Lerato Motaung, a multidisciplinary artist from South Africa, draws inspiration primarily from his memories, while poetry and music also contribute to his creative process. His work largely focuses on oneself within the collective, examining the ways in which individual hardships and experiences might enhance understanding among the collective. We discussed how he navigates different perceptions and expectations and how his personal struggles maintain his artistic integrity.
How did you become an artist?
I was born in Katlehong, Germiston, and raised in the North West by my paternal grandmother. Although I enjoyed drawing from a young age, I didn't know that I could make a career out of it, as my area had limited options. I recognized my artistic aspirations when I was in high school. Initially, I wanted to pursue Graphic Design as a career, but I couldn’t find the opportunity. Instead, I discovered my passion for visual arts and focused on that path.
After training in drawing workshop at the Johannesburg Art Gallery in 2008 and in sculpture at the Katlehong Art Center in 2009, you received your Diploma in Fine Arts in 2015 from the Tshwane University of Technology in Pretoria, so you are familiar with different mediums. What is your favorite, or how do you choose between them?
In my second year, I majored in painting and printmaking. Then, I dropped painting and went into sculpture. After completing my diploma, I became a studio assistant to Nicolas Hlobo, where I improved my sculpting skills. Most of the time, I choose my medium based on the idea I want to express. Some ideas are more challenging to convey in a two-dimensional form than a three-dimensional one and inversely. While I'm not exceptionally skilled at drawing, I focus primarily on painting and three-dimensional works.
You started with a figurative series where you painted black subjects with multiple eyes. What do these eyes symbolize?
My journey has been shaped by growing up in a township, living in rural areas, and finding independence in the city. This diverse experience highlighted how self-presentation varies significantly across these contexts. As a South African man, I aimed to understand myself within these spaces, recognizing that societal expectations of masculinity differ in the township, villages, and city. These differing expectations led me to reflect on how I am perceived, how I perceive myself and how I perceive others within these communities. This exploration of how others view me, as well as how I view myself, is what inspired the notion of "eyes" in my paintings.
I was also thinking of the connection between your series, and they all are rooted in childhood memories.
I have to confront my memories. Some of them are not happy, while others come from a joyful place. I can't erase these memories, but I need to learn how to coexist with them. Whenever I'm creating or considering making an artwork, I often find myself revisiting these memories, as they play a significant role in my life.
You are balancing between the past and the present.
I believe my primary responsibility is to understand myself. I want to engage in conversations that challenge my way of seeing things and connect with others who share similar perspectives. Everyone comes from different experiences and backgrounds, meaning we will see and feel things differently. Our perceptions are different, but as artists, we can challenge perceptions and engage in new ideas and discussions. In my experience, I truly believe that through art, people can better understand themselves.
How can you challenge the stereotypes about masculinity with your works?
Honestly, I’m not sure how to challenge the concepts surrounding masculinity, but I know how I feel about them. Most of my work is not about solving problems or asking questions; it’s primarily about expressing myself and how I see things around me. When I talk about masculinity, it is deeply subjective. However, I believe the concept of masculinity is very flexible, influenced by multiple external factors, cultural contexts, personal experiences, and individual perspectives.
Speaking of influences, I am curious about the artist who impacted you in the early stages of your career.
I would say Nicola Hlobo. I had the opportunity to work closely with him and experience the creation of his artwork firsthand, which was very significant for me.
Have you seen European art as well?
I've had the opportunity to experience a lot of European art, especially when I was in Cologne for a residency. I visited Museum Ludwig, where I encountered many pieces of European art for the first time. Before my time in Germany, I worked at Pretoria Art Museum, where I was also exposed to a diverse collection of European art. However, European art hasn't been my primary influence. But I've been fascinated by the work of Magritte.
How do you create in general?
I love listening to songs and reading random poetry, which often sparks new ideas.
Sometimes, a particular line captivates me when I listen to a song. My first instinct is to deconstruct that line, sentence, or the message the artist conveys. I try to create images that resonate with the meaning of the line. If I find the line profound or meaningful, I deconstruct it and simultaneously reconstruct it in a visual form.
How do you balance the figurative and abstract dimensions or aspects? I'm asking this because I really love your series, in which you use eyelets to depict multiple eyes.
I have a keen interest in materials. My work with eyelets isn’t too different from the compositions with various eyes, as they are now represented in a different form. Engaging with these materials in a practical way has been very refreshing. Some ideas are best realized in various forms, and while I'm not always sure how to balance this, I can sense when it's time to experiment with something new or a different material. I also recognize when I need to play with a different composition or explore a new color palette. I may not always know the path to get there, but I can always tell when I am there.
And what about experimenting?
In South Africa, the okapi knife is often linked to thieves and rural areas. While men are expected to carry a knife as a measure of masculinity in rural areas, in urban settings, it can be used for intimidation. I learned early on about its dual nature—both protective and dangerous. I witnessed how quickly a conflict could escalate into violence, with injuries or death as possible outcomes.
In 2018 when a friend was attacked while heading to our studio. He narrowly escaped being robbed, and I know the threats we as men face daily especially in the city. These experiences often go unspoken, overshadowed by societal pressure for men to “man up” and suppress emotions. Vulnerability is perceived as weakness, making it hard to discuss emotional scars.
Creating work around these themes intrigued me. I have experienced this form of soul crushing violence from a very early age when witnessing our soccer ball being stabbed, that was the first time I understood the pain of the knife before being personally stabbed. Thanks to relaxed moments with friends, often enhanced by alcohol, I’ve heard many stories about men’s struggles—especially those from the rurals and the townships.
How can you deal with vulnerability?
Being vulnerable right now is challenging because it doesn’t position you anywhere in the world; you often have to fight for what you believe you deserve. As a man, vulnerability feels incompatible, like different shapes that don't align. However, through my creativity, I’ve found a way to express myself by articulating it rather than just experiencing it. Understanding each other's unique experiences allows us to gain insight, even if we can never truly be the same.
Your installation 'Traces in The Still Air' is also connected to this thought.
I have been contemplating this piece since 2019, inspired by my early memories of freedom and childhood. Despite our parents' disapproval at four or five, my friends and I crossed railway tracks to play at the swing park, creating lasting joy in my memory.
As time passed, expressing this idea became challenging, especially after significant losses in a difficult year. My installation features 33 swings, each symbolizing a layer of my life as I am 33 years old, conveying the passing of time and irregular character of recollection. It reflects my journey, recognizing that some experiences were externally imposed while others were self imposed, deepening my understanding of myself.
The installation represents the remnants of memory and grief, these invisible marks left behind by our experiences, moments and emotions that continue to shape us. Memory feels flexible and dynamic, while grief can seem stagnant. Swings symbolize freedom and playfulness, but broken glass represents the underlying dangers, reflecting the balance between joy and risk.
In exploring the collective memory of South Africa, I recalled the practice of "necklacing," where a tire was placed around a person's neck and set on fire. I saw this when I was 13. Molotov cocktails, referred to as "petrol bomb," were also used during our political struggles against apartheid. This connects to a collective memory, but the show initially focuses only on personal memories.
What do you think about the notion of resilience?
The installation made me reflect on the concept of resilience, especially when considering how the installation is being hanged. In a sense, it defies gravity with the help of the chain suspended on the roof. It seems reluctant to touch the ground because it needs to remain elevated and in a flow state.
It almost feels like it stays up all the time. Resonance is the key here—it wants to maintain its position above the ground and avoids making contact with it. When you are on the swing, you are not firmly on the ground as you once were. You are neither floating nor entirely grounded.
It's like how memories work; they come and go, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes, you might feel off because a memory resurfaces. Tapping into that memory can evoke strong emotions, but once you move past it, you might find yourself focusing on something entirely different the next day.
The higher strings symbolize difficult years, while the lower ones reflect more accessible, good times. The middle strings represent challenging but less severe periods. This analogy highlights how we live through various experiences, often overlooking the struggles behind seemingly good years. Life is like a game of chess, where missteps lead to losses, but good and bad experiences contribute to personal growth. The use of broken glass in my artwork symbolizes the risks we face. While we may feel on top of the world some days, it’s essential to remember that danger lurks beneath the surface.
And let's talk about these materials in the installation because those have different senses.
Each element possesses unique symbolism. The chain represents captivity and support, while the tire symbolizes movement and memory, as I repurpose discarded tires. Beer bottles embody danger and vulnerability. Every material I employed carries significance. I fused these elements to communicate my ideas effectively, achieving a power that painting couldn't convey.
I'm also very curious the connection between the space and the installation?
The installation was planned for an industrial space outside the white cube to allow for more flexibility in creating work.
What are you working on?
I’m currently working on a new series that is more colorful and abstract. I’ll showcase this work in the December show and prepare for my upcoming exhibitions in February and March.
What is the idea of your new series?
I am fascinated by the characters we can become, especially within groups. Some groups believe if I don't share their views, I don't belong. This leads back to the idea of individualism: how do I see myself in these spaces? I realize there isn't just one perspective—people appear to me as characters rather than merely by their race, gender or culture. My goal is to avoid a strictly racial interpretation and instead highlight the essence of behavior and individual experiences within the group. The characters are depicted only by their faces, which are more expressive through color and composition. I want to explore the individual within the group, whether that group is defined by society, culture, gender, or ethnicity.
Recently, I've been categorized as an African artist due to the themes I use in my artwork. Unfortunately, this label has resulted in my being associated with a movement I never intended to join, which was meant to express my ideas and thoughts. While I embrace my identity as a black African artist and can represent my people, I have a problem in being confined to that singular narrative. I have the ability to create diverse works. If I am defined solely by one aspect of my identity, it limits my opportunity to explore more ideas and materials. This realization has shaped my current series; I aim to create at least 20 pieces to deepen my understanding of what I want to express.
What does black joy mean to you?
South African artists once had limited access to materials. Today, I have the privilege of using any materials I need, which allows me to express my thoughts freely. This access represents a form of joy.
Our creativity lets us go out and express our culture and religion through our work, allowing us to represent our communities firsthand instead of relying on outsiders to tell our stories. We strive to portray our experiences with dignity and positivity. We explore our culture in a way that empowers our people and enhances our visual language. We celebrate our heritage, heal ourselves, and work toward an accurate representation of who we are as Black individuals. In summary, for me, Black joy is a Black artist telling Black stories or sharing narratives about Black people from a firsthand perspective.
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