Discover the Series

Porcelain, baby! is a series in which each work carries a narrative, weaving together past and present through the lens of Dutch capitalism and colonial legacy. At its core lies a familiar cultural object—Delft porcelain—commonly found in South African homes, recontextualised as both symbol and subject.

By transforming fragile porcelain into a figurative presence, the work introduces a sense of urgency and introspection. It reflects on inherited histories, questioning how they continue to shape identity and position in the present.

In this way, fragility becomes more than material—it becomes metaphor. The work binds future to past, inviting a confrontation with history that is at once intimate, uneasy, and unmistakably familiar.

I am hiding. I tried to believe I wasn’t, but there is no escaping it—I am an artist. Not only in ability, but in thought, in instinct, in bone. Yet I have spent time running: from trying, from committing, from truth, from the weight of thinking itself.

Ghost Stories was born from that avoidance.

We all hide—from clarity, from exposure, from vulnerability. Not everything within us is meant to be fully seen. This series begins to reveal the figure behind the illusion, but only partially—just enough to be recognised, to be acknowledged. Presence without full disclosure.

There is fear in revealing yourself, in offering a version that might unsettle or shift how you are seen.

This work exists in that space.

I am unhidden.

The time series  is primarily defined by a puzzle-like collage technique. What began as a practical solution—working within the constraints of fatherhood, a full-time job, and limited resources—evolved into a central language within my practice. In the Time series, each fragment was painted individually in many different styles and only later assembled, forming a layered and often unexpected interpretation of the source material. 

Over time, I came to understand this method as a metaphor for life itself: we construct meaning through fragments—moments, memories, and phases each with their own significance —only fully perceiving their coherence in retrospect. The work, therefore, is not driven by the pursuit of immediate beauty, but by a commitment to making each individual part resolved, trusting that the whole—once revealed—will carry its own quiet integrity.

Those who have followed my work over time will recognise a recurring fascination with flowers—most notably the Protea. A South African icon, the Protea carries the name of a shapeshifter and belongs to one of the most resilient and diverse native ecosystems. It is, in many ways, everything I am not—yet it has become a kind of north star within my practice.
The Protea has served as a foundation for developing both style and technique. Its form offers a versatile structure through which I can test variations, experiment freely, and refine my visual language. Through repetition and reinterpretation, it has allowed me to build a vocabulary of mark-making and composition.
This humble subject has become a cornerstone of my practice—something I return to when direction feels uncertain. In its constancy, it provides both grounding and possibility.