Interpretation of I don’t pick pretty flowers – blades of broken knifs
This artwork challenges the viewer’s expectations of beauty and survival. The central figure, drawn from the Ju/’Hoansi world, is not collecting delicate blossoms but navigating a landscape where survival depends on knowledge of roots, herbs, and hidden sustenance. What might first appear as a gesture of gathering flowers is instead an act of resilience, echoing the ancient skills of finding food, water, and medicine in a harsh wilderness.
The text fragments, “I don’t pick pretty flowers” and “blades of broken knives”, suggest both defiance and fragility. Life here is not ornamental but edged, sharpened, and sometimes broken. The “knives” hint at tools, at violence, but also at the fractured legacy of colonization and cultural disruption.
Bright colors and digital overlays destabilize the image, merging past and present, ritual and modernity. Circles and code-like patterns echo both ancient symbols and contemporary systems of communication. What we see is not nostalgia for a lost world, but a confrontation: survival, identity, and cultural memory made visible in a fractured, modern lens.
This piece is less about beauty in the conventional sense and more about truth – about the dignity of knowledge, the sharpness of survival, and the ongoing struggle to keep traditions alive against the blades of forgetting.
Ju/’Hoansi – The Cultural Village
The next morning, we rose early, grabbed a quick coffee and a light breakfast, and listened carefully as the reception staff explained how best to find our way to the local cultural village. Armed with a hand-drawn map, we climbed into the car and set off. Soon the paved road gave way to a narrow, dusty track cutting through a landscape of scattered bushes, twisted trees, and an overwhelming sense of wilderness. We didn’t pass a single soul along the way, and the total isolation only heightened the adventurous spirit of the journey.
At last, we arrived. A young female guide greeted us with warm confidence. She spoke good English, though with a lilting accent that only added to the charm. It was immediately clear that we had reached a very special place. There were no other visitors, which gave the whole experience a unique, almost intimate atmosphere. Beneath the shade of an ancient tree, we were given a short introduction to the purpose of the site: to preserve and share their age-old traditions with the outside world.
We had entered a living museum. I had heard of the concept before, but here it felt astonishingly authentic. A living museum is not about reenactments for tourists, but about reviving original traditions to prevent them from being lost altogether. It is both cultural preservation and community livelihood, a sustainable model where the local people themselves pass on their heritage while also benefiting economically. And here, we were in the company of the Ju/’Hoansi people, one of the oldest San groups, famed for their deep connection to the Kalahari Desert and their traditional hunter-gatherer way of life.
The first demonstration was fire-making. It was breathtaking to watch the locals, with calm precision, conjure sparks from wood and dry grass until, almost magically – a flame appeared. Every movement spoke of knowledge honed over thousands of years. Next, we were shown traditional hunting techniques: bows and poisoned arrows crafted from plants and insect larvae. We even tried our luck shooting at a target. Needless to say, our arrows missed spectacularly, a humbling reminder of the skill and patience survival here requires.
An elder then led us into the surrounding bush. With practiced ease, he revealed edible roots, berries, and herbs, explaining their medicinal uses and how they could provide vital water. He dug up a plump, juicy root, showed us how it could be eaten, then carefully replanted it so it could continue to grow for future generations. His gestures radiated wisdom, his movements a living testimony to the intimate bond between his people and the land.
Later in the afternoon, we were invited to witness a traditional dance around a crackling fire. Song, clapping rhythms, and pulsing steps fused into a social and spiritual ceremony. Although there was no full trance-healing this time, the intensity in the dancers’ eyes and movements was unmistakable. The rhythms were hypnotic, and it was easy to imagine how such dances had bound the community together for generations, as both celebration and communion with the spirit world.
Our guide explained that even a small handful of visitors like us could make a difference. By being there, we gave them the chance to keep their traditions alive, to pass them on to their children, and to share them proudly with the wider world – all while securing a modest income.
As we drove back beneath a sunset that painted the sky in warm hues, we felt inspired, humbled, and certain that this day would remain etched in memory – a rare glimpse into a timeless culture, deep in the heart of Namibia.
The Indigenous Project
For many years, I have journeyed across the world in search of tribes whose lives unfold at the margins of modernity. I have met them, shared moments in their presence, and recorded fragments of their cultures through the lens of my camera. These encounters became short films and photographs, though what I could share publicly was often pared down, restrained by the conventions of media platforms that recoil at the sight of the human body as it exists beyond Western norms.
The Indigenous Project is my attempt to move beyond those limitations. Here, the stories and photographs are not confined to the silence of censorship but are reimagined through visualization, digital transformations of my original images, touched only lightly with the paintbrush. They are not paintings in the traditional sense, but hybrid works: photographs reborn with artistic intention.
Rather than whisper quietly from a museum wall, these works take on the voice of advertising. They carry themselves like billboards on a highway—loud, direct, unafraid. They do not seek subtlety but insistence, calling out to the public about the existence of these tribes. They echo the urgency of survival, the need to be seen, the struggle not to vanish unnoticed into the background of the modern world.
The peoples I have visited live at the farthest edge of the present, caught between the continuity of tradition and the intrusions of global modernity. They adapt, resist, and reinvent, some finding tenuous stability in the currents of cultural tourism, others holding fast to older ways. My hope is that these visualizations, bold and insistent, will amplify their presence, carrying fragments of their realities into spaces where recognition matters.
The project is envisioned as a constellation of five large-scale works, each 150 x 150 cm, accompanied by fifteen smaller works of 72 x 72 cm. Together, they form a chorus, urgent, vivid, and impossible to ignore.
Each piece also contains an interactive element. Embedded within the imagery are QR codes, seamlessly woven into the visual fabric of the work. When scanned by a cell phone, these codes lead the spectator to a dedicated website, offering deeper context: the background of the Indigenous Project as a whole and the particular story behind the artwork in question. In this way, the pieces extend beyond the gallery wall, creating a dialogue that flows into the digital sphere, where more layers of history and meaning unfold.
But there is yet another dimension, more hidden. Under UV light, a clandestine layer of the works reveals itself, marks and impressions invisible under normal conditions, transforming the surface into something entirely new. This duality allows the works to live two lives: one visible, brash, and billboard-bright; the other secretive, spectral, and only accessible to those willing to look beyond the obvious.
In the end, these works are both messages and messengers: fierce signals flaring against forgetfulness, calling attention to worlds at risk of erasure. They do not apologize, they do not conceal, they shout, they insist, they demand to be seen.