The mosaic as a symbol of joint action

South Africa is still regarded today as a symbol of a difficult but remarkable journey from oppression to reconciliation. The transition from apartheid to a democratic society was praised worldwide for its process of truth and reconciliation – as a symbol of tolerance, healing and the attempt to shape a common future out of deep social divisions. During apartheid, the majority of the population was systematically disenfranchised: excluded from access to education, kept out of leadership positions and severely restricted in their artistic expression. Criticism was brutally suppressed, resistance crushed, and many activists imprisoned. Change did not come about through an internal shift in racist ideology, but through international pressure, economic decline and tireless resistance from within. Finally, in 1994, Nelson Mandela's election marked the end of the regime. Art and sport became the ‘vuvuzelas’ of the African National Congress, led by Mandela. They served as powerful symbols of political unity, embodying a collective sense of ‘we’ and reinterpreting places of deep trauma.

Constitution Hill in the heart of Johannesburg is an impressive example. The once notorious apartheid prison, where figures such as Nelson Mandela and Mahatma Gandhi were imprisoned, was converted into the seat of the South African Constitutional Court. Built on the remains of the prison, the courthouse is rich in symbolism of human rights and reconciliation. The court's art collection, which was started in 1994 by the first eleven judges, now includes more than 800 works, mostly by South African artists. Constitution Hill is thus not only the seat of the Constitutional Court, but also a cultural space – a place for events and public art.

But how has art in public space developed since then? Who finances it, who becomes visible, and which art forms have prevailed? David Koloane, a black South African painter, wrote extensively about the position of black artists after apartheid and their role in society. He emphasises that ‘despite the miracle of the new order – Nelson Mandela's national reconstruction and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission’ – ethnic division and immense inequalities in South Africa's art sector" persist (p. 119). To this day, galleries and public art funding are still strongly influenced by white South Africans or international institutions such as the Goethe-Institut. Art by black artists from rural areas without formal training is disparagingly categorised as ‘township art’. There are structural reasons behind this: the continuing economic divide between ethnic groups, unequal access to art education, lack of access to basic materials, neo-colonial influences from foreign art funding and racist clichés.

Mosaic art connects these struggles and exemplifies the complexity of artistic practice in a country that still suffers from its apartheid past and is simultaneously grappling with current political difficulties. Artist Neo Ramushu, who is involved in the development of public art projects nationwide and works with mosaics, describes: ‘In Johannesburg, South Africa – the “city of gold” – the gold rush attracted people from all over the world. They brought with them their knowledge of architecture, art and materials, which shaped the infrastructure and architectural style, often as an expression of their cultural identity.’ Mosaic was one of these forms of expression. The colonists brought it to South Africa. Despite this background, ‘mosaic continues to play a major role in South African public art today.’

Neo is an abstract artist who works with various materials, particularly those from mining, to address the racist history of the raw materials industry, current workers' rights and his own heritage rooted in this region. Mosaic is not his primary medium, but it "reflects something in his own work: a sense of freedom of movement without restrictions ... It has transformed spaces, promoted social change – evolving from its original function to a medium for free expression, freedom of movement and equality." His approach to mosaic is participatory: he collaborates with large groups

to create collective works of art. This practice becomes a form of intergenerational art education, bringing people together to develop their artistic practice and jointly design public spaces. In collaboration with the Spaza Art Gallery, Neo has repaired potholes with mosaics, restored damaged works in public spaces, implemented a public mosaic project with 400 students from the University of the Witwatersrand, and participated in participatory art actions as part of the redevelopment of the Wilds Nature Reserve. Here, mosaic becomes much more than mere decoration; it becomes a symbol of repair and collective action in public space.

As a next step, Neo is planning a public art project on Constitution Hill in collaboration with Berlin-based Mosaizistas (Fanziska Schock, Paulina von Halle). The aim is to create a large-format mosaic that addresses the importance of human rights and will be presented as part of the Constitution Hill Human Rights Festival in 2026. Children from schools in Hillbrow will be involved in the development. Hillbrow, once a place of revolutionary struggle, is now a neglected neighbourhood marked by crime and poverty. While investment in infrastructure is largely lacking there, Constitution Hill, with its museums and important works of art, is considered a lively tourist magnet. Neo sees potential in this contrast: ‘The neighbourhood is a testament to how important it is to preserve places of horror for posterity and, at the same time, redesign them so that they can serve the needs of the present and help shape the future.’ It is a potential that many of the artworks on Constitution Hill have already recognised.

Two existing mosaics there illustrate both the possibilities and the tensions of South African art in public spaces. The columns of the courthouse, reminiscent of South African trees, are decorated with mosaics in the form of seed capsules, thorns and leaves. The project was designed by Jane Du Rand, supported by a large team (including Nandipha Baduza, Sandile Cele, Alvina Chonco, Zama Dunywa, Paul Figuero, Raksha Gobardan, Thando Mama, Vukani Mpanza and Tanja van Zyl). Symbolically, the constitution is carried here by trees and provides a space for ‘justice under the tree’. However, despite its impressive imagery, the project also reveals a structural pattern: white artists conceive, while black artists execute.

In the neighbouring museum, the former prison courtyards, is Gerhard Marx's work ‘Vertical Aerial – Johannesburg’. A 3-tonne mosaic installation depicting an aerial view of Johannesburg. Marx's practice of "transforming visual certainties into new spatial worlds of imagination" is intended to map paths into the future.

But this future continues to be strongly shaped by the white minority, influenced by preconceived concepts, opaque funding sources and corruption. As a result, these ‘imaginary worlds’ remain inaccessible to many. Constitution Hill and its art in urban spaces offer a fertile ground for critical engagement with symbolic politics conveyed through art and a nationalistic sense of ‘we’.

A politics that shapes the country's course and the idea of reconciliation. A process that has now completely distanced itself from questions of justice and reparation. Nevertheless, there are artists like Neo who are developing alternatives through participatory projects to make public space more accessible and equitable.