An Interview with Banele Khoza

An interview with Banele Khoza

Thembeka Heidi Sincuba

Banele Khoza (b.1994), is an independent artist and founder of BKhz Gallery, located in Johannesburg’s Keyes Art Mile. Khoza's work resonates with themes of intimacy and identity, often symbolised by self-portraits, and still lifes with recurring motifs like clothing, flowers and chairs. Khoza's paintings serve as a conduit for representation, introspection, and societal critique while emphasising the connections between individual creativity and collective cultural discourse.

Thembeka Heidi Sincuba speaks with the artist for ARAK.

When did you first start making art?

I feel like art was always a sense of escapism. I felt like I didn’t belong—with the boys or the girls, growing up queer. And also just being marginalised by kids or peers at that time. I didn’t quite fit in. But it made me who I am. As early as creche, that was my experience. Even much later, it was just like, you’re always trying to find yourself. Especially growing up in Swaziland, where there was no hypervisibility around queerness. So, I started drawing as a way to escape from social interactions.

When no one wanted to play with me, I retreated into my exercise books, creating a world within them. I remember getting a drawing book in primary school. It excited me. It was the first time I interacted with unlined paper. From that moment on, I carry a journal with me each time. And it’s really just like a world where I feel like I belong. Over the years, I’ve found a growing community, and I don’t feel as isolated anymore.

What would you say is original about your work, and how do you reconcile that balance between influence and innovation?

I think that’s such a great question because, to find your own voice, you have to draw inspiration from somewhere. I have been primarily inspired by Marlene Dumas, Penny Siopis, and Zanele Muholi, not just visually but also in conversation. They’ve really inspired me to become more myself. Not so long ago, Muholi said to me, ‘You can’t fail by just being yourself.’ It’s such a simple line but so impactful because it reminds you that you shouldn’t look far off but rather look within.

I’m still finding my voice. Sometimes, others can recognise it before you do. Not so long ago we were looking at my work from ten years ago, to the present. There are specific marks that I’ve carried through from then until now and it surprised me. I was like, ‘Oh, so my voice has always been there!’ But, as an artist, you always feel like a work in progress.

What are some of the key themes or interests that animate your work?

I think the immediate thing is looking within and looking outside. It’s basically the tension between private and public space, inviting people into my private space. Frida Kahlo once said, ‘I paint myself because I know myself.’ I was always looking outward instead of looking within. That quote helped me hone how I approach work. So, I do have times where I’m fully reflecting from within. And then there’ll be times when I run away from this internal world—like looking at flowers, engaging with friends, or sitters. So, there’ll be times where I’m doing more of that, where I find myself painting more from reference, stepping away from that inner world. It’s therapeutic.

What do you think is the connection between art and society?

I feel like when I do work that is honestly about where I’m at and the conversations I’m having, it becomes relatable—not only within South Africa but in a global context, where everyone kind of sees themselves. What I’m experiencing is something everyone else is, too, and I think that honesty makes it resonate.

Yesterday, Nelson Makamo was talking about my work, about how—because I don’t perfect my sitters or subjects—it actually makes people reflect on their insecurities. We tend to present ourselves as perfect, but real life isn’t perfect, and neither is my work; it doesn’t try to be. Even the medium itself doesn’t allow me to be perfect. There’s an acceptance of that imperfection. Sometimes, it's the medium that’s talking, but sometimes it’s my investigation as well.

Do you see yourself as an African artist? And what do you think of that term? Like contemporary African art? What does it mean to you?

To be honest, I see myself as a global artist. I mean, I appreciate that I am from Africa. But I think sometimes that term is used to group individuals, which can create a hierarchy. There are artists, and then it’s like, ‘Oh, you're an African artist.’ It's an identity that I won’t deny, but my work is not only African politics, but also global sentiments. This broader perspective allows me to engage in discussions beyond Africa, and people are intrigued by that. For instance, I have an exhibition opening [in 2024] titled Africans Everywhere. It's a complicated title and it’s a response to the Venice Biennale exhibition titled Foreigners Everywhere.

I didn’t want to engage with that title, but I realised it’s true: I am an African moving everywhere. There's a positive aspect to that, but it is what it is at this point. It’s interesting, it’s like hair as well. When I had dreadlocks, people began to associate me with specific identities, like rasta. I was called a rasta in Italy. So I think as you grow, you assume different identities. You just have to navigate belonging to various identities.

Do you think art institutions play a role in shaping that discourse?

I would say that it depends on who has the power in the conversation and on your background as well. If you are genuinely invested in the subject you engage with, that sensitivity comes through. For instance, if a curator from Africa is doing a show, their connection to the continent would shape the exhibition. Maybe they would shift the focus away from a strictly African identity toward a more global perspective. So, I always think it depends on who's speaking and their point of reference.

Do you think there is, or should be, a relationship between art and activism?

Interestingly, I feel like the question is closely related to politics. I didn’t think my work was political—this way back in 2014 or 2015 when I was starting out. At that time, I wasn’t considering it as a form of activism per se. But, when you are truly yourself, and the self in society looks different, it is a form of activism. For me, to be okay with being queer and portray that in my work; it's a soft activism. There are also generational differences. For instance, if we look at an artist who is seventy years old and myself who is thirty and maybe both from South Africa. In terms of speaking about queer politics—it's a different approach. So, I think just embracing self is a form of activism.

I wondered if you have a sense of your audience, whether locally or when you're travelling or exhibiting abroad. Do you think about who your audience is? Do you see a difference in how you communicate with an audience based on your location?

To be honest, I don’t change my voice. But there is a project that I’m involved in that’s for December where I don’t think I was changing my voice, but I wanted to contextualise it according to the geo-location. But I was also like, ‘Maybe you’re running away from yourself, not realising that what you’re already saying is worthy of that environment.’ So, I think it’s about catching yourself in those moments. But to be honest, any show I’ve participated in outside of South Africa, I haven’t felt the need to change, but I would allow influence to also seep through.

I remember when I was doing a residency in Paris, where there’s a lot of street art but also there’s a lot of collage on the walls, and I found myself wanting to explore collage in painting. But it still carried my own voice. If you allow a city or a place to influence you, it really does come through.

But you also came to South Africa for education. How did your training influence you? To what extent do you feel you taught yourself? 

I’d say I’m a product of great teachers. That's something I've been thinking about this year—that it's so important for youth to have great teachers. The first great teacher I had was in grade 12. I was coming from a school that only really focused on academia, and I moved to Abbotts College, where they offered design and art. The teacher was Mrs. Minaar, and she's still passionate about the arts. And what it means is that they can see your light and all they want to do is make it shine bright. She really encouraged me to be a designer. At the time, I was afraid of the arts because I just didn't think I'd be a good artist, especially since I was self-taught until grade 12.

I saw artists painting on a big canvas and I felt intimidated. So, I chose to join the design class and finished top of the class. I did my first year in fashion. The lecturer was Karen, and she was incredible and inspiring. I looked forward to Mondays because I knew I could make art in her class. She taught drawing and painting. By the end of that year, I knew that I needed to leave fashion design and go into fine arts. That’s where I encountered Jan van der Merwe who was very encouraging for me to be me. And my printmaking lecturer, Justice, also encouraged me to be myself.

What role do you think exercises such as interviews and criticism play in art? What does it mean for your practice?

I think the immediate thing about interviews for me is I see them as archives, and I think it’s important to archive artists. For instance, when I saw this opportunity, I felt grateful because I realised my work would exist on a different platform that I might not otherwise access. This also allows it to be seen by diverse audiences. These archives have longevity; they serve as reference points over the years. When we consider artists who have passed away, we are left with only their archives. You have artists that don't want to do media interviews or engage with anything that has to do with writing but they’re not aware that you’re basically not allowing someone to hold a moment of yourself in history. That’s why I feel I have to give as much as I can within this interaction. Because what we are doing together right now—it'll surpass us.

This interview has been edited for brevity and clarity.

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