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Written byAmeerah Moola

The unravelling of insanity begins before the opening lines of this anti-minimalist work.

A one woman play, by Sue Pam-Grant, directed by Fred Abrahamse.

Scented and introduced to a vertical, meditating Sue Pam-Grant, immediately the audience knows they are in for something spectacular.

On entering through the performance space, there is an instant overwhelming of red. The drawings, words and ‘she-lines’ as coined by the artist hints at a spiral into, well, Something… what is a heavily referential and inter-textual piece that explores the intricacies of the human condition, through the eyes of a Woman Artist. Doubly so: Louise Bourgeois, a French vanguard artist in the first person, written, performed and designed by a renowned South African theatre practitioner and interdisciplinary artist.

“Fit in, please”, the character opens the play, cursing the shape of the plug pin on the fan, and the audience is visited by the heat that plagued New York at the time. A grand sense of un-belonging and displacement seeps into the storyline. One then learns that the fan stands as a symbol for the artist’s father, and eventually, a cool and spinning blow with death.

The lessons that are activated through this performance are numerous, profound, and deeply historical, while Louise Bourgeois exclaims that she “hates history”. By Intelligently woven text, the audience is wrapped into a web of confusing the artists with each other; in suspension of disbelief, one cannot tell the lives of Louise Bourgeois and Sue Pam Grant apart. SPG’s acting, it seems, is a medium for the late artist to communicate through once more.

Fit in, please”, the character opens the play, cursing the shape of the plug pin on the fan, and the audience is visited by the heat that plagued New York at the time.

A grand sense of unbelonging and displacement seeps into the storyline. One then learns that the fan stands as a symbol for the artists father, and eventually, a cool and spinning blow with death. The lessons that are activated through this performance are numerous, profound, and deeply historical, while the Louise Bourgeois exclaims that she “hates history”. By Intelligently woven text, the audience is wrapped into a web of confusing the artists with each other; in suspension of disbelief one cannot tell the lives of Louise Bourgeois and Sue Pam-Grant apart.  SPG acting, it seems, as a medium for the late artist to communicate through once more.

 

“I do, I undo, I redo.”

The mother, the father, the child. Archetypes that are ever-present at existence. Questions answered. More questions asked. Louise Bourgeois reveals and undresses Her deepest secrets through the actor, as the audience sits in as Her doctor, Henry.  

Swapping things and symbols for people and objects, lines for living, death for drama- one is never certain of hidden subtexts and sexual suggestions. The act of playing is done well, as She weaves between the past, present and future. A wife, a girl child, a mother, a widow. All these meeting in the ‘in between’. A magnificent expedition into what it means to be an artist, which could only be brought to life by an artist themself. 

Sue Pam Grant writes: “I will never let go of our ‘fiery sadness called desire”.

The synchronicities that lead up to the viewing were nothing short of magical: I found a rose and brought it into the space with me; I then encountered a 5 year old Sue Pam-Grant self portrait/ Frightened Cigar Smoking Spider, mirrored by the spider tattoo on the right side of my face; on leaving the space I was met by a stranger who said to me “Are you a mother waiting for their child who just performed?”, I answered no. These happenings assuring me of the links between Woman Artists alike. There is now no doubt in my mind about the ancestry of womanhood, passed down through symbols and signifiers of the soul.

The relevance of this piece is uncanny in today’s time. A single suggestion would be some light research and reading before going to watch or go in blind as a bat. Synonymous with moths and crazy fucks. A deer in the headlights of my own passions, desires, artistic pursuits, I was captivated by Sue Pam-Grants interpretation of Louise Bourgeois, and saw myself in the maniacal glint of both women’s eyes.

I could not look away.

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