The location: the ultra-modernist University Of Johannesburg Art Gallery: grass roof, geometric landscaping, white-washed concrete walls.
The audience: students, hipsters, queers, connoisseurs. Many many cool people, sipping wine, peering knowingly at exhibits, brows furrowed.
The photos were sub-Helmut Newton: naked long-legged models draped in varying misogynist poses as well as some sledgehammer poetry (not sure it was his), read out by a poetry slammer with a sound effect band - breaking sticks and ripping paper...) and a failing Powerpoint slideshow.
There were some gems: an old black man in a lake, his head just about emerging from the water like Adam from the womb; an old white man, lying naked on his bed, freckled all over his translucent skin, human body shape barely recognisable, warped from age and religion; a fat lady primly seated on a bench inside the Johannesburg Art Gallery courtyard, encased in wire - safe, serene, unselfconscious.
My highlight was a series of large colour photos of knocked-over traffic lights around the streets of Johannesburg, the red orange green still flashing obediently amidst a tangle of warped steel and knotted electrical cables. There, finally, was a subtle statement on urban South Africa circa 2013.
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