It was inevitable. I've always known I was going to pursue something in the creative arts, because I have always spent time alone, and in a sense, use objects, and tools as friends. I grew up with a lot of animals around me, that also helped me figure out my sensory experience with objects outside of human beings.

I'm a painter. I mainly use acrylic and soil. I like a sculptural, raw element to my work. Also, to bring some kind of history into it by using raw material. Soil interacts really well with acrylic. It’s seamless in the sense that once you create the brushstroke or mix the colour it becomes sculptural and textural and plays with your senses. 

I say vernacular loosely and with respect, because it's not easy to achieve on existing structures. In Xhosa homes, you make your own floor with cow dung and cement. That is one of the techniques I borrowed in applying sand and acrylic on canvas, because it creates a motion that is so beautiful and consistent - you can't achieve that with a brush. There are folklore techniques that you would find when you build a house with mud and sticks. These are vernacular techniques that have existed longer than I have. This is part of the honouring process. These skills should not be overlooked. They should be evolved, to be applied to contemporary ways of creating, to keep the techniques alive.

When looking at vernacular architecture and how women, especially in communities, use the most simple ways of doing the toughest jobs, it then reminds you that if you have a blank canvas, you can use any material and still make it as evolved and sophisticated as anyone else. 

My practice has a lot of movement in it and I've created motion in the studio by working on multiple things at the same time and doing quite a few, but I understood that here I would be met with limitations. So oil was an intuitive decision, because I wanted to use it as a focus. By bringing oil in, I wanted to create gradients, shading, and create shadows and contrast within colour. Usually, I'm quite decisive about my colour choices. But where oil is concerned, it's a completely different relationship with colour, which I wanted to explore in depth.

I didn't know how vulnerable I was with choosing oil, until I got into the studio. I got impatient with the fact that I had no control over the paint. The consistency of the paint just didn't emulate the sculptural elements I'm used to, and without this, my focus was taken away from me and I was left bare. Because oil is a controlling medium, I had to enforce control in other parts of the process, and what tied it all together was the intentionality of my colour choices. 

I was humbled by the fact that I couldn't wing it. I had to go back into theory and the basics of oil painting. I got a little upset at that, because that's not the basis of my practice. My practice is about exploring folkloric techniques, and bringing them into the art. But because I wanted to explore oil, I needed to become a little more traditional. I had the option of bringing the two techniques together, and allowing them to create some kind of synergy. That took a while to get to because once you're humbled by something, you surrender to it, and then you then start creating from that point.

This residency was surrendering to the environment, surrendering to the medium, surrendering to the concept, surrendering to what is around me, surrendering to nature, surrendering to solitude, surrendering to sound, to music, to conversation, to no conversations. Knowing that I can reach within myself. It has taught me to keep the curiosity alive.

Proof of existence has always been one of the key themes in my work because of the fact that I come from a family that didn't necessarily have ‘proof of existence’, in photos, in language. My family are migrating Xhosa, people that have moved from the Eastern Cape to Lesotho and then all the way down into the Free State. So I think over centuries, while migrating into these different parts of the world, they lost and gained different ways of speaking and creating language for themselves.

However there was a sense of rootedness in the culture that they held onto, which is what I was born into. My father and mother created that kind of protection around us because they're both from migrating families through work and through labour, and working on farms during that time for my grandparents and great grandparents. It was pre-Apartheid, where you had to move for survival and had to leave a culture behind to be able to raise your kids. Along the journey, they lost a lot of belongings. They lost photos, they lost books, they lost language. And traces of what they did gain was just the fact that they had to adapt to the environment that they found themselves in. And so here I am.

I was raised around multiple languages and cultures, and it created a lot of uniqueness in the kind of person that I am. And that proof of existence is something I've always wanted to find for myself, and trace back the origins of who I am, without necessarily losing who I've adapted to be. When I was looking into vernacular architecture and ways of working, looking into folkloric, myths, stories, I was looking into history, but from a lens that didn't feel oppressed. And, that's how my practice has evolved over the years. Everything that has come into materiality brings a proof of existence that has allowed me to be reflective, and allow multiple realities to exist at the same time.

My figures are extensions of my future self, but also of my ancestors' spirits. I want that to come across in a subtle, less imposing way as often when we speak about ancestors it becomes this almost daunting experience.

You realise that there are certain behaviours, and thought patterns, that you couldn't have possibly done, unless it was repeated over time. Remembrance of an ancestor is literally remembering who has lived before you and understanding and honouring that you're here because of the steps that they have taken.

I like to create when I'm content, and I am light, and I'm exploring, and I'm curious. I try to find answers like a kid, I'm playful. The mistakes don't dictate where my practice is going, it just evolves it in a different way. The space of contentment for me is very important. 

Soil is a constant material in my life. I can tell you the relationship that my ancestors have had with soil, and the relationship my mother has with soil, and the relationship I have with soil. I'd say it’s an African heirloom, and it's just something you use to create. And that's as simple as that.

In Khoisan caves their whole communication channel was on soil that has fossilised over time. They used soil to create pigment to be able to communicate and draw over time. It just seems like the natural order. 

When you get here, you're met with silence, complete silence. Silence where I come from isn't necessarily the absence of sound, it's just controlled sound. Here it felt like the absence of sound. But eventually, the sound starts introducing itself to you in different ways to the birds, the trees, the weather. I had to make an adjustment and understand that this is a completely different environment that I need to tune into and listen to. 

My public persona used to be something that I was quite inquisitive about. But I think once my strength solidified through the work, I was less concerned about how I was perceived. There was a way that people began connecting to my work that seemed sincere. These are the ones that are invested in having those conversations. The work that I'm doing is real, it's tangible, and it goes somewhere, and that's all the validation I need. It's always nice to know that there are people really listening and really looking at the same things that you are and you feel included in that train of thought which is affirming, in so many different ways. 

Over time you get to choose how you use something and once people tap into the fact that you're in control of exactly what you do on the platform, you get to dictate how people perceive you. There needs to be sincerity. I'm sharing experiences that lead to my work and create connectivity. And that's all that matters.