The one thing everything has in common is birth and death. The inescapable taboo, of which its counter is birth and renewal. In Rest Until, I explore the land, the unborn, personal loss, memory, the spirit and the journey to renewal within the turbulent past and seemingly tumultuous future of Zimbabwe.
In a time where we can learn from past wisdom, mistakes and discoveries, I explore these themes with the photographic medium of traditional film and light sensitive materials, which itself was once a dying medium but is now reviving.
With respect to intelligence, the past and future, thoughtful emotion and above all, with the curiosity that love brings to these subjects and thoughts I humbly invite you, to explore a place where time is patient and location is calm, a place where forever is circular.
Houses of Stone
"Houses of stone" which is derived from the name Zimbabwe. The name contains dzimba, the Shona term for "houses". There are two theories for the etymology of the name. The first proposes that the word is derived from Dzimba-dza-mabwe, translated from the Karanga dialect of Shona as "large houses of stone" (dzimba = plural of imba, "house"; mabwe = plural of bwe, "stone"). A second suggests that Zimbabwe is a contracted form of dzimba-hwe, which means, "venerated houses" in the Zezuru dialect of Shona, as usually applied to the houses or graves of chiefs.
In 'Houses of Stone', I explore the land where so many good and bad have died, so many creatures, grasses, trees and humans have settled in their place with the help of their old knowledge which grows through stained soils into beautiful life.
The Calm and The Patient
The Song of The Answer
"They prepare for death, yet are they not the finish, but rather the outset,
They bring none to his or her terminus or to be content or full,
Whom they take they take into space to behold the birth of stars, to learn one of the meanings,
To launch off with absolute faith, to sweep through the ceaseless rings and never be quiet again."
Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman
In a contradictory state, these formaldehyde specimens seem to know the answers even without life, time or place pressuring them. They have never known the world outside of a womb; be it in mammalian glass. They are, without time.
"People are bantu; the singular is muntu. Muntu does not mean exactly the same as person, though, because it describes a living person, a dead one, or someone not yet born. Muntu persists through all those conditions unchanged. The Bantu speak of “self” as a vision residing inside, peering out through the eyeholes of the body, waiting for whatever happens next. Using the body as a mask, muntu watches and waits without fear, because muntu itself cannot die. The transition from spirit to body and back to spirit again is merely a venture. It is a ride on the power of nommo, the force of a name to call oneself. Nommo rains from a cloud, rises in the vapor from a human mouth: a song, a scream, a prayer. A drum gives nommo in Congo, where drums have language. A dance gives nommo where bodies are not separate from the will that inhabits them."...
"Yes, you are all accomplices to the fall, and yes, we are gone forever. Gone to a ruin so strange it must be called by another name. Call it muntu: all that is here."
- The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver.