A sonic experience that opened one up to the divinely realm and showcased how powerful the voice and song can truly be. Through Lili-La MandiFeze took the audience through a journey of exploring vulnerability and honouring the fullness of the black femme experience.
On Sunday afternoon, August 16 2026 I found myself at the Makgabeng shelter in the Wits Origins Centre. There I sat in a dimly lit room with a huge rock painting in front of me. In my eyeline there were two black chairs covered by a red cloth, a white candle, lit and sparkling in a cup, and red cloth draped on the floor. The space itself was intimate and made me feel as if I was underground. The red cloth and candle added a homely feeling to the environment. I sat in anticipation, curiously waiting for what was to come from MandiFeze’s sonic experience Lili-La. Initially, I had no idea what to expect. I was pleasantly surprised by how immersive and soulful the overall experience was.
A photo of the setup for the performance. Photo: Sikelelekile Pahlana
MandiFeze is a music and theatre duo founded by former Witsies, Mandisa Yende and Lufezo Bovungana. The audience was met with the sound of a whistle coming from around the corner, and an enchanting voice that signified the start of the show. MandiFeze seamlessly brought the spiritual realm to the physical room, it felt as if the world had stopped and we were all absorbed by the performance at hand. This sonic experience was like no other, it incorporated physical movement, with sounds of emotive expressions, vocals that touched the ceiling and a hollowing silence that sent chills down one’s spine.
A photo of Mandisa Yende and Lufezo Bovungana during the performance. Photo: Sikelelekile Pahlana
The intense eye-contact from MandiFeze, as they searched around the room, made one feel involved in their inner world. MandiFeze pierced through one’s facade of strength and softened the heart space; vulnerability became the meeting point between the audience and performance.
From the beginning up until the very end, Lili-La took us on a journey that unpacked the source of ingoma (song) for MandiFeze. The performance made us witnesses to their internal process of connecting with the divine and honouring the influence of the matriarch. Whilst also unpacking what it means to be an artist. They clearly acknowledge that apart of the purpose of ingoma is to heal people.
In conversation with MandiFeze, Bovungana shed light on how the meaning of Lili-La is ever changing, they said: “we’re beginning to realize that it’s really just a commemoration to the Black femme body that has contributed to ingoma but is also the reason why ingoma exists. It’s an ode to the people that came before us and gave us the song. It (the song) comes from the spirit; it comes from the place in which dead people live.” Yende further added that, “Lili-La then becomes the full spectrum of black femmehood and black femme emotion. We’re trying to really showcase the full spectrum from black joy to black grief to sadness to just visibly showing that you’re carrying weight and allowing ourselves to bear that burden and to showcase what that burden looks like, boldly.”
A photo of Mandisa Yende during the performance. Photo: Sikelelekile Pahlana
According to MandiFeze, Lili-la stems from combining their research during their honour’s studies, where Bovungana explored, “how expressive sounds have contributed to vocal techniques, specifically ululation” and Yende shared, “I was looking into the ways that wailing and ingoma are forms of healing for the black femme body because of how we’ve been expected to always be imbokodo. So, breaking down that narrative of imbokodo by embracing wailing.” Lili-la therefore is a creative play on words, incorporating ukulila (to grieve) and ukulilizela (ululating).
A photo of MandiFeze in prayer during the performance. Photo: Sikelelekile Pahlana
I was captivated by the intimacy and vulnerability in the way they embodied joy through laughter and sadness through intense wailing. I was moved when they both prayed asking for strength to continue on their journey as artists and for guidance along the way. Additionally, the moments of silence that followed brought a sense of stillness in the room, bridging a connection between all those who bore witness and collectively felt the essence of the performance.
When asked what they hoped the audience would take away from the sonic performance, Yende shared, “I think the hope is in a breath for the audience, an exhale from the audience, which for us I think would be mission accomplished as healers. In that people walking out feeling different, reflecting, and seeing either parts of themselves or parts of some form of matriarch belonging.” On the other hand, Bovungana shared, “Allowing your body to feel all the emotions without holding back. Giving the platform to feel what wants to be felt. Be easy on your vessels.”
Overall, the experience was eye-opening, as it awakened me to how healing and expansive the voice can really be when used intentionally. The creative passion of MandiFeze ignited a subtle fire in me that left me feeling inspired, grounded and tender. MandiFeze cultivated a unique sonic experience rooted in African customs, which felt like a homecoming, a return to self.
Vuvu rating 9/10.
FEATURED IMAGE: A photo of Mandisa Yende and Lufezo Bovungana during the performance. Photo: Sikelelekile Pahlana
I Understand What You Do. You Show Us What We Do Not See invites visitors to discover the extraordinary hidden in everyday places.
On 4 August 2026, the Wits Art Museum opened “I Understand What You Do. You Show Us What We Do Not See”, an exhibition that explores the idea of home through photography. Rather than presenting home as simply a physical place, the exhibition challenges visitors to consider how belonging can exist in ordinary spaces and everyday moments that often go unnoticed.
The exhibition celebrates the legacy of renowned South African photographer David Goldblatt in what would have been his 95th year. Inspired by Goldblatt’s belief that photography reveals what is often overlooked, the exhibition explores themes of identity, memory, belonging, and place. It features work by nine predominantly Johannesburg-based photographers documenting diverse experiences of life in and around the city, alongside photographs from the “Of Soul and Joy” photography initiative. The exhibition’s title comes from a memorable encounter in which a stranger described Goldblatt’s work by saying, “I understand what you do. You show us what we do not see.”
That sentiment is reflected throughout the exhibition. A passer-by may see only a busy Johannesburg street or an ordinary neighbourhood, while someone else recognises it as a place of comfort, memory, and belonging. The exhibition encourages viewers to pause and reconsider these familiar spaces, revealing the stories that exist just beneath the surface.
One of the exhibition’s greatest strengths is its curation. Each body of work flows naturally into the next, allowing the conversation around home and memory to develop seamlessly as visitors move through the gallery. Although each photographer presents a distinct perspective, the exhibition never feels disjointed. Instead, every collection builds upon the last, reinforcing the central theme and making it easy to understand the exhibition’s message without it ever feeling repetitive or forced.
A picture of one of the art works displayed by Sanele Sithole
Among the featured artists, Jabulani Dhlamini’s “Poloko: In Soweto” stood out most. His work explores the hidden histories of Soweto through photographs of homes, portraits, and personal stories. Rather than focusing solely on well-known historical sites, Dhlamini captures everyday spaces that have quietly become symbols of resilience, identity, and belonging. His photographs reveal how residents have transformed apartheid-era houses into places that carry personal and collective memories while also reflecting on the legacy of the 1976 Soweto Uprising and his own family history.
As someone from Soweto, Dhlamini’s work resonated with me on a personal level. The homes, streets, and familiar surroundings he photographs are places I have seen countless times, often without giving them much thought. Seeing these everyday spaces displayed in a gallery reminded me that what feels ordinary to those who live there can also hold extraordinary meaning. His photographs challenged me to look beyond what is immediately visible and appreciate the stories, memories, and histories embedded in places I have always called home.
More than a photography exhibition, “I Understand What You Do. You Show Us What We Do Not See” succeeds in encouraging visitors to slow down and look closer. Its thoughtful curation ensures that the works complement one another, while its central theme of home is communicated with clarity and sensitivity. By the time visitors leave the gallery, they are reminded that home is not simply a place on a map but a feeling shaped by memory, identity, and lived experience. It is an exhibition that quietly asks us to reconsider the familiar and, in doing so, reveals the extraordinary hidden within the ordinary.
After five years of waiting, Spider-Man swings back onto our screens, and straight into his identity crisis.
After swinging into the Ster-Kinekor cinema at Rosebank and witnessing the long queues of people lining up in anticipation for the fourth installment in Tom Holland’s Spider-Man franchise, I completely understand how it was the biggest opening weekend in South African cinema history, according to Sony Pictures South Africa.
Brand New Day was a breath of fresh air. It felt as if it were the first raindrop after years of drought, which is somewhat true. This year marks five years since Spider Man! No Way Home last graced the big screen. The Marvel Cinematic Universe, which adapts the Marvel Comics characters and storylines created by Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, and Steve Ditko, seems to have been experiencing quite the dry spell since its most successful era ended. Due to the immense success of the last movie, all eyes were on Tom Holland to save the MCU – and save the day, he did.
After the events that led to the ending of the last movie, the audience was left biting their nails in worry for our closepersonal friend, Peter Parker. Over the years, I found myself wondering if he was okay and how he could be dealing with Aunt May’s death as well as the loss of not just his best friend, Ned (Jacob Batalon), but his girlfriend, MJ (Zendaya), too.
He took it just as I expected: not well. Obviously.
Peter chooses to isolate himself altogether, even from the only people he has left. One of the only connections he appears to have is with Jean DeWolff, played by Liza ColonZayas, who is the police captain that Spider-Man works very closely with. However, he is hardly close to her, if at all. DeWolff makes this a talking point in the first act, essentially calling him out on the fact that he knows nothing about her outside of work. When having a meeting with Florence Pugh’s character, Yelena, and speaking to Frank, (The Punisher,)played by Jon Bernthal, Peter never takes the mask off. This is done to mirror that Peter does not engage with anything or anyone outside of his Spider-Man persona. It is no longer his alter ego as Peter Parker, but rather his sole identity. It really does feel as though Peter Parker never existed.
The film centers on Peter’s want and need to only be Spider-Man, while ignoring everything that made him into the fantastic superhero he had grown into. While the first three movies followed him along his journey of Peter trying to become Spider-Man, this one focused on Spider-Man trying to figure out how to be Peter Parker.
Tom Holland knocked it out of the park with the most genuine and realistic portrayal of this allegory. He has always excelled at playing Peter Parker, but this film cemented his legacy as the current generation’s Spider-Man. Oftentimes when we watch movies, especially ones with high-status actors, we tend to pay extra attention to how they act. We notice how their eyebrows slightly crinkle, or how their mouths twitch when trying not to break character, and we realise that we are watching an actor act. Yet, as I sat in the movie theatre, that was the last thing on my mind. Holland did an incredible job capturing my attention. It felt as though I was pulled into the screen.
Visually, this is one of the most stunningly shot Spider-Man films. The creativity of the cinematography truly added to the audience’s experience of joining Peter’s grief, stress, and anxiety of facing the inevitable. The scenes of New York City helped us feel as if we were right there with Peter, with the web-swinging scenes beautifully executed. Brand New Day was visually dynamic and vibrant, the opposite of the blandness that has plagued cinema over the past few years. All of these aspects added to the comic book illusion. Destin Daniel Cretton, the director of Brand New Day and Shang-Chi, has also solidified his position as one of the MCU’s top directors.
Brand New Day gave us more than just a fourth Spidey movie. It gave us a superhero who resembles pieces of us that we would not normally expect them to. We have all been this version of Spider-Man: still in the process of becoming, struggling between doing what is required from us and doing what we desire to do. This is what made this movie so enjoyable. Instead of following the usual formula of villains trying to kill Peter, it showed us an emotionally charged street-level Spidey story. No Avengers intervention, no multiverse concerns, and no “end of the world” problematic threats.
Instead, it raises the question: what happens when a superhero becomes more than just the man wearing the mask? A person like you and me, figuring out their identity, while ignoring who we really are, because it frightens us?
This is why the antagonist of this film not being necessarily evil is so impactful. The secrecy surrounding Sadie Sink’s character had us in a chokehold for months, and the wait was definitely worth it.
The heart and soul of this film were the scenes between Peter, Ned, and MJ. Their presence emphasised the sadness of Peter succumbing to his loneliness. One thing that movie did incredibly well was not having Peter’s grief categorised in a hierarchy. He missed Ned just as much as he missed MJ. The writing spectacularly delivered us with the purest portrayal of Peter Parker when he shows MJ unconditional love.
Brand New Day proved that Peter does not have to face life alone in order to be successful as Spider-Man, if anything, it is the complete opposite. Although Ned and MJ will never be able to remember the Peter they once knew and loved, it does not mean that Peter cannot build something new with them.
Vuvu Rating: 9/10
FEATURED IMAGE: Spider-Man logo drawn on a red background. Photo: Kerese Govender
A performance project featuring spoken words, chants, movements and musical art. It is a reimagination of Arther Rimbaud’s poem titled ‘A season in Hell’.
A season in Hillbrow, directed by Sibahle Mangena and Gerard Bester… what were my expectations? In all honestly, the performance far exceeded anything I had anticipated. I had expected an hour of a performance that somehow resembled ‘The greatest showman‘, where performers just burst into song mid-sentence. I had even thought to myself how will such an in-depth, poetic masterpiece be turned into musical play?
Safe to say, calling this performance a musical would be highly undermining its artistry. A group of high school students from the Windybrow Arts Centre took to the floor of the Southwest Engineering building an immaculate form of storytelling. A form that might make one assume is wiser than their years. Simply using school desks, their bodies, their voices, and most importantly their words.
Still of cast dancing during performance. Photo: Kamogelo Lesabe
The performance started with what seemed like a recitation of the beginning of Arther Rimbaud’s poem. As someone who knows this poem well, I quickly realised, that was far from the truth. Each student in the set up classroom delivered these short, punchy one-liners that incorporated words from the poem and mixed them with the real lived experience of Hillbrow. They mingled a clever play on words that spoke to issues of education, poverty, crime, gangsters, safety, hope and love while maintaining the main themes of suffering, alienation, self-destruction, and rebellion taken from the poem.
They carefully tackled these issues from the wide spectrum of the repercussions of apartheid and xenophobia boiling all the way down to the potholes in the street and how a Mageza drives on the road. They mixed all Nguni languages with the Shakespear kind of English which made the performance identifiable to a South African context. They sang amagwijo with all their emotion, they danced on tables, they even used comedy, which only South Africans would understand, to relate to the audience. They represented the theme of rebellion by not conforming to traditional ways of storytelling but rather speaking out against rigidity, limitation, unbelief, and societal standards. Rebellion against real issues faced by South Africans and contextually South Africans who daily experience life in Hillbrow.
Their costumes were an art of rebellion themselves. Wearing torn skirts, untucked school shirts, ties pinned to their shoulders instead of their necks. Similarly to the stage they performed on which was set as a classroom, how they sat, stood and danced on the desks, how they piled desks on top of one another to create what they called “a castle”. That for me screamed a unique and unconventional take to the interpretation of Rimbaud’s work.
Still of “castle” built with tables. Photo: Kamogelo Lesabe
. It was “powerful work of emergence by emerging voices” said Stacy Hardy, one of the creators of this performance. Work of emergence to address current and detrimental issues in the heart of Hillbrow.
The high schoolers truly outdid themselves in relaying the message of reimagining such an enigmatic poem.
Vuvu Rating: 8/10
FEATURE IMAGE: Cast of A season in Hillbrow performance. Photo: Kamogelo Lesabe
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At Decorex Joburg, “Soft Life” looked a lot like everyone else’s life, the continent was missing.
Decorex Joburg, one of Africa’s largest design and decor exhibitions, returned to the Sandton Convention Centre between July 30 to August 2, 2026, under the banner of “Soft Life”.
The theme was a move from the city’s hustle culture to a calmer, intentional design of spaces and pieces. Walking through the five floors I noticed minimalist styling with small tweaks repeated from booth to booth that demarcated exhibits. This made me question whether Africans have a sense of what soft life looks like in their own eyes, and not with a Western gaze.
What does “soft life” actually mean at a design exhibition in Africa, is it a colour palette or is it a philosophy? Decorex seemed to be a lot more about the form through the pale woods; ivory tones and muted neutrals presented as calm and intentional. The pendant lights shaped from soft, feather-like layers of ivory were undeniably elegant, but nothing in them spoke to what “soft life” is in Africa. I found myself wishing they had been exhibited in a bolder way, maybe a light carved into a traditional symbol or covered in African print.
Picture of a geometric pattern in black, white and green with curved wooden legs by Meetlo. Photo: Reatlehile Mashamba
The absence of the continent’s voice raised an unavoidable question even though the show was elegant and soft. The question is whether Africans can genuinely see themselves in this version of softness, or whether we’re being handed a Western idea and accepting it with ease.
Being African is not a simplistic beige colour, it’s the bold brown colour of an animal hide that carries specific meanings, spiritual significance and ancestral meaning. Vukari Art offers a range of handcrafted luxury home decor made from 100% unique Nguni cowhides, with features such as rugs, wall hangings and matching cushion covers. Vukari’s stand was unapologetically African, it took me to my roots, gave me a feel of what Africa was before we became accustomed to a certain lifestyle. According to The Art and Heritage of African Animal Skin Rugs cowhides were traditionally valued for their utility in various contexts across the continent and remain a symbol of both functionality and natural elegance. In an exhibition centered around the “soft life” these designs offered a version of softness rooted in individuality and inherited wisdom rather than a borrowed idea of a colour palette.
In contrast, Design Week Lagos: Homeexhibited their designs using an opposite approach with carved wooden panels with a mask-like figure, a hand-thrown ceramic form and straw woven rugs underfoot, it wasn’t as bold; it was another way of portraying Africa. The mask-like figures were a symbol of Western Africa, often representing ancestral spirits, deities or serving as ceremonial objects rather than decoration. This offered two different, equally valid African expressions, proving that softness and identity aren’t always mutually exclusive.
Leaving Decorex, I kept asking myself, “what does soft life actually mean in South Africa and who does it cater to?” For some part of the exhibition, I felt that Africa’s soft life could have been borrowed from an idea that screams simplistic with a solid colour palette. An African soft is allowed to feel and look different through its unique symbolisms, materials and colour palette with no expectation on what to deliver. Decorex lived up to its promise; it was soft and intentional, but it could include some parts of Africa.
FEATURED IMAGE: Picture showing signage of the Decorex sign at the Sandton Convention. Photo by Reatlehile Mashamba
Amidst the chaos of Johannesburg’s traffic intersections, Robots follows Gift, a street performer who turns red-light pauses into moments of joy.
As the lights turn to red, Gift – also known as Marshmallows – steps onto his stage. On Johannesburg’s streets, traffic light intersections become his theatre. There he juggles, unicycles and performs his signature ‘headless man’ act, turning the pause in traffic into a few moments of entertainment, before the lights flicker back to green.
Directed by Yaseen J.Khan, Robots is an insightful, funny and moving portrait of livelihood and perseverance. At its centre is Gift, a charismatic personality who performs at intersections for strangers. Yet beneath the laughter lies a layered story of fatherhood, struggle and resilience. His perspective on life makes you laugh one moment and cry the next.
Gift is a hustler, an entertainer and a man who balances this alongside his role as a husband, father, and friend. His complexity challenges stereotypes about street artists. At first, Gift is presented as joyful and always smiling, but the film asks its audience to look deeper and challenge their own assumptions. Robots is more than a portrait of one man; it is a wake-up call, recognising the overlooked creativity of those trying to make a living and build better lives for themselves and their families.
The documentary itself was self-funded and took three years to complete. At a July 26 screening held at the Bioscope Independent Cinema in Johannesburg, filmmaker Khan was joined by DOP Kirsten Rose and producer Kopedi Aphane to discuss the project’s origins, explaining that it all began with curiosity: “These are people we see every day, but beyond that we don’t know what is happening behind the scenes.”
Cameras were introduced only after conversations and mutual trust-building. As Khan reflected, “We could only tell as much as he wanted to reveal.” Over time the story evolved; Gift developed from subject to collaborator and friend, guiding the filmmakers into spaces others might have avoided, sharing his health diagnosis, financial struggles and hopes for permanent work. The process reshaped the filmmakers themselves, who later wrote, “as filmmakers, this documentary changed our own perspectives about poverty and resilience.”
The editing moves seamlessly between vibrant energetic scenes, to quiet moments of reflection, accompanied by music that mirrors Gift’s changing moods. An upbeat score, including the crashing of cymbals, adds a ‘showbiz’ flair to the street performance. The rhythm makes you laugh, then suddenly brings tears as the pace slows.
Intimacy is the film’s strength because you can feel the connection to Gift not only as a performer, but as a person. Camera points of view through car windows, amidst the chaos of traffic, and then inside his family home with his wife and two children, all offer unique insight into his life.
He moves between that home and the space under the bridge. His smile feels like a quiet act of defiance. Even when motorists do not reward him, he finds joy in their reactions, saying that he loves to see people smiling, “even if you give nothing, just your smile”.
Khan hopes to leave the audience with conversations that will carry beyond the screen.Robotschallenges assumptions about people at traffic intersections. The film is insightful and funny, emotional yet hopeful. It made me appreciate life and see street performers in an entirely new light. Gift’s story shows the power of performance to connect strangers, even if only for the length of a red light.
FEATURED IMAGE: Robots poster. Photo: Supplied/The Bioscope
The film is vibrant, emotional, and filled with the kind of energy that reminds audiences why Michael Jackson became known as the King of Pop in the first place
The new biographical movie Michael, does not merely attempt to tell the story of the King of Pop; it attempts something far more difficult — to search for the fragile human being buried beneath decades of noise, headlines, applause, and controversy.
From its opening moments, the movie bursts with life, overflowing with rhythm, colour, and excitement. Yet at the same time, ironically carrying an almost dreamlike sadness.Childhood dissolves beneath stage lights. Innocence disappears behind screaming crowds. The young Michael is portrayed not as a child discovering joy, but as a child being sculpted into perfection.
Still from Michael of Jafaar Jackson performing. Photo: Supplied/The Bioscope
Jaafar Jackson, who is Michael Jackson’s nephew, delivers a performance that was much more than an imitation, he literally captured the spirit that made Michael so captivating. The concert recreations are absolutely breathtaking, the camera follows him with almost religious awe as he glides across stages drenched in light filled with dazzling and electric choreography and infectious energy that make it impossible not to smile.
Whether recreating the moonwalk or commanding massive crowds, the performance radiates the charisma that made Michael Jackson one of the most influential entertainers in history.
He does not simply recreate the voice, the posture, famous gestures through the utterly shocking resemblance; he captures the contradiction at the centre of Michael Jackson himself which is the collision between extraordinary confidence on stage and profound vulnerability away from it.
Some scenes feel so alive that they almost blur the line between cinema and reality. The film stops feeling like a biography and becomes pure sensation. The heartbeat, rhythm, memory. Seeing people holding themselves down to their seats when the Thriller dance comes on. People humming softly to songs like Billie Jean and Human Nature, excluding that one person in the back who thought no one could hear them. Each song arrives carrying emotional weight, reminding audiences how deeply his music embedded itself into global consciousness. The film understands that Michael Jackson’s art was never background noise. It was cultural atmosphere.
Still from Michael of Thriller. Photo: Supplied/The Bioscope
In my opinion what makes Michael especially powerful is its refusal to portray fame as glamorous. While delving deeper into Michael’s superstardom it also shows his vulnerability, creativity, and desire to connect with others through his art. The quieter scenes give the movie emotional depth without overshadowing its celebratory tone. It balances spectacle with humanity, particularly through its portrayal of Michael’s complicated relationship with his father. Some of the film’s most emotional scenes emerge from this tension. Moments where achievement and pain seem inseparable.
Of course, no biographical film can perfectly capture a life as enormous and complicated as Michael Jackson’s and the complexity of telling Michael’s story is perhaps most visible in the absence of Janet Jackson from much of the film, despite her importance within both the Jackson family and popular culture itself.
There are moments where certain parts of the story could have been explored more deeply. But rather than becoming trapped in controversy or darkness, Michael the film reminds viewers why people fell in love with Michael Jackson in the first place while fully encapsulating one truth; Michael Jackson was never allowed to exist as an ordinary person. He lived beneath a microscope powerful enough to distort everything it touched.
Michael Jackson’s legacy continues to transcend through generations. Sitting in the cinema, it becomes impossible not to notice the unique atmosphere surrounding the movie. Older audiences reliving memories of growing up with Michael Jackson’s music, while younger viewers experience his artistry with fresh fascination and excitement. The theatre itself begins to feel like a meeting point between generations connected by the same songs, dances, and emotions. Few artists possess that kind of timeless cultural power and eternal presence. Michael Jackson was one of those rare figures who did not simply make music, but created moments that became and still become part of people’s lives.
I recommend you to experience this magic for yourself!
Vuvu Rating: 10/10.
FEATURED IMAGE: Michael Poster. Photo: Supplied/ The Bioscope
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As a fashion design graduate, I view the Met Gala with a more demanding eye than the average spectator. I look for textile innovation and historical literacy. When the 2026 theme was announced as “Costume Art,” I was ecstatic. It was a call to treat the human form as a canvas.
This theme offered a limitless playground, yet the evening proved to be a game of hits and misses. While some evolved the silhouette, others simply slapped a painting onto fabric. True “Costume Art” requires transformation, and only a handful truly understood the assignment.
However, one cannot discuss the artistry on the steps without acknowledging the tension on the streets. The evening’s opulence faced heavy scrutiny as Jeff Bezos served as honorary chair. The record-breaking $42 million (R701.87 million) proceeds drew criticism, with protesters outside highlighting the disparity between the gala’s excess and Amazon’s labour controversies. This corporate undertone, marked by the notable absences of stars like Bella Hadid, Zendaya and New York’s mayor, Zohran Mamdani, left the event feeling more like a private billionaire function than a cultural zeitgeist.
So I followed with that unease at the back of my mind, but with my eye and pen poised.
The ‘almost’gallery: honourable mentions
These looks were undeniably stunning and technically brilliant, but they missed my top spots because they felt a bit too ‘safe’, or in one case, incomplete, compared to the architectural risks taken by my favourites.
Laura Harrier (Di Petsa): A masterclass in ‘wet look’ draping that turned her into a Greek marble statue, though the silhouette felt familiar.
Kendall Jenner (Gap Studio): A sophisticated take on the Winged Victory of Samothrace. Had she worn her monumental wings on the carpet rather than just in the museum photos, she would have secured the win.
As stunning as those classic references were, a few attendees truly understood the assignment, transforming the body into a living canvas in ways that felt entirely new.
The masterpieces: when fashion becomes art
Emma Chamberlain set the bar in custom Casey Cadwallader for Mugler. Drawing from Van Gogh’s impasto techniques, the gown utilised hand-painted resin and moulded silk to capture the tactile texture of a canvas come to life. She didn’t just wear art; she embodied the medium of painting itself.
Yu-Chi Lyra Kuo provided a moment of monochromatic brilliance, channelling the Winged Victory through Jean Paul Gaultier’s architectural pleating. The atelier transformed soft fabric into chiselled marble, celebrating the artisan’s ability to turn textile into stone.
Sabine Getty offered a haunting metaphor for the decay of art. The Ashi Studio bodice featured surrealist hands that seemed to sculpt her form, while the shredded silk skirt appeared to unravel like an ancient, deteriorating canvas. It was a masterclass in using deconstructivism to tell a story of loss.
Anok Yai, in Balenciaga, delivered the night’s most profound transformation, coating her skin in bronze pigment to embody the ‘Blac Madonna’. While others wore art-inspired gowns, Yai used her skin as the medium. It was a powerful reminder that fashion can re-contextualise the human body as a sacred object.
However, the brilliance of these living masterpieces only made the night’s failures more glaring.
The unfinished canvases
Simone Ashley’s Stella McCartney gown felt pedestrian. The body-chain aesthetic lacked innovation and failed to engage with the theme’s sculptural possibilities. Similarly, Kim Kardashian prioritised her signature cinched branding over thematic exploration. Her Allen Jones collaboration felt more like high-budget cosplay than the “Living Sculpture” it aimed to be.
The evening’s most egregious oversight came from Deborah Roberts, who arrived in a Christopher John Rogers gown she had already debuted at the 2022 New York City Ballet. For an event centred on innovation, re-wearing a years-old socialite gown felt dismissive of the Met’s prestige.
Finally, Zoë Kravitz in Saint Laurent was a masterclass in the mundane. A basic black lace gown offers zero artistic provocation in this context. For a designer, the lack of innovation is jarring; it wasn’t “bad” fashion, it was absence of a vision.
Ultimately, the 2026 Met Gala proved that when you give designers the world as their canvas, the results are polarising. We saw the heights of technical brilliance, where fabric was manipulated to look like marble or wet oil paint, and we saw the lows of creative stagnation, where ‘basic’ was the order of the day.
As a journalist and a designer, I believe the Met Gala should be the one night where ‘wearability’ is the last thing on anyone’s mind. We want to be challenged; we want to see the boundaries of the human form pushed until they break. This year showed us that while anyone can wear a dress, very few can truly embody a masterpiece.
For those who dared to treat their bodies as a canvas, the result was nothing short of legendary. For the rest? There’s always next year’s exhibition.
Vuvu rating: 6.9/10
FEATURED IMAGE: Rough fashion illustration, edited by AI. Graphic by: Daniella Ripamonti
In the high-octane world of South African Fashion Week, a runway is usually a transition, a place where models move from point A to point B to showcase a garment. But for House of Olé, the Spring/Summer 2026 showcase transformed the runway into a breathing, multidisciplinary studio. It was a bold statement of ‘The Comeback,’ signalling that after a strategic hiatus from the runway, the brand’s return was about more than just clothes; it was about a new philosophy of survival.
The show was a sensory assault in the best way possible. Before a single look walked, the stage was set with the ‘invisible’ architects of beauty. A makeup artist stood at the start of the ramp, applying live finishing touches to models as they sat, before embarking on their walk. In the centre, a visual artist stood with a brush in hand, painting onto the suits as they passed.
The result was a ‘Human Art Gallery.’ Models did not just walk; they performed. Some lounged on velvet sofas positioned along the runway, remaining still as statues, inviting guests to observe the textile and the tailoring as they would a masterpiece in a gallery. This was not just a fashion show; it was an immersive performance piece, underscored by the raw vocals of a live singer that echoed through the Hyde Park studio.
Photo of the Runway from the House of Olé at SAFW SS2026. Photo by: Daniella Ripamonti
“They really have lived up to the anticipation”, noted guest and choreographer Nomza Monake. “I’ve seen Olé’s work before, but today just took it to another level. I loved how they fused the arts together. It was not just a fashion show, but a fashion show with a difference… I’m just so sold.”
Behind this theatricality lies the sharp business mind of Ole Ledimo, the designer and founder of House of Olé. Ledimo is acutely aware that the industry he returned to is different from the one he left. “When times are tough, it forces us creatives to dig even deeper,” Ledimo explained backstage. His response to the economic squeeze during his time away from the runway was to embrace a radical variety, mixing high-end, hand-painted couture with accessible ready-to-wear to maintain and win new clients.
When asked about the defining piece of the night, Ledimo pointed to a garment aptly titled “Collaboration.” It served as the anchor for his vision of the season. “It’s something I feel like as artists and human beings we need to do often,” he said. “Coming together, I think that’s what made the collection amazing, bringing the guys that have been my friends, working together for many years, from backstage into the actual show.”
The collection itself challenged the rigid boundaries of the “modern gentleman.” Ledimo’s suits, architectural, bold, and defiant, were worn by models of all shapes and heights, pushing back against the stereotypes of how men “should” dress. “The colour pink doesn’t define your masculinity. It’s a colour,” Ledimo asserted, defending the need for self-expression. “Sometimes it’s people’s opinions that hold us back.”
House of Olé Spring/Summer 2026 collection lineup for SAFW 2026. Photo by: Daniella Ripamonti
As the final model took their seat on the runway sofa and the live singer’s last note faded, the message was clear: Ole Ledimo has moved House of Olé beyond the stitch. By bringing the “behind-the-scenes” directly onto the ramp, he proved that the future of South African luxury is not just about the clothes; it is about the collective power of the artists who bring them to life.
Vuvu Rating: 9/10
FEATURED IMAGE: Photo of a model surrounded by art pieces on the runway for the House of Olé, SAFW SS2026. Photo by: Daniella Ripamonti
The play Sophiatown balances the tragedy of displacement and forced removals with the joys of human connection, jazz, singing and dancing.
It is Saturday, April 11, 2026, and the theatre kid in me is geeking throughout the entire experience of witnessing the revival of Sophiatown on stage. A legacy, a history so rich, words cannot begin to describe the greatness embodied through the characters, the storytelling and the finer details that reflected the true intentionality in honouring and remembering Sophiatown.
Upon arrival, I was excited and deeply curious about what the play Sophiatown would actually be about. The audience sat in the lounge area of the Wits Theatre, anticipating the journey we were about to embark for the next two hours. Chatter and joy filled the lobby as we patiently waited for the show to start.
Boy, were we in for a true treat! Drum rolls and a groovy jazz tune is how we were introduced to Sophiatown, a fitting opening for a place known for its sonically rich cultural heritage and legacy. One of the main characters, Jack, took us back in time. It is the 1950s: typewriter on the desk, a bookshelf in the background, blue lights and the interior of a warm family home, await the rest of the characters.
Jack, an aspiring journalist, resurrects the legacy of Drum magazine by calling out names of the 1950 Drum legends such as: Can Themba, Lewis Nkosi, Bloke Modisane, and Todd Matshikiza, he highlights how they paved the way for African storytelling in Sophiatown at that point in time. Soon after, the rest of the characters join in on a chorus and soothes our ears with a sweet melody, the peanut gallery begins to cheer, and we have officially taken off.
The play is truly nothing short of amazing, and it importantly showcases how Sophiatown can never be solely understood through a singular lens or a singular story. It is culturally rich, consisting of diverse people, multiple races and different lived experiences. We are taken through a story of history, as the play reflects the severity of living under the apartheid regime which pushed for racial segregation and alienation. As one of the main characters Mingas says, “Sophiatown is not just about clubs and jazz, it is about war.”
The play explores the plight of BantuEducation, and the complexities of interracial relationships as we see through the arrival of a white Jewish girl, Ruth Golden, who is originally from Yeoville. She finds herself in Sophiatown after seeing an advertisement in the Drum magazine for the “diamond lady, number 17.”
Ruth’s presence at 65 Gerty Street in Sophiatown reflects the different living conditions between the white people and black people. Ruth is forced to adapt to life in Sophiatown, in a smaller house where everyone shares rooms, it enhances the complex relational dynamics between characters such as Lulu and Princess, Mingas, Jack and Fafi and the mother who all occupy the home.
Above all else, the play highlights the brutality of forced removals in Sophiatown with reference to the Native Resettlement Act of 1954. The apartheid regime used to remove black people from their homes, through bulldozing houses and destroying the infrastructure. The wound of displacement is so deeply felt by the audience as the characters are forcefully moved to Meadowlands.
Actors of Sophiatown play on stage. Photo by: Sikelelekile Pahlana
The play effectively and harmoniously balances light-heartedness through humour, singing and dancing with the seriousness of how violent the apartheid regime was.
The play asks to be remembered, embraced, and treated as a real point in time because it was and forever will be. We are urged into carrying the memory of Sophiatown with us and be conscious enough to ensure we never forget the pain, the joy and the collective fight it took for us to taste freedom, not idealistically yet in reality – to feel the things, the legends of those times always hoped to one day be a witness to.
I spoke to the writer, Malcolm Purkey, who said the play Sophiatown was created 40 years ago, in 1986 and it still stands today, a true testimony to its importance and relevance. When I asked him what he wanted people to take away from the play, he said, “If we found the right way, we could live together with respect. The gap of poverty and inequality is still there, and the war is not over,” Sophiatown reminds us of our common humanity and truly reflects the times, with dignity.
We are reminded, as Don Mattera once articulated, “Memory is a weapon!” Our history, South African history awaits you on the stage, it is worthwhile to go check it out and experience it for yourself. The play runs from April 11 to May 8, 2026. You will laugh, you may shed a tear, yet you will not regret it.
Vuvu Rating: 10/10.
FEATURED IMAGE: Picture of stage during Sophiatown play. Photo by: Sikelelekile Pahlana
A deeply human reflection on fathers and sons, masculinity, healing and what gets passed down through generations
Imran Hamdulay’s feature debut, The Heart Is A Muscle, is a moving exploration of intergenerational passing, the complexities of masculinity and the relationship between fathers and sons. Set within Cape Town’s layered history, the film was South Africa’s official entry for Best International Feature Film at the 98th Academy Awards (Oscars) 2026.
The Cape Flats, an area shaped by apartheid and systematic marginalisation, has been misrepresented in cinema. It is often reduced to a single narrative of crime and conflict. Hamdulay pushes against this stereotype. The history of violence is acknowledged but never dramatised. Instead, he reflects on fear, hope and defiance. The Cape Flats feels like more than just a setting, it becomes a character in itself. Fractured but resilient, carrying its complexities, dignity and fragile connections.
During a Johannesburg screening at The Bioscope Independent Cinema on March 11, Hamdulay was in attendance and explained how the story was inspired by a real-life incident. While at a barbecue, he saw a friend’s son briefly go missing. In that moment, Hamdulay witnessed fear and anger in his friend like never before. This sparked his curiosity and the film’s narrative, which begins with a young couple discovering their five-year-old son has disappeared. The story continues to follow Ryan, the young father, as he confronts his own brokenness, masculinity and the unspoken histories passed down through generations.
Still from The Heart Is A Muscle. Photo: Supplied/The Bioscope
Shot entirely on location, it captures both Cape Town’s grittiness and colour. Hamdulay has explained that he tried to lead every part of the production with kindness. From the set, the shoot, the camera, to the performances. The cinematography reflects this, emphasising intimate, character-driven storytelling. Imagery such as the ocean creates feelings of isolation and unresolved emotions. Close-ups reveal personal histories through subtle traits. Instead of over-rehearsing, a lot of time was spent discussing the characters beforehand and how the actors themselves related to the story. Keenan Arrison, cast as Ryan, delivers a raw, lived-in performance, and the film’s emotion lies in the pauses, silences and gestures.
Still from The Heart Is A Muscle. Photo: Supplied/The Bioscope
The film asks: What do we inherit from our fathers? And how can we become better versions of ourselves in difficult circumstances? Masculinity is usually discussed through power and control, but Hamdulay looks at the importance of softness and healing. What begins in feelings of apprehension transitions into a meditative reflection, heightened by a score that balances tension and vulnerability.
Although the film is set in South Africa, The Heart is a Muscle also speaks to an international audience. At its core, it is a reflection on belonging. It is not only about fathers and sons but about facing inherited pain and finding a path to forgiveness and change. Hamdulay has created a film that is intimate, layered and deeply human.
FEATURED IMAGE: The Heart Is A Muscle poster. Photo: Supplied/The Bioscope
An exhibition that forces one to look at the duality of society and confront the chaos of reality
On April 9, the Wits Art Museum (WAM) opened its doors to “Now is not Forever” an exhibition by the artist Theresa-Anne Mackintosh. The art pieces are more than just sculptures and paintings on the wall; it was figures and strokes that represented the chaos and disorder of society and reality.
Walking into WAM on opening night, one is immediately drawn to the vinyl writing on the wall. It explains who the artist is, what the exhibit includes and what the expectations of the artist are for the viewer when interpreting her work.
Now is not Forever, wall of description. Photo by Keletso Zwane.
Mackintosh included two forms of her work in the exhibition. The first being paintings, which are some of her older works. These required me to look beyond the canvas and challenge my ideas of what was on that wall. Ideas that art can only be consumed at the surface, and that art needs to make sense and be pretty. Art can be unconventional.
The pieces that truly caught my attention were three pieces that included figures mimicking the morality of life. These were titled “hear no evil”, “see no evil” and “do no evil” and included figures having had various parts of their bodies, related to the action painted over.
One used the ears to hear, the eyes to see, and the hands to do, and these in Theresa’s work were painted over. It was visually stunning. The erasure of these elements meant that they are no longer in use, thus evil could not be heard, done or seen.
The second form included sculptures, embodying Mackintosh’s alter egos. At first, they were simply appealing to the eye. The colours were vivid, and the figures were intriguing. However, art did what art does best and challenged me to interpret what the sculptures represented, not just to the creator of the art but the consumer as well.
And I, having been the observer for the night, was subjected to understanding that these figures had represented familiarity. These sculptures are recognisable figures, dogs, people, dolls – all things that I have seen, felt, and engaged with.
Picture of sculptures at exhibit. Photo by Keletso Zwane.
The inclusion and coupling of both sculptures and paintings in the exhibition was phenomenal. The art was anthropomorphic, it hurt, it was dysfunctional and embodied the disorder of society, of history, it almost seemed to reproduce reality.
Picture of one of the sculptures displayed at Now is not Forever. Photo by Keletso Zwane.
Even if you wanted to look at the exhibition as a way to distract yourself, Mackintosh’s work forced you to look further than the surface.
Vuvu rating: 9/10
FEATURED IMAGE: Picture of a girl taking a photo of the art at the exhibit. Photo by Keletso Zwane.
Since her announcement as the Democratic Alliance’s mayoral candidate for Johannesburg, Helen Zille has dominated national headlines. In this bonus episode of We Should Be Writing podcast, hosts Lulah Mapiye and Bonolo Mokonoto dissect a media meet-and-greet with the mayoral hopeful. From her extensive political résumé to her controversial public utterance, we examine why the Democratic Alliance has chosen Hellen Zille as their candidate for the 2027 local mayoral elections. Additionally, […]
