A report of birds not seen
Poems & Pictures, 2020
Coloured* heritage is steeped in ‚secrecy’ and our heritage is still hidden from us and even though we do exist, we somehow are made to feel that we don’t belong anywhere.
In order to ‚find’ and ‚ground’ myself I decided to create a family tree in order to see where is ‚home’. Turns out home is everywhere. My roots run deep and across the globe. This begs the question again: where do I belong if I belong everywhere, but nobody wants to claim me as their own and how do I claim a ‚home’ for myself.
My family research consists of sticky notes on a brown board next to me. Sometimes the notes flutter down. This made me think of birds, specifically the swift bird (looks like a swallow, but part of the hummingbird family). They are common in South Africa, but they generally do not walk on the ground, because their claws are not suited for it. I like this as a metaphor of what it means to be Coloured.
We were ‚created’ in South Africa, but we have been misplaced and disconnected from the ground. Disconnected from our African (or any other) heritage. It is ‚illegal’ to tick the box labbeled ‚African’ on official documents. We are the ‚others’. What does this ‚other’ mean and where do ‚others’ reside? Only on the margins and fringes of society? Quietly and silently?
There is a lot of movement/travel (physically and mentally) in the origin story of Coloured* people. Enslaved people from all over, colonizers, explorers and indigenous peoples of Southern Africa and Africa converged in ‚South Africa’ and thanks to the Apartheid regime a new ‚people’, the Coloureds was born.
I use the bag in the work as a signifier for the movement of peoples, the movement of birds. Insinuating the struggle of wanting to move forward but being held back by various things: an example being that eventhough the term ‚Coloured’ is still legally used in South Africa, many consider it offensive, because it ‚others’ us from our African roots. Even the term ‚People of Colour’ does not truly resonate.
There is a movement considering the word ‚Xamissa/Camissa’ – I don’t know how I feel about that. Also, only being able to see so far. Limited vision – sometimes self imposed.
I am looking for traces/tracks of our existence. We are here, but we are also not visible.
What is identity if you are a melting point in terms of physical features, spirituality, culture and morals and values. The collections of photographs explore different aspects of belonging.
Belonging/owning to the land (physically, spiritually and emotionally?