Play. Play. Play.
Something so innate to the artist. We are born with creative wings until the world clips them. Perhaps that’s what I liked the most about this year’s theme. Or maybe it’s because it reminded me of children, whose uninhibited imagination is something I envy. How they play without rules, without fear of judgement, without the weight of the world pressing against their choices.
But what does it mean to play when you are an artist?
At this year’s Investec Art Fair, the artists interpreted Play in strikingly different ways. Some explored it as a joyful, unburdened space, while others, like Zenaèca Singh, weaved in complex themes of violence, gender roles, the sugar economy’s lingering legacy, history, and identity. What stood out for me was a common thread: We are all children at heart, though not all of us are afforded the same freedoms to play.
Isheanesu Dondo brought an esoteric and philosophical approach to the idea of Play. A self-taught Zimbabwean artist, Dondo’s work blends mythology, spirituality, and science into intricate pen-and-ink drawings filled with longing and symbolism. His influences, spanning from ancient Egyptian Hermetic Philosophy to Shona divination practices, create a deeply layered exploration of play as both a metaphysical and intellectual pursuit. His work does not just depict play – it questions its foundations, drawing parallels between the cosmic and the human, the spiritual and the tangible.
Play as privilege
For some, play is liberation. For others, play is a mask – a performance to survive, a tool to navigate a world that resists the idea of joy as a birthright.
The fair challenged this idea. Some works leaned into the concept of play as resistance, a way to reimagine identities beyond imposed structures. Others questioned the dichotomy of who gets to play and who does not – how certain communities have the privilege to experiment, to create for the sake of creating, while others must justify their presence at every turn.
Andrew Mogridge, for instance, used ceramics to highlight the absurdity of power. His pieces, infused with dark humour, played with authority and its fragility, inviting the audience to engage with the ridiculousness of control. His work acted as a reminder that play, when wielded right, can be an act of subversion.
Play as inheritance
Masonwabe Ntloko’s words echoed throughout my thoughts as I walked through the exhibits:
“I value being my mother’s and grandmother’s child more than I value being an artist.”
What if play is more than just fun? What if it is an act of remembrance? Of honouring those who came before us? For many artists who exhibited, play isn’t just about the self – it’s a thread connecting them to lineage, to ancestry, to stories once told around firelight. It is an extension of oral histories, of resistance, of survival.
Zana Masombuka, also known as Ndebele Superhero, beautifully demonstrated this. Her work combined traditional Ndebele beading with modern technology, creating a striking dialogue between the past and the present. Through her pieces, play became a form of cultural preservation, a celebration of what remains and what evolves.
Play as a question
When I watch children play, it reminds me of something I think we all tend to forget: play isn’t just an act; it’s a right. A space of freedom, of possibility, of becoming. But is it one that we are ever truly afforded?
Ronald Muchatuta’s work interrogated this further, using his own experiences as a refugee to question the accessibility of play. His deeply personal yet universal reflections on migration and displacement highlighted the limitations placed on certain bodies, the realities that make play feel like a luxury rather than an instinct.
This year’s fair didn’t just celebrate play – it questioned it. And perhaps that’s the most powerful kind of play there is.
