“For me, the studio is the central place in my work, a personal place in the literal and figurative sense. The studio guards the artist’s uncertainty, ambiguity, guards the way of thinking. Life outside the studio is much more difficult than inside. That was what I wanted to show you from the very first moment you came.”

William Kentridge addresses Mateo Lopez. The 45-year-old Colombian visual artist still doesn’t seem to believe his luck, which offered him such a generous apprenticeship with one of the world’s greatest artists of our time. Now they are sitting side by side in the lobby of an Athens hotel, he is his mentor and his protégé as part of the Rolex mentorship program, which this year marks the end of the 20th anniversary of the Rolex Arts Festival in Greece.

“I never realized that the studio can be not only a physical space, but also a place of contemplation. Before that, I worked very isolated. That was the first thing I learned from you – an open studio,” Lopez replies.

The plan united them, but at the same time they had many differences. “Matteo’s work is precise, I have spent a lot of time watching him paint. I came to the conclusion that he has very thin fingers, and I have thick ones, like potatoes. So I thought, “Let’s make a big splash.” Mr. Kentridge has a sense of humor and external severity. Very intelligent light eyes under thick white eyebrows. Structured mind, broad education, cultural speech; son of a family of prominent jurists known in his native South Africa for his support of human rights during the apartheid years.

“You don’t like order, you prefer disorder,” I say as he bites into the cookie that comes with his coffee.

“The truth is that I want to try everything in practice, to see it in the flesh. I’m not someone who comes up with one idea, then another, and another. A thought is born, and I automatically take a piece of paper and start drawing. Or I’m looking for a text from a book or a piece of music. Therefore, there is immediacy of thought and action. I was talking to someone today about the frieze of the Parthenon, and while I was telling him the story he describes, it occurred to me that something needs to be done about the east pediment. I was wondering what kind of work it would be: performance, sculpture, shadows? Maybe Athena comes out of Zeus’ head? It may be kitsch, but I would try. And then I started thinking about what materials I would use to implement the idea.”

I was talking to someone about the frieze of the Parthenon. I thought something should be done about the east front. I was wondering what kind of work it would be: performance, sculpture, shadows?

“But aren’t there certain patterns that you like to return to?”

“I don’t like repetition, but I’ll be damned if it happens. I would like new ideas, images, themes. In fact, sometimes for a moment it seems to me that I have something new. And then when I work on it, I find that I have done it before many years ago. It’s unavoidable. Indeed, I have been using shadows for many years. Will I ever get away from them? I try but they come back just like charcoal drawings. Fortunately, I know my materials well because I have worked with them many times. I walk around the studio, take familiar objects and think about what story they will now tell.

“Are you a white artist from South Africa? Just an artist?

“The history of my country and especially the history of colonialism is often found in my work. I work in southern Africa, and Europe is behind me. You can accept it or resist it. There are complex relationships with South Africa’s past. With what whites can and should see and what blacks see, how much of African culture belongs to each group. There is an open discussion and a lot of disagreement here. I personally believe that the entire cultural heritage of this place, the so-called African and Western – literature, poetry, art – should be available to everyone.

Are you in a hurry to return to Johannesburg?

“It used to be very tiring to go to the studio. When I was younger, I felt lost looking for what to do, how to do it. Now I’m in a hurry because I feel like I don’t have enough time. I have some urgent work. I sometimes say to myself: “Stop.” I have to cook food, see some people. Otherwise, I would never have left there.”