This Shouldn't Be Here

A few hours deep into the dirt roads of the Karoo, working through the movie soundtracks we loved, Warwick and I both began feeling unsettled about our route. We'd turned right at a handwritten sign scrawled with Nieu Bethesda some hours before, and in retrospect it did lot a lot like a detour trap left for us by hill-people. We powered through a couple streams, one engulfing the car and, later we realised, taking the number plate, and eventually we came across David. I immediately recognised the most self-assured man I have ever met. Parked nowhere in the Karoo, having lunch on deck chairs with his family and admiring the contemplative expanse, David easily strode up to us city-boys, carefully lighting a pipe. We shook hands, he pointed to his residence (by gesturing to a desolate expanse where nothing could be seen) and he gave us to-the-kilometer distances to drive. A little forebodingly, he looked at our Corsa, said we'd 'probably' make it and sent us on our way. I was left with the notion that cities breed doubt.

His directions being keenly accurate, it was about thirty minutes more until we were in the town and parked outside the reason for the hard right turn - The Owl House.  

Helen Martins made this. She started in the 1940s and produced until, due to the crushed glass she worked with, her eyesight began to falter, leading her to commit suicide by ingesting caustic soda.
























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Seeing this place and dealing with these photos has been a bit of a wake up call to me. Trying to wrap my head around how something this assured grew out of seemingly nothing, the only answer I seem left with is the value of starting. Nothing can be produced if nothing is begun.

Next up I'll have some pictures of Cape Town. See you in a few days.

*Warwick took the shot of me.