Column | Hot town, summer in the city

Unless you’re living in searing Dubai or, say, on the equator, winter can get the better of even the most buoyant soul. In South Africa, it seems as though the icy months took on especially miserable new levels over the past few years. Part of this was linked to our corrosive Covid confinement — it hit its worst levels during winter.

Throw in the vexation of loadshedding and a standout event such as the unrest in July 2021, and you see where I’m going with this upbeat narrative. Then, add these newfound doldrums to the desperate gusts of August winds blowing across the bleached grass and bone-dry red earth of Joburg. Or couple them with the perpetual, frosty side-ways rain of a Cape winter — either way, you’ve got the makings of a JM Coetzee novel. Depressing with a capital D!

This year felt especially bleak up on the Highveld. I suppose life would appear more austere when you’re dodging apocalyptic pot-holes, flashing by rows of “for sale” signs outside houses, and listening to stories of friends who have friends fleeing to Fulham or Fresnaye. Even I, a stalwart supporter of Joburg, found myself edging into an anxious depression about the place I love. Decay and disillusionment are a powerful buzzkill.

And then, I went to the opening of FNB Art Joburg and the RMB Starlight Classics over the first weekend of September. In a matter of 36 hours and in one fell swoop, my mood and perspective did a full turnabout. Arriving at the opening night of the 15th art fair, which had been iced for two pandemic years, meant being enveloped in a sonic boom of euphoric chatter. The richest, the smartest, the most interesting Joburgers descended on this makeshift exhibition space at the Sandton Convention Centre as though their social lives depended on it. In their wax-print frocks, newly pedicured and exposed toes, micro-scopic metallic mini dresses (oh, to be a 25-year-old art influencer), and natty suits, the crowd was a kaleidoscope of the cool, positive, and hopeful.

The evening was a haze of people hugging, brandishing full wine glasses, nominally discussing the vivid canvasses on display (who really looks at the art at a fair opening?), avoiding “frenemies”, hustling a deal, and taking so many photos. In hindsight, it is hard to fathom that none of this took place for two seasons. In that throng of humans, couch-surfing and isolation felt like a distant, bad dream. If an alien had teleported from some far-off galaxy into the centre of the celebration that evening, they’d have reported that the City of Gold was a place bursting at its seams with good energy and abundance.

Saturday night at Country Club Joburg for one of RMB’s much-loved “Afrosymphonic” Prom-like concerts offered an adjacent fizz. Spring unfurled as maestro Richard Cock, a stage of exceptional musicians, and a light show dazzled the open-air audience. It was a tonic to be beguiled by live music under a perfect blue sky as the scent of a new season’s brunfelsia and wisteria carried across extraordinary gardens. No wonder the city’s corporate types get cutthroat about securing tickets to the gig.

On Sunday morning, I saw my hometown, and indeed life, through invigorated and admittedly rose-tinted (and scented) lenses. It also reminded me of two important points — we’d be sepia versions of ourselves without corporate sponsorships of the arts in this neck of the woods, and summer in the south can be helluva sexy. It might not be able to fix potholes or generate power, but here’s hoping that a warm breeze of positivity does our collective mindsets some good.