Although, judging by the emails some people send to me, you'd imagine I never had a mother, I do and she is visiting with a vengeance. She was determined to see a bit of art, so I tied a piece of felt to one shoe, a scrap of metal to the other, and took her to some of the shows I haven't seen yet. I must admit that I like art better when there's nasty red wine. Went first off to Wim Botha's smallish solo at Michael Stevenson Contemporary, the one whose title is on the tip of my tongue, I just can't remember. It was good in the Wim Botha kind of way (that's the way where it would take a small novel and another exhibition to explain why it was good). So I just gave my mom the sheet that explains it at the door, and that was that. Nice Goat.
After that it was to Bell-Roberts, where Jaques Coetzer is still showing. I reviewed it a while ago, in a manner that was perhaps a little too glowing, looking at it now I would leave out words like ultimate and brilliant, but still a great show. Plus, didn't need to explain anything, which too my mind is a good sign. I think the longboat trolley is going to feature in my mom's dreams for a while.
Then to Jaoa, where I found out why I was really glad that I never made it to the opening of Eleanora Rossi, because it was an ugly show, with ugly paintings, and badly hung. (there was a piece hung half in the office door, and one half in the store room! Why?). Anyway, Eleanora Rossi likes to paint with bitumen, and to stitch together pages of her journal, and there was some weird turd-like latex sculpture. I couldn't anymore, so I waited outside while my mother looked at the rest. She wasn't impressed either.