Justice Mukheli is a South African filmmaker, photographer, and creative entrepreneur whose career includes directing Ballantine’s 2021 Stay True campaign and showing his work at the 2019 Also Known As Africa art fair in Paris. Born in Soweto, Mukheli’s Venda heritage informs his storytelling, which took off in 2010 with personal photo projects. A gifted Canon camera sparked his mission to challenge stereotypes and reframe Black South African narratives. He recently shared insights with BubblegumClub on childhood, fatherhood and creative practice.
Thembeka Heidi Sincuba: When did the “art bug” first bite you? What are those first memories of art, and realising this is the path you’re going to take?
Justice Mukheli: I mean as a little kid, I think early primary school, I was still quite interested in science. I don’t know why, but then I remember my dad used to love and enjoy playing music with us on weekends whilst we were busy with our chores … and we were listening to jazz this one time on a Saturday afternoon sitting around the table and it was Blue Note that we were listening to, I think. And he made a drawing of my brother and I sitting beside him and looking at this record and when I looked at it, I was five, six years old at the time, it looked exactly like the three of us. It was accurate, it was amazing. And in that moment, I remember thinking “Oh, dad can draw, it means that I can draw, it means that I’m an artist”. Then when I went to school and we had drawing assignments, I would do drawing assignments forever because I just had the confidence of saying. “Oh, my dad can draw. I can’t draw too.” So, that’s when it started.
THS: And were you in an environment that made you believe, “Okay since I enjoy drawing, this can really be a path for me career-wise?”
JM: To be honest, I wouldn’t say that because I grew up in Soweto, and I’m 39, 40 now. … And in that time art wasn’t seen as a career one pursues so every parent was nervous. Even school teachers there wouldn’t encourage kids to be artists. So it became something I enjoyed to do but it wasn’t something I thought would be a career I pursue and it turned into my livelihood. The only part of that environment that was allowing for me to turn this into what it has become was my mother. She was super understanding, and she understood that my twin brother and I are unique and she would always encourage us that no matter what teachers would say about how dumb we are or how incapable we are, with academics, we must always remember that we are unique and we are special and that we’ll always find a way that will get us to the best of who we are in the world. So my mom has always been that supporting source that believed, even when it didn’t make sense.
THS: To what extent do you consider yourself self-taught, and to what extent do you feel like your education or training has influenced your practice currently?
JM: In hindsight and especially after so much resentment and anger towards what felt like the education system failed me, more recently I’ve felt like education had a huge contribution in what I’ve become because of the limitations of who I was, and how I performed as a student in a conventional school highlighted even more so to me that my path isn’t in academics. My path should be in what I’m passionate about and what I’m good at naturally, which are the arts. I can sit here and say the education system failed me because they never took notice of my brain type and what my strengths were. And they tried to make me fit into a circle when I was a square. But those challenges led me to lean in deeper into what was meant for me. So I’m super grateful for the education system and its contribution as much as, for the most part, I saw it as a painful experience.
THS: You talk about this idea of the 10,000-hour rule. Do you feel that being persistent and continuing to practice is a big part of how you trained yourself?
JM: Let me just go back to that other question because I didn’t answer the self-taught part. For me to be self-taught was just for me to try to get myself into a better place. So I learned a lot from the likes of YouTube. Luckily at the time, there was a library in my community where I could go and look for things and download a lot of images and things. But I would later reappropriate and copy and practice. Then I was also fortunate enough to meet people who became mentors, that helped me see things differently, especially with my journey and what became not succeeding at school. I found a mentor who was working in the advertising industry, and he was able to help steer my journey into what made a lucrative career for me.
As for the 10,000-hour rule, I encountered it in a book that my mentor advised my brother and I to get. It was a book by Malcolm Gladwell, and that book is called Outliers (2008). We studied and broke down how the greats in the world became what they became and what it took. And the argument in that book is basically that practice can always outdo talent. And the way you do that is you put in the hours. And for you to be great at whatever you want to be great at, you need to put in a minimum of a thousand hours … And if you do that you will be able to be great.
THS: Outliers and other books like Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang (2010) influence your practice. Do you think it’s important for artists to be reading and drawing from these different influences to make their practice better?
JM: In my opinion, every individual has what works for them. I’m an individual that for me, [what works is] reading and researching, and looking at what other people are doing—looking at history, learning my skill. There was that in my life when not leaning into researching and understanding what other people are doing… what I’m trying to do helped me. But now I feel like what I need the most is learning about the history of this work that I’m doing. Learning about the craft—about how the greats have done it, learning different techniques. Reading books that inspire me and give me different perspectives is something that works for me now… so, I can say, yeah, no, people should do what they find beneficial for them at that particular time.
THS: And I’m sure you often get the question about the dynamic between yourself and your brother. And as much as I am going to ask this question, I’m also curious about the differences between the two of you. Whether there’s that level of tension and level of competition. And what makes your creative processes distinct from each other?
JM: As much as we are twins and we have the same interests—we are both in film, we are both in photography—with all those interests, we are still individuals. We are still exploring different subjects. We explore the different subjects with different mediums. For example, as a painter, my preferred medium is oil paint. And my brother who is also a painter, his mediums are acrylic, pastels and charcoal. And his subjects, as much as we are both doing figuration, he’s unpacking mostly things about family, about motherhood, about children and their innocence, and the strength of women and community. And the subjects I look at are spirituality, sexuality. I look at what sexuality means to me without the influences of the society and what’s expected of me. So I would say as much as we are twins, we have really different approaches, different mediums, and outlooks to what we do.
THS: Another question, which I’m sure is quite cliché at this point, is how Soweto lives in your work. There are so many legendary artists from Soweto so it’s a long lineage. And again, my question is how it plays out in your work, but also what is different about its influence in your practice specifically?
JM: It changes. When I started the influence was different to what the influence is to me [now]. I look at that space as a space that has shaped the man I became. A lot of what was expected of me [was influenced by] the men I saw, my friends, the men that were my mentors, and my uncles, my father, and everyone comes from there so its influence is very much innate. And sometimes the influence to me now is dismantling those notions and beliefs and views that I learned. Some I took on intentionally and some unintentionally. So I’m in a place where what I do is objectively step back and look at how it has shaped me and ask myself the question: “What of this is mine?”
THS: There’s a very deep sense of interdisciplinarity in your work. We spoke about the literature, but you’re also interested in food, film and fashion. Is there a moment—is it painting, perhaps—where everything sort of comes together?
JM: Yeah, I mean the place where it all comes together for me is film. That’s the medium that challenges me the most. It fulfils me the most. Because, through film, as you said, I can explore food, fashion, my sexuality, my art. Film is limitless and I love being limitless. Because I’m interested in so many things, I don’t like being in a box.
THS: But there’s something very much like being in a box or even limiting about the idea of masculinity. Or at least the conventional idea of masculinity and the sort of societal expectations that come from that conventional definition of masculinity. How does the exploration of masculinity come out in your creativity?
JM: Firstly I agree that masculinity and how it’s defined, how we’re expected to be men is very much rigid and boxed. It’s a tough place to be in for many. But my work allows me to look at my masculinity and all the expectations of it. I want to redefine it and my work is that platform that gives me that. I realise that I’m not alone in asking these questions. I’m not alone in feeling ridiculed by my own actions—or maybe how I grew up. Growing up with this idea of what it means to be a man. I grew up as such a tough and hard nut. And I thought that was the best way to be as a man: you need to be hard; you need to be inaccessible; a man doesn’t smile; a man doesn’t cry; a man is not kind; a man needs to be feared, you know? And once I asked myself those questions, I got to the other side of that and I felt lighter. It’s important to me to create a space where other men can have the opportunity to ask themselves those questions too, so they can feel what I have felt.
THS: I also see a very strong generational throughline in your practice. We’ve spoken a bit about your father and how your father had a big hand in your relationship with art. But you’ve also recently encountered fatherhood yourself. But also, as a photographer, I think photography has a very strong lineage in South Africa, and we can see some of these characters as fathers of photography in South Africa, you know? And you’re sort of going to be someone’s photographic father as you’re practising now and in the future. So I was curious about that idea—not just masculinity itself, but also this very cultural notion of fatherhood in South Africa and how you engage with it as you practice.
JM: Fatherhood is such a complex space in South Africa and for many reasons. Part of the reasons being that fathers of my skin colour are not seen in the most beautiful light. There are narratives about them not being great and this, and this. I think it’s such an unfortunate thing because I don’t think a great majority of Black fathers are not great fathers. I mean there’s also a systemic issue that happened through the historical context, with apartheid that created broken homes. Right? But anyway, with all this beautiful future we are living in, and all the blood sweat and tears—the likes of Biko, Mandela, Sobukwe, and Tambo have allowed us the opportunity to redefine things like this. To push back on these notions and be better fathers and better men for our communities and the world.
Fatherhood for me is quite important because I myself am a product of a father that has left me. And that left me with a wound I needed to go seek healing for. So some of the work I do with my photography, my painting, and my film is a process of healing. It’s a journey of asking myself the questions and sometimes the work gives me the answers. Some answers I find are ones I wasn’t willing to hear or wanting to hear. So fatherhood is quite key, and it’s a beautiful encounter in my life. I can’t tell you how amazing it is now that I am a father. It’s been a dream for so long. But I’m grateful that it came at a time when I was prepared. I had done the work to heal these traumas so that when I spend time with my daughter, she’s not triggered by my past. I’m able to be present.
THS: I’m sure you’ve noticed, there are more and more photographers every day. And it seems like a very accessible route for some, but to find success that most are drawn to is probably not as easy as they imagine. Do you have some words for people out there who see the success that you’ve gotten and just want to be like you?
JM: I would say it’s easy, but also not easy. And I’ll talk about the easy part… There’s no new idea under the sun. There’s always a blueprint. And you can take that blueprint and apply it in your life. For example, if you want to be a photographer, you can look at all your favourite photographers, maybe let’s say in South Africa, in the world. Ask yourself what is common about them and what have they done that I haven’t done better? What makes them who they are? And there are a few things to look at then. Maybe they have portfolios and that becomes the thing that sells them to the world. Then once you make a portfolio for yourself, then look at other things. Like, “Oh, they have websites.” Once you’ve got a website, you need a bio. Or the guys that are making a lot of money have agents— “How do I get an agent?” The hard part is that you need to be consistent in pursuing that.
THS: Any exciting new projects of work that we can look forward to?
JM: My focus lately has been on film. So I’m doing a lot of film work rather than painting. And then the other thing as you’ve seen on my social media—fatherhood is the thing I’m working on and it’s the most incredible thing on earth. Like, looking at my daughter’s eyes and looking at her look back at me—Jesus! I don’t know if there’s anything that can top that. I used to be a very stressed person with things like money and career. I’m a person that worries a lot. And I met my daughter for the first time and I held her and she looked I looked at her and my heart was at ease. I just knew that everything would be okay. This is all I’ve ever dreamt of.
Having witnessed Mukheli’s practice evolve, his portraits—featuring ghost-like, fluid forms that explore African identity, masculinity, ancestry, and spirituality—are a sign of what’s to come. Reflecting on the historical challenges faced by Black bodies while emphasising the reclamation of space and audacious success, Mukheli continues to build new bodies of work for exhibitions and films. Beyond being a creative force and role model in Joburg, he is now building a legacy for his daughter and the countless young artists who are fortunate to follow his warm blueprint.
