Art

Alfredo Jaar is a formidable political artist. He’s faked a million passports, built and burnt down a museum, and outed the US seizure of all satellite images of Afghanistan during its 2001 air strikes. This tough stance comes through in his presentation. Stark text flashes across the screen of ‘The Sound of Silence’ in the old typewriter’s Courier font. The film tells of a South African photojournalist’s suicide after winning the 1994 Pulitzer Prize for his image of a starving Sudanese girl being stalked by a vulture. The predator flew away after the shot, we discover, but why didn’t he help the poor child? As you sit in the dark, dragged into this sorry tale, a thousand watts of bulbs suddenly flash in front and the inglorious photograph burns itself into your retina. While not discrediting the dead snapper, nor honouring him (like the cloying 1996 Manic Street Preachers song ‘Kevin Carter’), the artist’s message that the West exploits and makes light of the plight of Africa is unambiguous.

Jaar’s usual journalistic integrity, however, seems skewed in the second, more uplifting piece. ‘Muxima’ is a joyous montage of song and landscape from Angola, peppered with only brief shudders of contact with landmine and Aids victims. With a far blunter raw edge, the film tips over into sentimentality and objectification – children frolic in the sea, women wash their clothes in the river. One has to wonder if the clear-eyed, campaigning artist hasn’t himself fallen into the same sticky trap of intoxicated voyeur. You may not think so harshly of him, as it’s hard not to be spirited away by the transcendental music.