations of ourselves, reminders to celebrate the weird and not take ourselves too seriously. We’re all performing - we have that in common too.”

We’re increasingly trained to edit the moment, but Groenewald’s work interrupts that process, reminding us of the version that slips through — the unpolished, slightly ridiculous, nuanced, sad, same, silly reality that we try to gloss over.

Which brings us back to audacity.

That’s the risk Groenewald takes. Repeatedly. Casually. That’s what I recognise — and envy — most. Because while many of us are busy assembling the necessary components of a creative life — the discipline, the strategy, the carefully managed ambition — he seems to have skipped a step, the part where you simply put the work out there that shows us , as he says, “how some of the smallest interactions in our lives can be the most beautiful.”

SIDEBAR:

A note from the collaborator on the exhibition, Samantha Whitaker @ Curatorial Edge:

“When discussing the essence of our Latitudes presentation, I kept returning to something Koos told me after a trip to Europe. He’d pushed himself to go into public saunas where nudity is normal. He described having an existential moment, looking around, thinking, ‘What are we all doing here in these strange forms and bodies we’ve been given?’

“It sparked a realisation that many of us move through life deeply self-conscious of our bodies, habits, gestures and awkwardness, without ever stepping back to see the absurdity and tenderness of it all.

“That conversation became the emotional core of this body of work for me. To me, ‘performing humanism’ speaks to the ways we’re constantly acting out versions of humanity for ourselves and for one another. We perform confidence, intimacy, romance, masculinity, femininity, vulnerability, even detachment, while underneath it all we’re often uncertain, fragile, needy, hopeful, ridiculous.

“Koos has a way of exposing those contradictions.

“A collector once said to me, ‘Koos’ art is like us making fun of ourselves in the most tender and honest way.’ That idea captures the spirit of the exhibition.”