On our third night in Kampala, a young singer called AFRI took to the stage at the National Theatre. When she opened her mouth, a hand stretched out from inside it, plunged into my chest and grasped my heart. It held on to the beating lump for the rest of the song and for the one after it, pressing gentle fingerprints into each pulse...
Photographing in and around Kampala.
Kwantu Game Reserve, Port Elizabeth, Cape St Francis, VW Auto Pavillion - Uitenhage
Papier Mache sculpture and other new photography.
Product photography for the launch of the niQi.co.za online store.
The writing life is rough. Gritty as sandpaper against the skin of all four of your cheeks. Some people talk of bleeding onto pages, they’re not […]
Another Google Found Poem
She sways and spins, her position held by hips as broad as a baobab. The feather-duster in her hand sheds ostrich plumes. They rain down hope on the woman kneeling before her. Mama Eve raises feet clad in green plastic mock-crocs. She stamps on a heap of cowrie shells, filling the room with brittle crackling.
My fortnight in pictures; a LEGO party, Happy.Me Snow Ice and the launch of Peppadew's new pasta sauce range.