Although
his subjects are often the animals that were his neighbours during his time in
the bush, Guhrs does not regard himself as a wildlife artist.
Mark Read
of the Everard Read Gallery in Johannesburg agrees. In spite of his isolation
from the urban art scene, he places Vic Guhrs in the ranks of major contemporary
African artists rather than in the mainstream of so-called "Wildlife artists",
whom he accuses of endlessly rehashing scenes of majestically tusked elephants
dozing under umbrella acacias or sagacious leopards nonchalantly draped over
branches in front of a setting sun. "Vic's work can be equally appreciated in
New York or London or Sydney or Tokyo because he is an artist, not just an
amateur with a paintbrush in search of an appealing wildlife subject."
Our history
on this planet is closely intertwined with the other creatures that share it,
and the signposts of our linked journey are everywhere - in the animal gods of
past civilizations, in totems and shamanic images of native tribes, in our
heraldic symbols of eagles and lions, and even in the fairytales of our
childhood.
Big bad
wolves no longer threaten our children in the woods, we are no longer befriended
by bears. But our connection to the wild beasts still exists; we feel it in the
eyes of our dogs and cats, in dreams and, for those of us privileged enough to
experience it, in the cough of a leopard or the plaintive call of a hyena in a
moonlit African night.
The illegal
poisoning, snaring, and shooting of animals in Africa is out of control.
Organized crime has taken over the lucrative trade in animal products,
satisfying the steadily growing demand for ivory, rhino horn, tiger- and lion
bones in the Far East. At the rate we are losing these animals and their
habitats, and confine the remaining ones to ever-shrinking sanctuaries, our
world could soon be a lonely place.
But these
paintings are not about endangered species; they are not warning signs. Rather,
they are an acknowledgement of a lost brotherhood. And perhaps they can remind
us of a time when we, too, roamed the plains. When our senses were sharper, when
alertness was essential to our survival, before it was dulled by millennia of
soft living.
Long ago I
made a decision to escape the safe consumer landscape of my native Germany. In
Africa I found the freedom to live my life on my own terms, and to discover some
important truths.
Where I
live in Zambia, I have snakes in my garden that occasionally threaten my dogs. I
see the spoor of small antelope on the ground and sometimes monkeys in the
trees. Lions and leopards no longer prowl the outskirts of town but they are not
too far away. Animals still form a vital thread in the fabric of African life.
Not only with their physical presence (elephants in the maize fields,
crocodiles in the rivers) but also in their symbolic capacity
in the local belief systems, where spirits can manifest themselves as lions,
owls signal the arrival of bad tidings, and
hyenas
bridge the gap between the living and the dead.
On the surface, this may not be relevant to the safe suburban
lives most of us live, but spend one night in the African bush (or any other
wilderness), sleeping under canvas among prowling night predators,
and an old spark will reignite and remind you that the thread
of a connection with our wild heritage remains.
We
do not seem to have adequate words to examine this fragile connection, or to
describe the emotions that still exist somewhere deep within us. In my paintings
I try to find a visual language, to try and illuminate
the very real kinship we still share.
