It's fitting in more ways than one that the word "waiting" should feature in the title of Senzeni Marasela's survey exhibition, Waiting for Gebane, at the Zeitz Museum of Contemporary Art Africa (Mocaa) in Cape Town: Marasela's art features the recurring motif of a woman, Theodorah, standing by — and this South African artist has been waiting for this landmark moment in her career, too.
Not just a museum show but one with her at centre stage; largely, the high-profile exhibitions featuring her work have been group shows staged outside SA.
Afronova, the gallery representing her, has tirelessly promoted her art (driven by the late dealer Henri Vergon) largely in Europe but her work has, for some reason, escaped recognition in her own country.
Could this be because her visual vocabulary is understated and the central figure in her art is ubiquitous in our society? Theodorah is a middle-aged woman based on the artist's mother and enacted by the artist herself in the photographic series.
The narrative Marasela has created around the figure of Theodorah is a familiar one: after years of waiting in a rural setting for her husband Gebane to return from Joburg, Theodorah goes in search of him. This presents the female corollary to the Jim Comes to Jo'burg trope, from the film of that name that documents the experiences of the male migrant labour worker in the 1940s.
In the photographic series "Theodorah comes to Johannesburg", we only ever see Theodorah from behind — she functions as a symbol. We know this doek-wearing woman — she is on every street corner in every city of our country, navigating the barriers, absences, losses and struggles that many migrant workers on low wages — and, by extension, their families — must face.
She is perhaps of a certain generation, too — Marasela's mother's generation of women who were "left behind" — not only in the sense that they remained at home, but in a broader sense because their role in society was less respected. They were/are trapped by a patriarchal society made more toxic via apartheid's insidious racism.
Seen in different locations — often political landmarks in Joburg — Theodorah grapples with the history of the country, but more importantly with her place in it. She is a naïve figure.
In Izithombe Zendawo Esizithandayo, images of Theodorah in a "waiting" pose are superimposed onto images of desirable or well-known sights or travel destinations around the world. The figure of the absent Gebane is rendered beside her in a crude doodle representing a man. Theodorah is so trapped that her fantasies are manufactured.
This brings to mind Mary Sibande's figure of Sophie, whose fantasies manifest through Victorian distortions that are applied to a domestic worker's outfit, but are also not reflected in the reality in which she's rooted.
There are interesting parallels between Marasela and Sibande's photographic practices — the use of a fictional character who relates to a family member (Marasela wears garments belonging to her mother) and a recurring outfit used to identify them.
Marasela's use of dress extends into a textile-based practice, where a silhouette of Theodorah reappears through red lines embroidered onto white linen. You imagine Theodorah has made these herself — in an attempt to fill her time, while she waits. These works bring more universal feminist themes to mind — the way in which frustrated female ambition is channelled into labour-intensive craft practices.
As Koyo Kouoh, Cameroon-born director of the Zeitz Mocaa, observed at the press preview, the waiting motif is one that not only relates to black South Africans who have waited for democracy, freedom from apartheid, and now economic liberation, but one that she believes resonates around the continent in the wait for old despots to be deposed and for better living conditions.
Given the universality of Marasela's art, and the way in which she turns our attention to the millions of black women waiting for their lives to improve, why has this artist waited so long — for more than 15 years — for her art to be properly acknowledged?
The dress-up staged photographic and textile-based practices she embraced — which complement each other so well — chime not only with approaches embraced by the likes of Sibande but with those of many other artists, such as Athi-Patra Ruga, who began making art after Marasela. Did she influence their art making?
Perhaps her work is less sexy on a superficial level — in presenting the ordinary, a female figure of a middle-aged woman in ubiquitous outfits. Maybe we don't want reality depicted without the frisson of sartorial excess.
Another striking feature of Marasela's art that perhaps has been a barrier to wider enjoyment of it is the fact that the figure of Theodorah doesn't transcend history, poverty, loss. She remains stuck, waiting for a man who's expected to set her free. This presents a kind of friction in Marasela's art. She seems torn between making the story of this generation visible, while also expressing her frustration with them, their inaction, their dependence on men.
The real weight of Marasela's art perhaps lies in the accumulation of repeated acts over time — manifested through this long-standing durational performance of Theodorah, which dates from 2003. This kind of commitment is rare and perhaps undervalued in an art market pivoting on newness and novelty.
This exhibition is quietly satisfying, as it plots a chronological line through an interesting and varied (in terms of media) artistic trajectory. The concluding shweshewe dress installation of identical titular garments presented as if coming off a factory production line makes a bold visual statement. It points again to the ubiquity of the female figure Marasela aims to represent, the ever-present women who are the backbone of our society, the mothers, the workers, who never seem to occupy the centre stage. The women who remain oppressed, who haven't the resources or tools to set themselves free.
• 'Waiting for Gebane' is at Zeitz Museum of Contemporary African Art, until May.
