The New Bell-Roberts Gallery:
If Meaning Truly Matters

The New Bell-Roberts Gallery:
If Meaning Truly Matters

Local art luvvies - well, let’s say, those early birds who had their eyes on the Jameson, never mind the very large, very new Kevin Brand - were not too thrilled at having to share the Woodstock pavement with other hangers-around while the glass door to the spanking new gallery remained firmly closed. It was well after 40 minutes beyond the official kick-off on the invitation.

But then Suzi - as she is lovingly known among the over-familiar and those with racy thoughts - threw back the latch of the new establishment, and the party could proceed with all due diligence that beholds the opening of an important new commercial art space. (The Michael Stevenson’s opening party next door a few weeks earlier had already featured in Noseweek, so the scene was set for more arty ‘bites & pieces’, second time around.)

With the expression ‘the bride is ever elegantly late’ quietly whispered to Mrs Bell Roberts, resplendent as usual, and framed by two very stiff flower arrangements (which may or may not have found a place under the evening’s show title), the crowd got over the locked-out-on-the-pavement awkwardness, and cruised the gleaming grey floor in search of what’s Between Meaning and Matter, the official opening group show.

Gerald Phillips, who owns Fairweather House and facilitated the fixing-up (similar floor colour to Goodman Cape upstairs), reported that, among the hitches pre-opening, was the very same floor that had to be redone. Oh well, all opening nights have last-minute hitches.

So what of the show-piece opening?

Maybe the best think about the group show, which features new work by a number of established Bell-Roberts artists, as well as new names, is the title. It is so cleverly enigmatic, without the pretence so prevalent in current curatorial babble which sometimes sacrifice grammar for posture. The phrase Between Meaning and Matter actually seems get one to think about it - and whether there is something in-between.

There’s a fair amount of matter - like in ‘stuff’ - on show: the classic ‘found object’ medium reworked by the likes of Lynette Bester in her cheerful Hell’s Angel toy celebration, and the delightful, wacko constructions by French-born Philippe Bousquet. Like witty cartoons (he was a jeweller), his mini sculptures are, well, so French, so Jacques Tati.

And they complement Norman O’Flynn’s little mystery men, as if inviting them for a dance. To which the music could well have been Room to Roam, Jacques Coetzer’s odd video of a Scottish sing-song, except that the refrain was only audible through the earphones: always a bother.

Photography seems to be the stronger stuff on show, and also arguing questions around the title more soundly. Talk of ‘meaning’. Anthony Strack’s images are wonderful, and one would except nothing less than style from Svea Josephy. Amelia Smith’s Kimberley mine print may be the most gritty imagination of the show’s title. It’s great.

Like the now-neighbouring galleries of the big art shots in Cape Town, the new Bell-Roberts space is grand, elegant, light - and ready to be invaded by talent. The opening collection is cool enough, but hardly adventurous.