Tell us about “The Herd/Less.”

I’m playing with the dual meaning of the word “herd,” a group of animals. Talking about any leader as the head of the “herd,” people who lead other people—when we have no authority. We can be led by criminals, or led by people who are doing unlawful things, and that can leave us wandering around not knowing who to follow. Sometimes we go solo, sometimes we go to the groups to feel safe because when you’re alone you start to feel vulnerable. 

There's also the situation of South Africa right now with this government of national unity involving various parties coming together. Right now we don't really know what party to follow or who is leading us, there’s a lot of people trying to outdo each other politically so it's kind of a mess. We’re actually herdless as a society. But we see this dynamic in protest too. We protest even in our everyday lives, it's the human condition. I also am looking at this idea of the aftermath. As South Africans we are a very expressive people. We make noise! So in this work we hear the noise, whether it's the cans we use on stage, people talking in exclamations—Hey! Yoh! Ooh!—so all of those come into the work exploring how we react to shock. How we deal with the aftermath. 

South Africa is currently going through a crisis with violence against women, does that play out in the work?

It is playing out with current events here in South Africa, with the rise in gender-based violence, this genocide against women, as citizens we want justice. Instead the government tells us to “be vigilant,” but how can we be vigilant our whole lives? Us walking on those cans feels like we are chained, that we aren’t free. We walk slowly together on them, it looks quite beautiful, but inside those cans are deep wounds. It’s a can of worms. 

This all ties to “The Herd/Less. In South Africa right now there's no justice, women are told not to walk at night or walk in groups. Making the work felt a bit like prophetising something because that is what is happening right now. Even globally. It feels like the whole world is at war—some are walking freely and some are deeply affected inside by what goes on. It’s something that has been here since Apartheid. While there is crime everywhere in the world, here I wonder if this is because we don’t have “safe spaces”? Maybe it's because the government doesn’t take care of those living in forgotten communities?

Is it hard to deal with that rage in the studio? Is it cathartic?

I dont show violence in the work, I prefer to be subtle about it and use symbolism. I look at our history, where we’ve come from and where we are today—the long walk to freedom. But there isn’t total freedom when I can’t walk at night. I think it's getting worse. All these different forms of violence from different times come together, we still fight it but there’s different violence now, different ways of being killed. It’s sad. 

You feel as an artist that you don’t want to go there, but as a South African it’s hard not to reflect or relate to what I’m seeing. I don't want to say that as an artist I have all the answers and say I can heal, but I’m asking questions and talking about what is happening in front of us. As South Africans we need to project what is happening around us. I’m not talking about daisies and flowers, I’m talking about weapons and spears. I do want to talk about the beautiful things. Flowers and rivers. [laughs]