Kudzanai-Violet Hwami: from anime to experimental triumphs in paint

Visiting Kudzanai-Violet Hwami is quite simply an uplifting experience. On a hot day in August, we arrive at her studio in Vauxhall, where she is feeling a little rattled after discovering someone is trying to sell her work at auction without her consent; a sharp reminder of the potentially corrupting commercial awareness young artists are required to navigate in today’s world. Yet in her light-flooded studio, we quickly settle into an exchange that feels like we are trusting friends in a safe fortress. The attention and competition for Violet’s work are unsurprising. Having previously cited influences such as Kerry James Marshall, Jenny Saville, Lynette Yiadom-Boakye and Robert Rauschenberg, her works are just as textured, playful and powerful. But there are also less obvious comparisons, like Euan Uglow, whose catalogue I notice as we arrive.

Violet is understated and thoughtful in the way that she speaks. Like the old saying that playing tennis with a better player encourages your own improvement, being around Violet makes you keen to raise your game. The studio is littered with signs of a focused artist. Experimental studies, examples of new printing techniques and palettes of paint sit in juxtaposition with other objects: a poster of Kanye West’s album cover the Life of Pablo, African dolls and a library of books. Just like her work, the personal is fused with the impersonal and together, they are incredibly enticing. There is a picture of her and her girlfriend; Violet dressed as a striking dandy, alongside family photographs that she has begun to screen print. South African house music is playing in the background, warm, cool, and cheerful, just like Violet herself. She is currently trying to give up smoking, but we find ourselves smoking cigarettes together out of the window.

I first met Violet at a dinner party hosted by the serene Helene Nguyen-Ban, who at the time owned the gallery VnH which now houses David Zwirner in Paris. I found myself sitting between a Google executive who was enthusiastically working on developing the Arts and Culture programme, and a hotelier who was describing his fascination with all things French. Vanessa Carlos, a powerful art world mentor, was sitting opposite me, chatting to one of the many sought-after artists from her roster, Oscar Murillo, who had recently been nominated for the Turner Prize. Finding each other amidst a sea of noisy conversation, Violet and I snuck out onto the balcony. We talked about her upcoming work, which, she casually dropped into the conversation, would be shown as part of Zimbabwe’s pavilion at the Venice Biennale, making her the youngest person ever to have represented a country there. Born in Gutu, Zimbabwe in 1993, Violet lived in South Africa from the age of nine to seventeen, when she moved to Manchester. In 2016, she graduated with a BA from Wimbledon College of Art. She won the Clyde & Co. Award and the Young Achiever of the Year Award at the Zimbabwean International Women’s Awards, as well as being shortlisted for Bloomberg New Contemporaries. Violet is currently completing an MFA at the Ruskin School of Art, Oxford. In 2019, I found myself in the packed room of her critically acclaimed solo exhibition at Gasworks, watching her discuss her work with the White Cube sensation, Michael Armitage, who asked about the narrative function of her work. The show, entitled, ‘(15,952 km) via Trans-Sahara Hwy N1’ was a collection of incredible paintings that evoked a rich personal history. Inspired by pictures collected by Violet on a trip to Zimbabwe, along with pages copied from the book Stone Sculpture in Zimbabwe by Celia Winter-Irving, the show was graphic yet nostalgic and stimulated thoughts about the concept of a journey. I am struck by that today, as I admire the new work that she has created during lockdown.

Today, her self-portraits form part of a collage on the studio wall and are particularly striking. They speak of introspection and an ability to interrogate what was in front of her during lockdown. Whilst we discuss her bright future, working with just about any gallery she chooses, she speaks just as excitedly about a weekend away with her mother in Manchester. Perhaps it’s the levelling effect of the Coronavirus, but I think it’s more likely that it reflects the duality found in her work. Two slogans struck me during this studio visit: “Milk the King” is etched across a portrait of a nude, slouched mail figure; it is regal and hopeless, seemingly fuelled by both anger and empathetic chords. The second, a small sign outside her studio that reads “Listen with your eyes”. Just like Violet, I thought, quietly commanding and wryly political. Allowing pauses and silences in the conversation is important to Violet. She is a woman of juxtapositions. Aggressive without being rude, she holds silence without being quiet, and the note on the door which tells you to listen with your eyes is testimony to her admiration of Rauschenberg, who too successfully confuses your sense in such a pleasurable way. Like her work, it is difficult to capture Violet through words. So, I will leave you to listen with your eyes.

Tell me what you remember of your time in Zimbabwe?

I remember living on this road… a long road. I remember the houses in Zimbabwe being much bigger than here in England. I remember playing in our huge yard and I remember the space… A lot of space. I remember watching a lot of TV. I was there until I was nine, so what I remember more is family gatherings, road trips to our ancestral village, road trips to Victoria Falls… and living in a house with a lot of people.

And then at nine, your family moved to South Africa – what were the reasons?

It wasn’t necessarily political reasons but the situation in Zimbabwe was growing a bit intense. Inflation was on the rise, and so in 2002 my dad left, then my mum decided to follow with my brothers, sisters and myself and we all migrated.

How did you find it different?

South Africa was a more cosmopolitan place.

Can you tell me about your education there, what subjects did you enjoy?

I don’t remember liking any subject other than English, maybe because I liked to create stories. I used to write a lot, but I didn’t study art. I took art in high school, but it wasn’t taken seriously. It was only when I moved to England that I started to really focus on art.

Why did you move to England?

My mum moved to England because most of her family had moved to the UK. My mum followed her sisters, because if you live in South Africa and there is an opportunity to move to the UK a lot of immigrants will do because there is more opportunity here.

Did you continue your studies in England?

I couldn’t get into high school so they asked me, “What do you want to do? Where do you see yourself? What are your skills?” and I said, “I like to sketch Anime characters.” I used to watch a lot of Yu-gi-oh and Dragon Ball Z, that kind of stuff, so that was the sort of thing I was interested in and just told them that and they said “do an art and design course”, and I did that for three years.

Who was the person that really guided you towards fine art and painting?

Please say this guy’s name because he never gets mentioned in interviews. He is called Nick Taylor; that guy is amazing. He is an artist and a tutor at Manchester College and he was super helpful. I said to him, “I just want to do animation.” And he said, “No, you should continue with painting.” He was my tutor, although I had another before him. It was a B-tech course where you do a foundation and then you do three years afterwards. I did three years of the B-tech and in the second year I was introduced to him.

What did he do in particular that really inspired you?

He introduced me to people like Euan Uglow, Jenny Saville and Georgia O’Keefe, because he knew I enjoyed painting the figure, so my style grew from looking at those people. They were the artists that had inspired him and they inspired me.

When did you realise that you wanted to pursue being a painter as a full-time career?

I think during the time when I was being encouraged by Nick Taylor I felt like I was on the right path. My ideas were never shut down. I could come to him with crazy ideas and he would be very encouraging. I felt I was really engaging in being an artist and building myself. When I had a solo show at Tyburn Gallery, that’s when I felt ‘professional.’ It was a major moment for me .

Can you tell me a little bit about how you start a painting, and the journey from starting to finishing a work?

I save notes on my phone and write down titles of paintings before they have even been made, just to organise my thoughts because I am not very good at linear thinking. I take ideas from different places and they all come together. Where those things are coming from are podcasts, a lot of people talking about our current time, not necessarily about art but related to daily life. So, the ideas for my paintings come from those people, then I make collages based on the ideas on my tablet; digital collages, and the paintings come from that, then I paint from those studies.

I’ve noticed a lot of screen print boards in your studio, do you use them in your painting?

Yes, I do sometimes. This happened after I went to the Rauschenberg exhibition at the Tate Modern. It was the first exhibition I went and loved everything. I saw the poster on the Underground and thought, “Hm, what’s this?” so I went. I didn’t even know who he was, hadn’t researched him, no-one had ever pointed him out to me. He reminded me of Basquiat, in the way that he makes work through a stream of consciousness, putting ideas, everything in one work. Seeing artists work in this way, I find it helps me with my thinking. It aligns with the way I think.

Who are the figures in your paintings?

The figures in my paintings are taken from found images, from family albums; some are taken from the internet, some are archival images I found that came from Zimbabwe when it was still Rhodesia.

Have you been back to Zimbabwe?

I went to Zimbabwe around 2018 for a residency programme. I wanted to do my first major residency there as I thought it would be a great opportunity to go back and see what the art scene was like. It was the first time I had visited in a very long time. I went there briefly to stay with my aunts when I was 14 or 15, after I had left when I was nine, but this time I stayed there for two months or so. It was the first time I had gone there with intention.

I heard that you are a big fan of dance, does it inform your painting, and if so, how?

I love watching dance like Jiří Kylián and Pina Bausch as a separate art form, but I also love filmmakers like Richard Linklater and Terrance Malick. I think it’s all a similar language. I’m not sure what it is but it is work that transcends our race, our gender. It’s work that… I don’t want to be spiritual…

Is spirituality in your work?

It is very important. I admire stone sculptures from Zimbabwe from the 1950s because when that work was made it was all about personal self development, its to do with a spiritual awakening. It’s very different from the way a lot of people make art now, where it has to do with identity, with our physical bodies, and less to do with what is happening inside. That is what I find in dance, with those choreographers, with Terrence Malik, with an artist like Vincent Desiderido; they are looking within. I am just not as eloquent as those people but it is the work I align myself with, it is where I want my work to take people, because it moves me, and that’s how I want people to feel about my work rather than it just being a political abstraction.

Do you feel obliged in today’s world to be political in your paintings?

Yes.

And how does that affect the work?

You self-censor. There is a lot I could say but can’t say and that’s all I will say [laughs].

What does the future hold for you and your work, with all that being said?

My confidence is growing slowly. It is very hard to be confident as an artist. You have to put your work out there and people say it’s great, but you don’t think it’s great. I am hoping, personally, that I become more confident to say what I really mean.