Jo Ractliffe: Nadir

The South African photographer publishes her first comprehensive book of works made over 35 years

Photographs: 1980s to now by Jo Ractliffe published by Steidl. The Borderlands (2015)

From 1948 until the early 90s, apartheid took hold of South Africa and South West Africa (now known as Namibia). Politically dominated by the nation’s minority white population, the first apartheid law was the Prohibition of Mixed Marriages Act (1949); followed by the Immorality Amendment Act and the Population Registration Act of 1950. Between 1960 and 1983, over three million Black Africans were removed from their homes and into segregated neighbourhoods, while the government announced that those who had been relocated would lose their South African citizenship, and moved into ten designated territories known as ‘bantustans’.

Sparking outrage and backlash against the institutionalised racial segregation of apartheid, this resulted in resistance and the rise of social movements across the globe – some of the biggest of the 20th century. Notable documentary photographers of that time would pull their lens onto the uprising and division prevailing across the country, like David Goldblatt who documented South Africa’s people and landscapes, and Ernest Cole, one of the country’s first Black photojournalists. Jo Ractliffe, a South African photographer born in Cape Town, first raised her camera in the mid-80s during the midst of the anti-apartheid movement. But rather than documenting its brutality, she turned an unusual lens onto the metaphorical, shooting landscapes and somewhat allegorical placements of figures, things, animals and nature; capturing the borderlands of her home town; the aftermath of civil war in Angola; addressing themes of conflict and displacement in far from the typical documentary manner.

Jo’s earlier series include Crossroads (1986) and Vissershok (1988), both of which were crafted in her hometown, shortly followed by Nadir (1986-1988) that compiles a collection of photomontages in a land where seemingly aggressive stray dogs have replaced humankind. A move to Johannesburg in the 1990s led to reShooting Diana (1990-1995), which captures the moments of ordinary life. While in 2007, she documented the war in Angola and published three books on the after-effects of the war on the South African landscape: Terreno Ocupado (2008), As Terras do Fit do Mundo (2010) and The Borderlands (2015). These are all but a few examples of the 35 years spent as a photographer, and now her life’s creations have been formed into a comprehensive tome titled Photographs: 1980s to now, co-published with the Walther Collection and Steidl and featuring text by Emmanuel Iduma, Matthew Witkovsky and a conversation with Artur Walther. 

In this publication, you’ll find a mix of prose, impactful imagery and in-depth, personal cadences written by Jo that detail the reasoning behind her credited works. Like Nadir – a series shot in 1988 that, now more than ever, conveys a sense of dystopia in the formidable aftermath of the apartheid government. The stray dogs are luminescent and the backgrounds are dark and bare, alluding to the hostile control of the police as they roam the bleak, supernatural landscapes. And even the name, Nadir, denotes a feeling of despair, defined as the lowest or most unsuccessful point in a situation. It’s a powerful series to say the least, and one that echoes with history and politics.

Below, Jo shares an excerpt from the book that explains more about the series Nadir (1986 – 1988).

Photographs: 1980s to now by Jo Ractliffe published by Steidl. Nadir (1986-1988)

Come down with a thump on the out side of the fents and slyding down the slippy bank in to the ditch which I come up out of it soakit and sopping and there wer that black leader waiting for me with his yeller eyes. 

Jus stanning there in the rain and waiting for me. 

Dint see no other dogs jus only him. Looking at me and wagging his tail slow. Then he ternt and gone off easy looking back over his shoulder like he wantit me to foller so I follert. I ben waiting for it so long when the time come I jus done it. 

» Russell Hoban, Riddley Walker, 198à


Nadir began as an experiment in montage. I was disappointed with my photographs; they seemed somewhat apart, detached from the events that surrounded them. I wanted my work to register with what was happening in South Africa. Especially in that moment, in what felt like ‘a world gone mad’, I wanted to make work that, more than simply an image, conveyed an experience of the world. 

Initially, my intentions were quite straightforward: I needed to retain a degree of photographic mimesis, but I also wanted to destabilise the veracity of the photograph and insert something of the unreality of my own experience. I started to reconfigure my photographs, taking structures and objects from one set of images and incorporating them into another. My ‘empty’ landscapes became like stages as the various constituents found their place and the narrative developed. As I became more technically proficient, I began assembling entirely fictitious spaces made up of fragments of ground, texture, sky and clouds, all with conflicting light sources and distorted scale relationships – things impossible in ‘reality’ but plausible nonetheless. This also influenced how I approached things photographically, my seeing often directed more towards the needs of my montages than the photograph as an end in itself. 

Making these screen-printed photographic lithographs involved printing my negatives through an enlarger onto line film, using a sheet of sandblasted glass as a halftone screen. Various elements were cut and pasted to make up the composite image, which was exposed onto a lithographic plate and printed on cotton paper. Colour and tone were built up by screen- printing layers of transparent ink and finally the image was varnished to produce a surface quality similar to photographic paper. 

In the beginning I didn’t think about dogs, although funnily enough they were always around, getting themselves into my pictures. I then began to seek them out. I photographed domestic dogs at play, went to animal shelters and followed feral dogs roaming the streets. I attended police-dog training sessions, had the trainers set their dogs on me so I could photograph up close. One day in 1986, when photographing in Crossroads, my eyes met those of a white dog slinking around a pile of discarded boxes and rubbish. Soon after that encounter, I came across Ryszard Kapuściński’s book Another Day of Life (1976), about the events leading up to Angola’s independence and subsequent civil war. I was very struck by that book, the ways it resonated with what was happening in South Africa – in particular, a passage about the dogs in Luanda, abandoned when the Portuguese fled. And when I read Russell Hoban’s Riddley Walker, the journey of the dogs in Nadir started unfolding. 

Jo Ractliffe’a Photographs: 1980s to now is available here.

Photographs: 1980s to now by Jo Ractliffe published by Steidl. Nadir (1986-1988)
Photographs: 1980s to now by Jo Ractliffe published by Steidl. Nadir (1986-1988)
Photographs: 1980s to now by Jo Ractliffe published by Steidl. As Terras do Fit do Mundo (2010)
Photographs: 1980s to now by Jo Ractliffe published by Steidl. As Terras do Fit do Mundo (2010)
Photographs: 1980s to now by Jo Ractliffe published by Steidl. The Borderlands (2015)
Photographs: 1980s to now by Jo Ractliffe published by Steidl. The Borderlands (2015)
Photographs: 1980s to now by Jo Ractliffe published by Steidl. Everything is Everything (2017)
Photographs: 1980s to now by Jo Ractliffe published by Steidl
Photographs: 1980s to now by Jo Ractliffe published by Steidl

Kwame Kwei-Armah

­­Port talks to the artistic director of the Young Vic about his latest co-production, Tree, a search for the soul and spirit of contemporary South Africa

If Idris Elba calls, you better pick up the phone. If he suggests collaborating on a musical play, it’s hard to say no. This is the enviable position Kwame Kwei-Armah has found himself in developing Tree, destined for the Manchester International Festival and shortly after, the Young Vic. Inspired by Elba’s album Mi Mandela, the show promises to examine the ghosts of South Africa’s past and where it stands today through participatory music and dance, placing the audience in the eye of the storm. That electric magic unique to theatre. 

It’s a “non-linear piece that will have the most amazing movement. It explores connecting to the line that you’ve come from and celebrating the discovery of all parts of you” notes Kwei-Armah. The theatrical polymath with an OBE for services to the arts – previously artistic director of Baltimore Center Stage – has written for the National Theatre, Donmar Warehouse and Tricycle Theatre, most recently taking the helm at the Young Vic in 2018. Ahead of the show, we spoke to him about South Africa’s innate creativity, confronting history and the vulnerability needed for theatre.   

You’ve known Idris for a long time, how did the collaboration come about?

It was organic. He called me one day and said would you consider adapting Mi Mandela into a musical. I’ve been a fan of Idris since we were teenagers – he was one of the first actors I looked at and thought, ‘you could be a superstar’. He was that beautiful. We’ve been trying to find a way to work with each other for years, so I gave it a listen and knew there was a way for me to contribute. He explained why he made the album, why he connects to South Africa, to dementia, to trees. It was essentially about his father dying and going back to South Africa to start the healing, a dance with grief. Going back to your roots to heal was ultimately why I wanted to produce it.

Why do think South Africa is such a wellspring of theatre?

Honestly, black South Africans are some of the most talented people on the earth. They are triple threats – they sing well, they dance well, they perform well. Particularly the South African work that I grew up with, that was born of a political scream and shout. So, when you combine that magnificent innate creativity and juxtapose it against a harsh environment, it actually brings out the best in artists. I am not in any way saying that artists need to live under Apartheid in order to make great work, but that the environment concentrates that talent. There is something in the water, something in that part of the land that allows for the combination of storytelling, activism and magic that naturally creates something transformational.

Likewise, Ireland during the last century has produced incredible theatre in response to conflict

Absolutely. One of my favourite plays in the world is The Plough and the Stars by Seán O’Casey. There is something about rebellion, pushing against being silenced, about having to find a way to bring your voice to the fore through creativity that is tremendously moving.

What can theatre offer to an audience that TV or film cannot come close to offering?

It’s three dimensions of a human being. To see them, to smell them, to see the spittle, the air, to sense the funk – to rub up against your reflection in a holistic sense. That’s what theatre gives us, it’s seeing the magic in front of your eyes. Cinema is magnificent and TV is brilliant, but they are removed. Having to dance with the sensibilities of another human being telling you a story, for your own education and your own entertainment, is magic to me. I still get a thrill every time I walk into a theatre no matter where I am in the world. I am in that place where stories are told, where communion happens. Theatre is, for the Western world today, our church. We go to commune with others. We go to seek guidance, reflect and refract upon it.

There’s a line from one of the songs called Hold On: “These walls are just make believe / They’ll cause you to doubt your dreams”. Are there any lyrics from the album that really resonate with you?

There’s a line from the song One: “I am as desperate as the hunted, as mad as the hunter”. I think as an artist I have to be both of those things. What is that duality that lives within me, how do I negotiate with it and how do I have it serve my narrative and not someone else’s? It’s complicated.

South Africa underwent truth and reconciliation in 1995, what do you think the region needs now in order to restore its confidence and settle its political unrest?

Modern South Africa must come to terms when moving from the first draft to the second draft of history. The generation who were ‘born free’, who didn’t grow up under Apartheid, still feel a disenfranchisement and many are not seeing the concrete effects of freedom in economic and social terms. The future South Africa must come to terms with its wealth distribution. It has to talk about the absolute disparity of land and wealth and how it can transfer it equally. How do you do that inclusively, and avoid making people feel as if South Africa is not their home? That is the challenge.

Does the UK also need to reconcile its problematic history?

It’s beginning to happen in places like Cambridge, Bristol and Glasgow – cities publicly discussing how they benefitted from the Transatlantic slave trade. We need to come to terms with that and reconcile these problems for our children’s sake. It’s about repair and healing. The United Kingdom has only just started to look at its history and how it affects the present. At the moment, we are experiencing an identity crisis, but we are in denial about this crisis. We have to think deeply about our past in order to negotiate our future.

How can we untangle occidental perspectives of Africa?

News media reporting on the continent do not need to lead with terror. The terror of poverty, corruption, war. There needs to be a balance of stories so that horror isn’t the dominant narrative, in the creative media too. Theatre can explore these traumas, but needs to complicate it, broaden it, in order to challenge stereotypes and change the world’s perception of Africa. How do we expose ourselves to the most three-dimensional take on other cultures that occupy this space we call earth?

Vulnerability is needed for that – what role do you think this plays in theatre?

Understanding other cultures, for example black culture, can mean walking into the theatre with the vulnerability of understanding your privilege and that some of your privileges are signs of omission, not commission. That ultimately, we are walking into safe spaces that strictly want us to be our best selves. Audiences have to allow themselves to be exposed to their ugly as well as their beautiful and realise that everyone is trying to tell these stories through a sense of love.

I come to every piece of work as a director and writer with huge vulnerability. We just finished the third draft of Tree and I am vulnerable. I can sit and take notes in rehearsals, but I actually have nothing until we have an audience. One of the things I’m trying to do with the show is make the audience integral to the storytelling. Now, I may succeed, I may not. There may be plot moves where we’re literally going up to the audience and asking them if he should go left or right. I’ve got to be ready for either. There are moments where I need the audience to take part in a rave – if they don’t, then I don’t have a show. For the first time in my life I am writing a show that has an actor in it I can’t rehearse with. It’s terrifying, but in the best way.

Tree runs at the Manchester International Festival from 29th June – 13th July 2019