Barren Land

After a decline in productivity of nearly a decade, Nel’s output regained momentum and new-found direction on viewing the 1988 Cape Town Triennial which featured, most significantly for Nel, Penny Siopis’ Melancholia (1986), a symbolically-laden meditation on vanitas and colonial decline in Africa. Troupe I followed shortly thereafter, marking a watershed in both composition and subject matter via the introduction of multiple figures, spatial depth and symbolic elements bearing multiple interpretations.

Despite this technical and conceptual complexity, Troupe I, as well as subsequent work of this period, maintains the same concern with mankind’s vulnerability that occupies Nel’s earlier work. Here we are confronted by an ensemble of performers, their vaudeville costumes, props and theatrical setting in stark contrast to the scene’s distinctly uneasy atmosphere. Much like the harlequins and acrobats of Picasso’s masterpiece La Famille de Saltimbanques (1905), this cast of entertainers are displaced, unable to function within the acceptable margins of society. For Nel, they represent the universal outcast, whose circumstances, whether cultural, financial or political, prevent access to mainstream social orders.

Broken Doll is the first of Nel’s still lifes to utilise a table and tablecloth as a shallow recessional plane to present a collection of objects to the viewer. The central and most significant of these is an early 20th century Ndebele ceremonial doll which, as indicated by the title of the work, bears evidence of partial unravelling. Composed of concentrically-stacked hand-beaded rings, the doll is traditionally presented as a talisman to encourage fertility and, as such, is implicitly laden with religious and ritualistic significance, rather than the function of a plaything. The origin of the work can be traced to the doll – which belonged to Nel’s mother as a child – being inadvertently damaged by Nel’s own infant daughter. The significance of this event demonstrates both the connection, and potential discontinuity, in their own female lineage as the nuclear family structure grows successively smaller with each generation. On a broader level, the broken doll could be interpreted as the demise of indigenous rites and values in Africa’s modern social climate. The work also potentially bears reference to damage inflicted upon traditional knowledge and customs by the socio-political influence of foreign cultures throughout Africa’s history.

A sequel to Playroom (1989), a work acquired by the Sasol Collection, The Maids in Waiting is rich in symbolic narrative. The work can in many ways be interpreted as a response to Las Meninas (The Ladies in Waiting), Velázquez’ enigmatic study of power relations within the 17th Spanish court, only set against the backdrop of pre-1994 South African socio-political conditions. In Nel’s canvas, Velázquez’ Infanta is replaced by a late twentieth century child in party dress, her courtiers substituted by two domestic workers in stereotypical housekeeping uniforms.

Here, as in Las Meninas, the girl and her collection of confectionery and playthings appear to occupy centre stage, while her attending retinue is relegated to the periphery of the scene, perhaps even playing the part of guests at a party of her own invention. The title of the work, as well as the direction of the three characters’ gaze, hold a degree of ambiguity. Are these women forever bound by their status to wait on their young charge, or are they simply awaiting the realisation of a promised future as heirs to a new socio- economic order? This tension seems to be heightened by a broken string of beads, strewn across the stage without potential for repair.

Completed just prior to South Africa’s democratic transition, Regina of the Famished Land acts as a counterpart to The Ringmaster II (1990), held in the collection of the Gauteng Provincial Government, and similarly explores the influence and corruption of power on both a personal and political stage. Whereas The Ringmaster II centres on a male subject, here Nel presents us with a solitary female figure, warding off the effects of an unforgiving African sun on a makeshift throne. While the title of the work as well as the hue of her dress intimate royal status, be it self-bestowed or conferred by others, she appears to preside over a compromised and limited domain, potted plants making for a poor approximation of fertility in otherwise barren surrounds. The scene is littered with remnants of a colonial past, at once bearing symbolic significance yet serving no apparent function. Read politically, the work may arguably be interpreted as commentary on the debilitating legacy of colonial and apartheid policies, with Regina the symbolic heir to resources already spent. Again, when considered against claims of contemporary political corruption, she may also be construed as a perpetrator hoarding the spoils of her authority.

Coinciding with the postmodern tendency towards iconoclasm and appropriation of classical and religious symbolism, To You shall be Given re-casts the biblical account of the Annunciation, often used as Renaissance subject matter, on a pre-democratic South African stage. Virginia, the female figure central to the work, embraces multiple – often conflicting – meanings. Her utilitarian smock implies occupation as a domestic worker, yet her crown of paper stars alludes to an anointment for some higher calling.

One manicured hand bears evidence of vanity and privilege while the other, with nails trimmed to facilitate domestic chores, is extended towards the viewer, passively awaiting the deliverance of some promised return. Both her name, as well as the lily she grasps, point to virginal innocence, as well as the prediction of impending motherhood. While in biblical terms, the coming of the Christ figure symbolises redemption of mankind from sin, in context of To You shall be Given, this prophecy of freedom can be interpreted in socio-political or feminist terms. The turnstiles in the distance, which appear to serve no apparent function, lead one to question whether this liberation can be considered liberation at all.

A contemporary rendition of the Ovidian myth of Daedalus and Icarus, Failed Flight from the Ravaged Land acts as the denouement companion piece to Preparation for the Flight (1991), held in the collection of the Pretoria Art Museum. In contrast to its precursor, this work presents the tragic conclusion to the players’ initial attempt at exile. The aged patriarch, now further incapacitated by blindness and immobility, grasps the instruments of his son’s demise; the pubescent Icarus lying motionless beside the chart to his anticipated liberation.

The work presents dualistic commentary on personal and political transformation, reading as both an observation of the difficult transition from childhood naiveté to adult maturity, as well as the desire to escape untenable socio- political circumstances. The latter interpretation may be considered in context of pre-democratic South African conditions, or indeed from the perspective of any volatile political situation, past or present. More personally, the two figures are intended as personifications of the artist herself – she is both the child, ill-prepared by her guardians for her future, as well as the parent who, while experienced, is unable to prepare the child adequately for their journey ahead.

As a companion piece to both Preparation for the Flight from the Barren Land (1991) and Failed flight from the Ravaged Land (1993), Blood Ties can be read as a meditation on the relationship between past and future generations. Two pre-pubescent boys, inhabitants of the same inhospitable landscape from Nel’s earlier works, are seen here swearing loyalty to one another through a blood oath, the garlands framing the scene a crude simulation of ceremonial formality. The ribbons binding the two boys to one another are slack and loosely knotted, a possible reference to an ineffectual attempt to secure familial relations.

The inclusion of a vest in the second of the two canvases was influenced by Judith Mason’s Dubbele Selfportret (c. 1975). Along with the whistle and tie, the vest on a clothes hanger points to the absence of a paternal figure, while the medallions pinned to the older sibling’s chest serve as a proxy for leadership he does not yet have the maturity to exercise – the discarded ball denoting an innocence prematurely spent. Two paper hearts, applied to each boy’s chest as a symbol of fraternity and shared birthright, are a reference to Nel’s husband having undergone heart bypass surgery earlier in life.