Sizwe Nyanga, who goes by the pseudonym Madzeni — is a voice that resists categorization. His work spans music, photography, writing, and performance, but to simply call him a “multidisciplinary artist” feels insufficient. For Sizwe, the medium is not the point. The message is. In this conversation, we explore his philosophies on art, identity, healing, and what it means to create while resisting the weight of expectation.
The Interview
Thandolwethu Mbatha (TM): So, the first question — you’ve been called a multidisciplinary creative. What does that mean for you at this point in your life?
Sizwe Nyanga (SN): Man, I wouldn’t really say multidisciplinary, because discipline is a serious word. To be “multi-discipline” means you’re obeying some kind of structure. But me, I just follow how I feel. I have a message, and I look for the medium that can best carry that message. If it feels like it should be a song, then I’ll make a song. If it feels like people need to see something, then I’ll make a film or take a photograph.
TM: So the medium is just the expression, but at the core is always the message?
SN: Exactly. The medium is the expression. The message can move across — the same thing could be a song, or a photo, or even a book. That’s how I became like this. I realized people don’t really care about your intelligence, your science, your knowledge. People care about perception — what they see, how they see you. So with each project, I was building a perception of myself. But later, I lost that way of doing things. That’s why after my book, it looked like I went quiet. Even with the book, it actually came about during the “men are trash” moment. I was watching a local documentary called “People vs. Patriarchy”. My problem with it was that it presented African culture itself as patriarchal. That was not entirely true. For example, in Malawi, when a man marries, he moves into the woman’s family home. That doesn’t look like patriarchy to me. So I wanted to show other factual sides of this by actually travelling to Malawi and documenting it. I wanted to show that things are not so simple.
TM: When you create, do you feel you’re expressing one identity across mediums, or do you see different identities in each?
SN: I think it’s different identities, because each medium has its own character. With music, I went through many names. People called me Shapeshifter, then Guy Shape. Later I realized I was being shaped by the crowd, so I didn’t want to be trapped by that. I even thought of calling myself Ka, but I felt too young to carry the title of a jazz musician. In the end, I understood: people believe in brands when they are named and identified. But me, I’ve resisted becoming a brand. My work has never been commercialized. It’s just been made available.
TM: Yet wouldn’t you say the message itself ties you to a single identity, even across different mediums?
SN: Maybe, but I don’t feel shaped by culture, because none of my work has been commercialized or packaged that way. Even when my music was played on radio, I never asked for it. It just happened. I know I’m a medium myself — something higher communicates through me. I don’t fully understand it, but I know I’m part of a prophecy. Before I was born, my mother was told she would have a son who would unite nations. Everything I do feels connected to that.
TM: Looking back at your journey, what moments stand out as turning points — moments of feeling lost or found?
SN: I feel lost whenever I’m in the township. Because there’s a world I see in my spirit — a world of beauty, cows, nature, life. But in the township, that’s cut off. I feel detached, like we’re not seeing life as it should be. But I felt found when I was broke in Mozambique. I didn’t know the language, had no money, but the love people gave me showed me something else. It reaffirmed the possibility of us living in that beautiful world I imagine.
TM: How do you think that environment — the township — has shaped your creative self?
SN: It shaped me to make art about unity. About togetherness. But sometimes I wish I could make art about things that don’t exist yet, you know? Worlds beyond struggle. Still, the environment pulls me back. It forces me to speak about survival, about us not knowing how we even got here. I once called a depression hotline after moving back to the township, and the the lady I spoke to just asked me — “What’s wrong with living in the township?” — that made me realize the depth of the problem. That shaped me too.
TM: Has creativity been a form of healing for you?
SN: Yeah. Especially music. That’s why I don’t perform often. My music comes from deep places — hurt, disappointment, heaviness. It heals me, but it’s not easy to share. I hide a lot of my work. I don’t make happy songs. Even Thand’izinto wasn’t happy. My songs come from pain.
TM: Recently you started learning new crafts and instruments. What has that meant for you?
SN: It’s been powerful. Starting again teaches me patience, and it shifts how I see myself. Even the way I dress now — it’s more aligned with how I feel. That’s something I didn’t notice before. It also made me realize branding sometimes happens unintentionally, just by living.
TM: What does success mean to you now?
SN: Success means doing what you want and being satisfied with the results. That’s it.
TM: And when you look ahead, how do you imagine your creative journey unfolding?
SN: I want to build new facts. People believe anything if it starts with “studies show…” So why can’t we create new facts? My art is about making people doubt what they think is fixed. I see it as social science, even if I don’t know the academic side. It’s like testing reality, shifting perception.
TM: Tell me about your upcoming music project.
SN: This one is exciting. I’m making it all on my phone. No studio, no equipment. Just me. It reminds me of before music was commercialized — raw and direct. I’ve always wanted this sound. I don’t make happy music, but this project feels like it’s exactly where I need to be.
Conclusion
Speaking with Sizwe is like stepping into a shifting mirror: the reflection changes depending on the angle, but the essence remains intact. He resists being boxed into a brand, yet his voice carries a consistent message of questioning, healing, and vision. Whether through a photograph, a song, or a book, his work is less about discipline and more about transmission — being a vessel for something larger than himself.
In a world quick to categorize and commercialize, Sizwe reminds us that art can remain free, personal, and prophetic. His message is clear: the medium may change, but the calling does not.