50 x 35cm
Having withdrawn from the company of people, in the process
he has also retreated, in a way, from language & communication.
Lapsed into personal silence, he listens to unspoken words, the
sounds of memory, imagination, weather, wind, birds. Only on rare
occasions when someone chances upon him does he speak, using his
voice almost reluctantly.
His language has become frayed at the edges like the shabby clothes
he wears. It is appropriate, matching his appearance. Under the
hat squashed down over his head, his hair is matted. His beard is
unkempt. His shoes are gradually splitting apart, exposing the
nakedness of his feet. About him there is the aura of an unwashed
a combination of the smell of sweat & wildness,
of bracken, fern & fynbos.
At times clouds pass overhead like the measured minutes
& hours of the day. United from a past, unconcerned about the
present & the future, he goes about as if nothing matters. Nothing
is of importance.