Cape Town, South Africa – A commonality among all the countries I’ve traveled to is the proliferation of street art. Ive found it hidden on a crumbling side street wall in a remote village on the small traditional island of Lombak. A sketch of a black spider, caught in a web. In Quito, graffiti artists have overtaken a half mile concrete divide along a main road, transforming the area with vibrantly coloured political messages. I’ve found hidden gems in my wanders through Auckland, Cochin, Chaing Mai, and even the Galápagos Islands. These outdoor art galleries delight me. Each new work a spectular find, like each egg, painted and chocolate, one used to discover as a child during an Easter egg hunt. I have an extensive collection of photographs now of my favourites. Today that collection doubled with a trip to Woodstock, an area of Cape Town experiencing an explosion of street art.
You can’t stand on any corner of Woodstock and not catch a glimpse of some work out of the corner of your eye. Looking out over the area, is a glittering piece by the South African artist Faith 47, adorning the side of one of the rare new buildings in the desolate wasteland of District Six. A beacon, bringing light onto a ravished area with a haunting past. Down in the valley, in the heart of Woodstock, are numerous works by her sixteen year old son, whose black on white hash marking sketches have hidden words buried in the midst. Poetic words that make you stand still for a moment and contemplate your own existence and direction in life. Nearby, an abstract vision of an animal appears to leap three dimensionally off a wall from its long tonal white and turquoise brush strokes, works by his Chinese dad. Then there are the political messages. The Iranian artist who sketched Israel and Plaestian on two seperate buildings in a game of tug of war. One side of the image now lost with the demolition of the adjoining building. Two streets down are images of a Black rhino and the Rothschild giraffe by a London artist, highlighting the decline and near extinction of some of the worlds most magnificent animals. And there are the mere expressions of a passing artist. The Japanese work which speaks of the chaos in the aftermath of the tusunami. The electic mix of images on the outside of a house in which the elderly lady inside proudly claims she was born in and has lived in all her life, 87 years. Jumbled amongst these are many more images, just there for the sole purpose of bringing life to this otherwise grungy, downtrodden area of the Mother City, including a life size portrait of Will Smith.
And smack in the middle of all these crumbling, barred houses, with beggars loitering outside is The Woodstock Exchange, a multi story converted warehouse stocked three or more stories high with trendy coffee shops, relaxed organic bakeries, hip clothes stores, and of course more street art. The juxtaposition is particularly jarring. The clientele inside a stark difference from the people I just passed outside. But this is Cape Town. That level of incongruity commonplace. Glimpse to your right and you see extreme poverty. Glimpse to your left and you see a surging arts and crafts culture nestled into hundreds of independent boutique shops. I can’t wrap my head around it. Maybe it’s a sign of growth. Entrpuerneurs forging their way, trying to survive, in a society with limited traditional, professional jobs. It’s certainly like no other city I’ve been to. Of course each city around the world has it’s hip, artisan part of town, but here it’s an intrinsic part of what Cape Town is. That artisan culture permeates every nook and cranny, even the townships, where I saw the locals making cards and art from old tea bags. I don’t love the poverty, but I love the proliferation of arts and crafts, the artisan coffee shops, and independent cafés. It’s Utopia, well my version of it anyway.
