Julia Snowball reviews Subotzky’s approach to depicting marginalised individuals and his reflections on image-making ethics.
Mikhael Subotzky, Cape Town Landscape – B-Side IV, 1800-2024. J-Lar tape mounted to canvas. Courtesy of the artist and Goodman Gallery.
Johannesburg-based artist and photographer Mikhael Subotzky has long been exploring the interplay between landscape, structure, and time – delving into the complexities and politics of image-making in a country with a history as fraught as South Africa’s. His latest series, currently on show at Goodman Gallery’s Cape Town space, is entitled ‘Home Building Ideas for South Africa (or a Cape Town Landscape)’. It is comprised of a series of photographs, installations, paintings, and video works that interrogate the tangled and enduring social structures prevalent in Cape Town. It explores both their historical roots and current impact, juxtaposing the natural beauty of the landscape with the harsh realities faced by many of its citizens. While the show stands out as an impressive and engaging exhibition on its own, it also serves as a valuable reference point for examining the artist’s broader body of work and practice.
When entering ‘Home Building Ideas for South Africa (or a Cape Town Landscape)’ through the large arches of the gallery, the viewer is immediately greeted by the sound of a folk band, which acts as the soundtrack for the entire exhibition as it echoes through its halls. The recording is that of the band that Subotzky’s father was a part of in the 1970s and is accompanied by a video projected onto the back of the cello his father used to play. The work, a video installation entitled The Occult Significance of Blood, depicts various images from the artist’s childhood. Subotzky has described his relationship with his father as a troubled one, which can be sensed in this work. We are shown pictures of the artist as a child playing the very cello the images are displayed on, as well as various other slightly distorted images of his family and upbringing. The often-somber face of a young Subotzky is contrasted with the folk music, which while cheerful at some moments, possesses an underlying melancholic and haunting quality. 
Mikhael Subotzky, The Occult Significance of Blood (or Abattoir at the Voorberg Prison), 2019. Ink on book cover, 18.3 x 24cm. Courtesy of the artist and Goodman Gallery.
The images are sewn together in a somewhat disjointed manner that echoes the ennui of recalling one’s old memories, where nostalgia is intertwined with a quiet mourning. The work reflects Subotzky’s reconciliation with a past marked by both cherished childhood moments and the pain of a troubled relationship with his father. There is a recognition that while some memories are tender, they are also shadowed by the unresolved tensions of his upbringing. This is a very personalised work, amongst others, which speaks to broader issues of spatial apartheid in Cape Town. This linking of the personal with the public is a common theme within the artist’s work, as he often acknowledges his position and privilege as a documenter in relation to his subjects.
Many South African citizens can resonate with the hauntology embedded in the country’s landscape, where the very sight of its towering mountains can evoke the lingering echoes of a painful history. The anguish wrought by settler colonialism, apartheid, and the ongoing spatial segregation, seems to inhabit these landscapes like an invisible ghost. In Cape Town, the mountains themselves almost serve as enforcers of this segregation, rising to encapsulate the wealthy residents of the city bowl while turning their back on those forcefully relocated to harsh terrains such as the Cape Flats. The landscape feels imbued with the injustices of the past, pregnant with generational traumas that refuse to fade, the essence of which Subotzky captures with a profound depth and authenticity. The largest scale work in the show, entitled Cape Town Landscape, is an installation which winds through the first room of the gallery, adorned with long strips of taped canvas hanging from curved metal rod attached to the ceiling. The work consists of two images spliced together, the first an idyllic painting from the early 1800s by colonial settler Lady Anne Bernard depicting the sprawling landscape from the top of The Castle. The second image is a photograph taken by Subotzky from the same place almost 200 years later. This technique of creating hanging strips of images, described by Subotzky as the “Sticky-Tape Transfer”, serves more than just a visual purpose. As the viewer moves past the work, the strips shift with the breeze created by their movement, fracturing and breaking apart the image. This interaction demonstrates the fragility of the social structures that shape the landscapes we inhabit and serves as a reminder of the viewer’s individual impact on the spaces they occupy. “By taking these landscapes apart and reorganising them, I’m trying to disable the colonial gaze, first by revealing its constructs, our complicity as viewers and how the way we look is conditioned by the history of these types of images” Subotzky muses, as we talk over half-empty cups of coffee. When meeting the artist, it’s immediately clear that his care and concern for the people and ideas in his work goes far beyond mere aesthetic considerations. He delves into them with a deep psychological insight, interrogating the very crux of the structures he is critiquing. 
Mikhael Subotzky, View through the windows of the old “Non-White” section of Cape Town Station (3410), 2023. Inkjet print on Baryta, 118 x 168cm. Courtesy of the artist and Goodman Gallery.
While ‘Home Building Ideas for South Africa’ depicts fewer human subjects than some of Subotzky’s past series such as Ponte City and Beaufort West, there is one clear face that stands out from the rest of the works. A large-scale photograph entitled Hermanus in Miriam’s Kitchen II confronts the viewer, as the subject, a man by the name of Hermanus that Subotzky befriended some years ago, gazes at the audience. While Hermanus’ gaze carries a deep sadness, it does not signify weakness. Instead, it challenges the viewer, confronting them with the question of who they are to look upon him and what preconceived notions they bring. His expression serves as a judgement, inviting introspection rather than pity. When asked why this series focused more on the landscape rather than the people that occupy it, Subotzky pondered, “we all consume the landscape, and we all consume images in ways that are deeply politicised, but we don’t often think of the landscape as a politicised mode of representation”. The artist also cites his internal grapple with the ethics of photographing human subjects, particularly those that have experienced a kind of “social death”, marginalised to the outskirts of society. “The only way I could ethically take photographs of people like Hermanus and then bring them into a gallery space or show them internationally was to build long-term relationships. So this meant being open about why I was taking the photographs, what I would do with them, and getting to know him beyond the photographic encounter,” Subotzky explains.
The artist also spoke of the deep inner tension he feels regarding some of his earlier works that depicted marginalised people and explored this in his 2012 series entitled I Was Looking Back. The work consisted of 100 photographs from Subotzky’s archive, plucked out of their documentary narrative and incorporated into this new collection. The works all had one thing in common: they presented a representational challenge to Subotzky, who felt the ethics of the viewer’s gaze became murky in relation to these images. To reconcile with these pieces, the artist smashed their glass mount, an act that served to obscure the subject and grant them a sense of privacy while the almost threatening, jagged edges of the glass further worked to challenge the viewer’s gaze. When asked more about the purpose of this technique, Subotzky stated that “it was doing a number of things. It was covering up the representation I wish I hadn’t made. It was writing my own feelings of anger and trauma into the work itself. It was acknowledging my subjectivity as the maker of the work. It was getting in the way of the viewer’s ability to consume that photograph.” This technique is subtly present in ‘Home Building Ideas for South Africa’ as well, as one of the photographs of the artist’s father projected onto the cello is veiled by a veneer of shattered glass. 
Mikhael Subotzky, View of the facade of the old “Non-White” section of Cape town station (3446), 2024. Inkjet print on Baryta. Courtesy of the artist and Goodman Gallery.
Two works from the series, though not on display due to space constraints, are located on the upper level of Goodman Gallery. Despite their separation from the rest of the show, these pieces are particularly intriguing, offering deeper insights into both the exhibition and Subotzky himself. Titled Home Building Ideas for South Africa I and II respectively, the works are created from of oil, acrylic, methyl cellulose, and various other mediums on canvas. One of their key features is the pages from an architecture magazine dating back to the 1950s authored by Laurence Sydney Wale, titled Home Building Ideas for South Africa. The magazine served as a significant source of inspiration for both the titles of these two works and the exhibition as a whole.
Having been born and raised in Cape Town, Subotzky interweaves leaflets from the magazine with pictures of his own childhood home. Commenting on the two works, Subotzky mentions: “I really see the two as part of the same thought process. I was born in Constantia and grew up in a face-brick urban house. It was kind of the simple version of the aspirational houses in this book. And so, through that work, I look at my home where I was born in relation to both my own memory and family mythology and the socialising forces that conditioned the spatial environment.” They also contain photographs of the artist’s father and his old band, who take on a spectre-like appearance as their faces are layered with thin sheets of paper and swathes of translucent paint. The works, which are located at opposite ends of the room, seem as though they are in dialogue with one another. While Home Building Ideas for South Africa II depicts the discernible faces of the artist’s father and his band, its counterpart shows only their shadows. This work has a more chaotic and fractured quality, mirroring the glass-shattering technique discussed earlier. It delves into the unresolved space and unspoken aspects of the artist’s relationship with his father, who passed away a few years ago. The work lacks the eery calm of its companion and feels akin to peering into a kaleidoscope of Subotzky’s life, capturing the disjointed nature of memory. Both paintings evoke the sensation of recalling a blurred, deteriorating memory, where only a few scattered perceptible fragments remain over time. 
Mikhael Subotzky, A Cape Town Landscape – B-Side II, 1800-2024. J-Lar tape on canvas. Courtesy of the artist and Goodman Gallery.
As a whole, ‘Home Building Ideas for South Africa (or a Cape Town Landscape)‘ is a fascinating study of the psychogeography of cities such as Cape Town whose histories are fraught with injustices that still impact its current residents. It is also an interesting means of examining how Subotzky’s practice has changed and evolved over the years despite exploring similar themes of home, surveillance, and segregation. It acts as a reference point through which one can explore the span of Subotzky’s work, reintroducing reoccurring figures such as Hermanus and employing familiar methods such as the glass shattering technique and Sticky-Tape Transfers to provide a fresh perspective. It is a vulnerable exploration of the artist’s own role as a documenter, reflecting on his childhood, life, and practice, and provides a thoughtful examination of enduring social systems, while also challenging the viewer’s role and forcing them to confront their own positionality within these structures. Perhaps Subotzky is highlighting that the crucial ethical question lies not in what is being observed, but rather in who is observing and by what means they are doing so.
Julia Snowball is a young art writer and researcher who focuses on contemporary South African art and cultural narratives. Her work has been featured in publications such as the Mail & Guardian, ArtThrob, and the Africa South Art Initiative, where she examines the intersections of art, politics, and identity. Julia is dedicated to contributing critical and informed perspectives on the evolving art landscape.
