For 5 hours, I dove into the mind of a prolific artist at a Toronto gallery. Here's what I saw inside

So, when we’re invited into his studio in “Self-Portrait as a Coffee Pot,” Kentridge’s nine-part video exhibition filmed over the course of two years, in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, we’re essentially invited into his mind. 

Inside is a world of unbridled imagination. Ideas ricochet from Kentridge’s mind onto the page like a pinball flying through an arcade machine. We watch as Kentridge constructs order out of chaos. Sooty splotches of charcoal, haphazardly splayed across his canvas, gradually transform into beguiling landscapes. A tree emerges in the foreground. In the sky, birds soar. 

But “Self-Portrait” is more than merely a glimpse into Kentridge’s creative process. For nearly five hours, we also learn about his artistic philosophy, see him grapple with his self-doubt and watch as a sense of childlike whimsy takes over when Kentridge is in his element. 

What all this achieves is that it humanizes Kentridge, a prolific artist whose prints, paintings and theatre productions have been seen around the world. It shows that he, like any other artist and any one of us, is infallible, too. This is Kentridge at his most vulnerable. 

In the series’ first half-hour episode, we feel right there with him as he paces around his studio, fidgeting with his hands, stewing in the thoughts in his head. Procrastination has never felt more relatable. 

Koffler Arts’ exhibition of this work, now running through March, immerses the audience in Kentridge’s studio, with Dora Award-winning theatre designer Teresa Przybylski completely replicating his workspace. The first-floor gallery, with three TVs screening the video series, is filled with mismatched chairs, easels and work tables smeared with paint. When we enter this space, we’re invited to take off our shoes, slip on some slippers and warm up with a cup of tea. 

At times, Kentridge’s “Self-Portrait” succumbs to being overly earnest. Some episodes in the middle veer into the esoteric as he dives deeper into various philosophical ideas.

Mortality is one of these major themes, with the COVID-19 pandemic looming large over Kentridge’s film. He often mentions the latest death toll in his home country of South Africa, a number that continually climbs as the series progresses. It’s certainly chilling, though it seems that Kentridge can never come to terms with — or make sense of — of this spectre of death. (Then again, can’t we all, especially during the pandemic?) 

As is probably evident by now, “Self-Portrait” shouldn’t be experienced in one sitting. Instead, I watched it in chronological order over three days. (It can, however, be enjoyed in any order.) 

But other than these occasional lulls, Kentridge’s “Self-Portrait” is surprisingly funny, even cheeky. The piece is largely structured as a dialogue between two versions of Kentridge, overlaid with some stop-motion animation and glimpses at Kentridge as he works on various projects. (The film is cleverly edited and stitched together so that we see these two selves in the same frame.) 

Think of it as Kentridge’s version of a Socratic dialogue. This duo continually bickers, shares memories and retells old stories. Even in their contradictions, there are lessons to be learned. In one particularly moving vignette, they discuss the fickleness of memory. Can they even remember their late mother’s face?

Kentridge’s candidness and honesty are refreshing. And as we sit with him over these five hours, we watch him grapple with and re-evaluate his relationship with art. In many ways, so do we.