South African Artists Bear Rising Cost of Preserving Own Visual Legacy

Diliza Moabi spent R65,000 filming a single Samthing Soweto concert at Soweto Theatre. That figure, covering equipment and crew alone, before post-production costs mounted, captures something essential about who is actually paying to preserve South African visual culture.

The answer, increasingly, is the creators themselves.

Filmmakers, photographers, and designers are financing the documentation of the continent’s creative output from their own pockets, often at profound personal expense, while the institutional infrastructure that once supported such work has contracted sharply. The collapse of Showmax in April 2026 made that contraction impossible to ignore. The streaming platform had reached 2.1 million subscribers across 44 African markets by the end of 2023, briefly overtaking Netflix as the continent’s biggest streamer. Its French owners, Canal+, shut it down and wrote off a R4.9 billion annual trading loss as an “expensive failure,” in the words of CEO Maxime Saada. Meanwhile, the national broadcaster struggles to commission new work, leaving independent creators to shoulder the burden of preservation alone.

Moabi has spent three decades working across television, cinema, the festival circuit, and advertising as a producer, director, editor, and cinematographer. His work interrogates the Black condition, particularly in South Africa and across the continent. Despite critical recognition, earning a comfortable living from his craft remains elusive. His archive spans pivotal moments in the careers of Simphiwe Dana, Bongeziwe Mabandla, Cassper Nyovest, and AKA, among others. Now in his mid-forties, he has shifted his thinking. He speaks of wanting to license his archive to the SABC, and the bitterness he once felt about the industry has given way to pragmatism.

He is candid about his own role in the difficulty. “I can’t blame that world one hundred percent. I need to shoulder the blame too,” he tells OkayAfrica. He never learned to navigate the boardroom or speak the language of institutional power. He sees now that both worlds depend on each other: the suits need artists to generate revenue, and artists need the infrastructure those suits build to flourish.

The financial toll is concrete and staggering. A week or two of shooting in Senegal to document Tumi and the Volume cost him approximately R55,000. A seven-camera shoot at the Market Theatre for Thandi Ntuli, multiple trips to Mozambique to film 340ml, a journey to Zanzibar with Kwani Experience: all financed from his own pocket. No institution underwrote any of it.

Photographer Lerato Pakade approaches the work differently but with equal sacrifice. Built in the corporate world, she brings clarity about what is at stake for those in power, yet she remains willing to lead with her heart. Her relationship with artist Titi Luzipo, whom she has documented consistently for over three years, transcends monetary value. She has photographed Luzipo at the Joy of Jazz and during a Gloria Bosman tribute. “We’ve traveled such a long road together,” she says. “There’s an anointing here. There’s a reason we are together.” Like Moabi, Pakade centers care over commercial viability and community over profit.

For designer and creative director Phenyo “iindman” Kgaffe, the cost extends beyond any single line item. A single song requires a cover, an animated version, a teaser, lyric visuals, story assets, and ad creative, all designed to feel cohesive. Then the cycle repeats. “The real cost isn’t the design itself, it’s the consistency,” he explains. An edit he created for rapper AKA at age 16 gained viral attention, opening doors to work with Kwesta, Kabza De Small, and Maglera Doe Boy. Much of that early work was unpaid. “Sometimes you work with an artist for years for free, because you believe in them and you’re betting it turns into something later,” he says. He now recognizes he would structure such investments more carefully rather than simply pouring himself in and hoping for returns.

The cost of sustaining visual culture extends far beyond money. For Moabi, the emotional toll has been severe. Years of sacrifice sent him into a twenty-one-day inpatient psychiatric program, leaving his heart devastated. Yet he and others like him continue to show up.

His message to emerging creatives is pointed: do not view your world opportunistically, chasing mainstream channels while ignoring lesser-known creators. When artists gain prominence, they tend to vanish from their own ecosystems, leaving small filmmakers and content creators without access to document their continued evolution. The archive depends on those willing to sustain it, often at costs that institutions refuse to bear.

The question that remains open is whether any institution will eventually decide that cost is worth sharing. For more on this conversation, see https://www.okayafrica.com/what-is-the-cost-of-sustaining-south-african-visual-culture/1438128.