William Kentridge: Inside Out

I first stumbled upon William Kentridge's short, animated films back in 2006 during a visit to the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. While strolling through the capacious upper hallway, a flickering light caught my eye. Hypnotized, I approached the source and entered a semi-darkened room. Opposite an empty bench, haunting scenes from Felix in Exile (1994) and History of the Main Complaint (1996) flitted across the wall. Mesmerized by the beauty of Kentridge's artistry (charcoal drawings altered by a process of erasures and additions, which are then filmed frame by frame) and the unsettling depictions of life under apartheid, I sat watching, unable to withdraw my gaze. Even after tearing myself away from the room, I could not shake the graphic images from my head. Weighing…and Wanting (1998) and Journey to the Moon (2003), now on view at the St. Louis Art Museum, are equally gripping despite their lighter subject matter.

In Weighing...and Wanting protagonist Soho Eckstein, the mining magnate from History of the Main Complaint, ponders the past. Through a series of brain scans deep-seated memories are exposed, dissected, and examined. They reveal traces of an internal conflict Eckstein once endured as he struggled to balance the demands of his public and private life. The images, which shift gradually at first, violently transform as Eckstein vacillates between his love for a woman and his love for work. As he is compelled to choose, the mental discord overwhelms him destroying all that he holds dear. In the aftermath, Eckstein finds himself alone. Bereft of his human companion, he tenderly caresses a rock, unmistakably shaped like a human head. 

Journey to the Moon starts off as a whimsical light-hearted feature reminiscent of a silent film comedy. Kentridge stars as both artist and actor while his studio becomes the backdrop for a theatrical pantomime that pays homage to the French cinematic pioneer George Méliès. In the movie Kentridge's imagination takes him on a whimsical voyage into space. As his ideas take flight, espresso cups become a telescope, a coffee pot transforms into a rocket, strange hybrid figures dance across the moon's surface, drawings gracefully float into the air and Kentridge defies gravity as he playfully balances a chair on the tip of his index finger. Yet in spite of the film's fantastical nature there is a disquieting current of longing running through it.

The object of this yearning is once again a woman. Kentridge has extracted the female apparition from Eckstein's memory and has given it a corporeal form in Journey to the Moon. Despite her physicality, her lingering presence signifies absence; She seems to exist only in Kentridge's mind. It is unclear whether she is merely a figment of his vivid imagination or an inaccessible figure from his past. This confluence between the subconscious and the conscious is what makes Kentridge's work so captivating. In the recesses of his characters' minds the viewer explores the shadowy places where repressed thoughts and desires are buried and creativity is born.