 A slight delay in arrival meant I only had two full days in Amsterdam, so I focused on art. Still I had to be selective, and chose as my first stop the grand old Rijksmuseum which I’d heard about since my first art classes 45 years ago. It was a fascinating surprise to discover the huge building has a street running through it! The ceiling of the spanning passage is a wonderful array of arches. I got my ticket, stowed my backpack in a locker and began making my way through the fecund history of the Netherlands. The Rijksmuseum focuses mainly on the last 400 years, with all manner of cultural objects, from goblets and glass (for which they were early innovators, to ship models to jewelry, coins and weaponry. Their boats and optical technology, advanced their international trade and financial industry, paving the way to global power. Before they became a state, several decades of wars between crowns and nobility and the Catholic church vying for control eventually led to the separation of the former royal region into Catholic Belgium in the south, and the Protestant Netherlands (north lands). Even this wasn’t entirely secure for a few generations, as governance shifted via violent disputes. Still, many acknowledge 17th c. Netherlands as birthing the first middle-class society in modern western culture. This new group gained a status above peasantry, which then enabled them to own a few nice things beyond what was practical and essential. In particular this spurred the market for paintings, because for the first time successful “average” folks (that is, not just nobility, royalty or churches) could afford to own art. It radically changed everything because suddenly the content of what was depicted could include “common folk” and their interests. To this day “regular people” in our culture hang paintings in our homes. It was during this evolution, the Golden Age of Dutch Painting, that Rembrandt, Vermeer, and Fran Hals were born. I’ve learned to not try to look at everything in museums, and especially given a tight time-frame, instead give full attention to a few things. There were many highlights for me in this vast archive of objects. Since painting is my own discipline, I aimed there. It’s a rare delight to find three Vermeers in one small gallery. His paintings of figures in interiors get most of the attention, deservedly, as they’re as appealing as any paintings I’ve seen. However, a lesser known street scene by him captivated me just as much. As with all his works, there’s something haunting in the stillness. In this one I felt a subtle tension between the static, rooted buildings and the floating clouds and then, allowing more time to take it in, the people going about their daily tasks. There’s nothing “dramatic” depicted here, but I felt the soft drama of daily life. It’s as if time itself is one of the themes: the extreme detail in the worn brick and weather-beaten paint and rooftop, human creations vying to stay fresh, upright, and solid against age; the sky and the conspicuous fleeting ever-shifting nature of clouds and weather suggesting both renewing rains, impermanence and cycles. More cycles in the few women working, quietly, naturally resolute in their humble chores as as if there were no other possible thing they might be doing; the kids playing, similarly engaged in a way that feels utterly unforced. It’s a simple snapshot yet somehow it holds me as if an image of unspoken universal truths, at once holding up the solidity of our physical experience and the ephemeral reality of being alive. I came upon two portraits of Rembrandt, one by his close companion Jan Lievens and the other a self-portrait. Each revealed different aspects of the future master. The gifted duo had only a few years before left their hometown of Leiden as young men and struck out to the bustling metropolis of Amsterdam to make it big in their brave new art world. They were both ambitious, driven, and they were beginning to gain a foothold. Lievens utilized some of his buddy’s devices: adding a lively head-turn and emulating some of his painting techniques adding to the illusion of texture by physically scratching into the painted surface. But more notably, I sense in the image a determined passion in the young Rembrandt. His piercing glance catches me off-guard. There’s a sort of “aha” in the slight rise Rembrandt’s left eyebrow, as if he’s just had an insight, likely a familiar expression to someone who knew him well. To Jan’s credit, he also depicted a hint of softness behind that strong gaze. Even early on Rembrandt had a profound sensitivity to and compassion for others, something that must have been palpable to Jan, one of his closest friends. In the wonderful shadowy self-portrait, young Rembrandt is already pushing the boundaries on what he can do in this exciting new medium. He’s playing with painting the illusion of textures and adding his trademark scratching of real textures— essentially telling me he’s self-aware that making images is a tool, not to be confused with reality. Again he adds a slight sense of the head turning toward us, a subtle bit of movement that makes adds so much to this little (10” x 7”) image. He’s probably copying some of what he’s seen in prints and other’s painted copies of Caravaggio’s work in Italy, and to a degree his more nearby hero, Rubens. He’s playing with dramatic lighting and the way it affects or evokes emotions, like an actor practicing gestures in rehearsal. Using these tools or elements was crucial to the story-making in his commissioned and popular history paintings, etchings, and later contributed to his revolutionary methods for adding vitality to formal portraits. He’s also learning how to engage viewers, and how to evoke curiosity to mystery. Leaving just enough visible to draw us in, he entices us to look harder to see the face of this “man in the shadows..” And his painted expression carries just a bit of surprise, as if by looking in the mirror even he’s sharing our own response to the painting of his own familiar face, saying “Oh wow, it’s just you!”   
 For someone like me who enjoys walking, it was big fun to stroll in Amsterdam. I stayed in the north quarter, an old manufacturing/warehouse region that seems to be getting gentrified. It’s across the Noordzkanaal (“North Sea Canal”) which as it sounds has long been the waterway leading to the heart of old Amsterdam. When I travel and the opportunity is safely available, I avoid Uber and simply use my legs, I can better see the sites, as well as make direct encounters and occasional exchanges with local people. In this bicycle Mecca, using leg power could also mean pedaling, but rather than risk getting in the way of the thousands of experienced bikers zipping past on the broad bike lanes (usually between 20-25 mph), I chose to use the sidewalks and saunter. It was a 15-20 minute walk to the channel, and the orderly path led me through several modest apartment complexes, past a few small restaurants and retail shops, elementary schools, and more pricey-looking, slick high rises either new or still under construction. I assume the latter were for the new wave of young professionals. When I reached the channel, a half dozen ferries run non-stop during the day, for free, offering about a two minute ride that saves much time and several miles getting to the nearest bridge. They’re timed so there’s always one loading a fresh group of pedestrians or bicyclists (including fat wheeled electric-assists, and many front carriage bikes for stowing young people) all of them weave rapidly along, and both walkers and bikers are keenly aware of one another and the occasional auto-crossing intersections. People seem polite, direct, friendly, and efficient. Once across the water, we had a striking view of the very cool Film Museum and Institute, and a tall building with a tower (and people in swings on the top deck) which I assume keeps an eye on the ferry and barge traffic. Regrettably there wasn’t enough time in my three-day stay to take either in. We disembarked the ferry like a gush of pedestrians and bikers pouring onto the walkways of Amsterdam Central Station. It’s a sprawling waterfront nexus for the ferries, public trains, and hundreds of shops and eateries of all types for both tourists and locals. I walked through and when I emerged from the station, all at once the buildings evoke the feel of centuries past. The style of the architecture is a curious mix of clean-lined modernism, highlighting simple materials, mixed (esp. in the older parts of town) with the eclectic variety of style from the 17th - 19th century, and a smattering of even older landmarks. One gets the feeling that generally buildings are rarely razed, so the contrast between modern statements and old stone with elaborate decorative elements is intriguing. Interspersed are the dreaded MacDonalds, KFC, and Targets, as well as tourist traps (like stores dedicated to little rubber-ducks — canals are every few blocks so I guess this is cutely symbolic?). There are also plenty of shops with local edibles like chocolates, cheeses, and unexpected to me, waffles. Broad sidewalks (15 feet wide) are set apart from bike lanes, which are also separate from auto lanes, and electric trolleys/bus tracks are laid within the auto routes. Beyond all these, several of the main thoroughfares I walked paralleled canals, so one gets the engaging view of beautiful old architecture reflected in the water. It was decidedly gray, but ‘tis the season; it’s still winter here. It did allow better views of the buildings. There are some trees on these broad boulevards, and I saw lots of sprouting tulip bulbs for sale. There were a few trees blooming and crocus here and there. The temperatures reached about 45 F. Between the excitement of visiting and my wool stocking cap, scarf, and light jacket I was plenty comfy. There were so many intriguing places I wanted to stop to visit: narrow, four-story bookshops, The Goethe Institute, several galleries and dozens of eateries, a Zen center, but I simply didn’t have the time. I feel like maybe given a few weeks I could begin to get a taste of this very appealing city. It seemed there were people from all across the globe here. I heard accents or met folks from Eritrea, England, India, Poland, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, Italy, Morocco, Ireland. It’s a very cosmopolitan place so if you prefer only white milk toast, it’s probably not for you. I always felt completely safe, so long as I watched for bicyclists when I crossed streets! There were some expansive and rustic grand plazas with old brick or stone pavement, people pleasantly sharing the space, and a bonus to come across some busking comics and jugglers, and especially the delightful music of a pianist as I returned from the famed Rijksmuseum. I can’t say I’m entirely objective, but the people I passed consistently seemed glowing and beautiful. (I’ll refrain from exploring how their more open attitude about sexuality may be part of why.) The bikers in particular looked especially vital. I’m sure robust daily exercise in the brisk clean air contributes (it was a fresh contrast for me after weeks of walking in overwhelming Nairobi diesel fumes). There are people of all ages riding: in their 70’s+, middle-aged white collared professionals, parents hauling toddlers, teens, and children over the age of five or six. It’s easy to get the impression they’re robust and happy folks here. And hard not to wish our car-addicted America could have a major intervention and retool our culture more toward this lifestyle, with its vibrancy, embrace of people from across the globe, and appreciation of old and new. 
 
Top image, the view from deck of my rental lodging in a gated community, Nairobi. It reveals the luxurious scale of the estates, and to those who bother to look, the disparity among the haves and have nots. My apartment is a basement unit below the main residence yet still grand and spacious. Lower left is the view from my entry onto my private deck. The right is another view from the deck.  For convenience I chose to return to a familiar and comfortable lodging for my last few days in Kenya. I regret that the amiable old gardener, Jonathan was no longer here, but was happy to again see the kind house-keeper, Agnes [pictured above], who I’d befriended one year ago.She came by today, checking that all was going okay with me. For the third day in a row the electricity had gone out midday. This is common in Kenya, even in a posh gated community full of large estates where I’mstaying, electricity is unreliable without any weather-induced issues. There’s a generator on site, but those who live in Kenya have learned to be frugal, so they try not to use diesel-generated power when not essential. We had power last evening so I was able to make my simple pasta dinner, and it was still on when I woke, so I had warm coffee, eggs, toast and yogurt as usual. But this entitled American began feeling a bit frustrated and grumpy when mid-morning I saw my iPad was about out of power and had planned a day catching up online, when I suddenly realized there was no electricity available. Agnes was busy the day I arrived, and I’ve been out a few days in a row, so we’d barely spoken. Last year I stayed here about ten days. Through our exchanges and my inquiries, I came to learn that she’d taken this job in Nairobi because there were so few or such low-paying opportunities for her in home near the Mombasa coast. I also slowly found out that she had been in abusive marriage, courageously left with her two young boys, and then established her own business, which had done well. But when the pandemic tanked the economy here, her business lost its clientele and she couldn’t keep it afloat. So she’d made the tough choice to put her kids under her mom’s care and come to work in Nairobi. Which means her family is now a four hour car-ride away (for someone like me who could afford it) or a seven hour bus trip for her. She told me her boys are doing well, the eldest is 14, really likes school, and is finishing what we’d call middle school. His younger brother is fine as well. Amazingly she remembered I had a son, and asked about him and my family. I assured her all were doing well. Sensing I was a bit hesitant when she asked how I was, I realized I’d betrayed my concern after reading morning news about the coup happening in the US. I told her my worries about the dismantling of our govt. to favor a few in power. Sadly, every Kenyan can relate all too well to corrupt politics. Their President Ruto was recently named 2nd most corrupt leader on the continent, only behind the deposed Assad. Ruto campaigned on anti-corruption when I was here three years ago, and all Kenyans I encounter laugh about him being more corrupt in the first two years of office than his predecessor was in ten! He recently floated the idea his five year term should be extended to seven. I told her it sounds familiar(!) and shared about Trump and a crony Congressman who’d proposed allowing him three terms. Most Kenyans feel Trump “hates all Africans.” I suggest to them he’s so insecure he hates Canadians, Ukrainians, Mexicans, the EU, and anyone who dares disagree with his view. I feel he’s a troubled, sad man, desperately clutching for power to fill the painful hole in his heart. ~~~ People like Agnes give me great hope for our world. Like so many Kenyans, she wastes little energy complaining, attends to her work in the moment, and is resolute about bettering her future. And she is also considerate beyond herself; remarkably, she remembered that last year I’d gone to visit my young friend Ibrahim, in Isiolo, during the time I stayed at this lodging. She asked if I knew how he was doing. We had a nice chat about him as well, and I happily showed her some photos. When I asked if she had been able to visit her kids, she immediately brightened. She said her boss (owner of the residence where I’m staying) was now allowing her five days off, three times a year, so she was very happy to be able to see her kids and parents during these times. Recognizing the challenges she was steadfastly enduring, and looking to be encouraging, I asked if she had any vision for herself in the future, perhaps a few years from now. She said “Yes! I keep saving to get our house built!” I’ve learned in Kenya this often means whenever one has funds, unlike a savings account we might keep to ourselves, if any relative or friend is in need, the old village ways meant you gave them whatever they needed. Essentially everyone shared the bounty if they had a bumper crop — the more complete societal version of the phrase: “it takes a village” — because back in the day it meant “for us all to survive.” So it seems in order to invest in oneself in the modern economy, a new variation is that when one has funds, materials are bought to build, and right away as much labor as one can afford gets applied to your project. I assume in this way it’s difficult for someone to “request” you help with their hardship as your savings are already “in” a block wall. That’s my theory anyway. Hence everywhere here you see block or stone structures in various phases of completion, sometimes occupied, sometimes not. Perhaps the unstable economy and the mild climate encourage this approach as well. “I can show you my house?” Agnes asked me cautiously. She then shared photos of the completed outline of exterior walls and a few interior ones, most were three or four feet high. “It is coming! I have already saved for nearly half of the walls! Once they’re done, I will try to get a loan for the roof. We can begin staying there, even if the inside is not finished!” She’s smartly chosen to have three bedrooms, as well as two small rooms for shops to sell her wares when she reėstablishes her business. Clearly and justifiably proud. “I believe I WILL achieve this, God willing!” There can be a tendency in some cultures, especially those in transition like Kenya, to view “outsiders” like me as wealthy and endlessly capable of support. I suspect anyone traveling between nations with great disparity has seen a variation of it. Here it’s due to many things, mostly the vast differences in traditions, and a disconnect of sorts between cultural expectations, as I mention above. Of course it’s all made more complex by the awful legacy of colonialism and caste systems. So it’s common for people in her circumstances in Kenya to seek assistance from those of us coming from modern industrialized societies. Yet Agnes has never done this. When we first shared phone numbers (for convenience related to my lodging) last year, warned by many expats, I felt a need to be cautious. I’d learned some of her story, so it seemed best to be direct and tell her I had limited a budget, and firmly said I could not take her on as a sponsor. “No no! It’s not for that!” Was her instantaneous and sincere reaction. She revealed to me she was against the idea, and expressed she only wanted my contact as I’d suggested if I heard of a better job situation I could let her know. Since then, she’s honored her word and been insistent she wanted to make it through her situation on her own terms. I believe this is true, and that she will. My arrogant and foolish western privilege is still slowly melting. I made a comment about how difficult things were here for so many, yet had great hopes for the Kenyan people, but then selfishly added I was concerned things were going to get tough in America in the near future. Nonetheless she listened intently. “People must pull together, despite the politics,” she said wisely. We were about to end our chat when, almost as an afterthought, she said, “Oh—and I have adopted two young girls!” and she quickly shared a photo on her phone. What?! How?! The sisters, (aged nine or ten?) had shown up sleeping against the outside of her parents’ home, where her boys are staying. The girls’ mother was mentally ill and alcoholic, and their father had chased them out of the home. Agnes convinced her mother they needed to take them in. “They had no one. So I felt we HAD to help them. Besides, it is good for my mother to have some girls around. It always feels good to help others.” Given all of her own challenges, it’s hard to convey the beauty and power I felt in her genuine words, sincere intentions, and generous actions. To me, this, right here, was embodied grace. I thanked her as she left to attend to her many duties. Not only had she totally reframed my petty attitude about no electricity, more importantly, I was consoled regarding my concerns about the US. No matter what system of government is left intact, whatever one’s situation, we still can look out for and take care of one another. We can be “lifeboats, ladders, and lamps,”* if we just let grace guide us. *paraphrasing Rumi Below is a video Agnes shared of the current state of her home-to-be.   The freshly painted door by Patrick to the newly renovated “Gallery” space on the grounds of the Alfajiri campus.
 In my last week in Kenya, I had the chance to spend a full day working with the Alfajiri “Advanced Artists” — a group of about half-dozen young men who have shown a keen interest in painting, and are hungry to develop their skills and learn. It’s big fun for me and I think they enjoyed the sessions I spent with them. They’re maturing into adulthood, and most are now experienced enough to want to move beyond basics. And all have been through varying degrees of personal hardship. It’s a joyful opportunity for me in every way. This year, to alleviate some of the potential roadblocks to learning, I brought them some higher quality paints, as well as several new brushes of all sizes. Consider what to discuss brought back memories from my early painting classes, lessons from about 20 years of age, similar to theirs. Key difference in the setting however— IE: no available sinks, tables, lighting, lockers or places to store equipment; few have any “personal tools” of any sort like brushes, nor jars, nor palettes of decent size. So we began with very simple things, like using two containers for water—one for cleansing brushes, the other for adding fresh water to mix paint. Mixing colors and trying not to create unwanted mud. Surprisingly they were not even in the habit of having rags on hand to use for wiping brushes or wiping off a mark. I teased them that they couldn’t find rags in Kenya—and they get the irony. Yet they have been steadily learning to paint, on their own for the most part, with occasional guest instructors like myself. Largely they create images entirely from their memory or imagination, some find a photo to use as a reference, very rarely do they paint the world or people directly in front of them. Which meant beyond a few basics about tools and colors, and a couple quick demos, the only viable approach I could use was to encourage them to dive into whatever they wished, and try to guide them toward their goals. Given the brutal and often unfathomable circumstances most of them have lived through, many carry a degree of trauma that young people in our society rarely experience. I feel my role is to give them skills with the tools and critical thinking, but leave it up to them to choose how or what they want to express through painting. Some folks have gently asked if a “program” like this, guiding once-impoverished young adults in the discipline of making paintings, is creating a false hope in them about becoming famous and rich (even if only by the modest Kenyan economic standards. It’s a fair question, a variation of which was thorny enough to me long ago, raised in a stable middle class family within a modernized capitalist culture. My feeling is no — because I emphasize the discipline they are learning, and minimize the fame and selling aspect best I can. I make them aware I’ve worked decades to be able to have sales. Sometimes our differences are in their favor. IE: it’s easy to forget how exciting learning and “schooling” of any kind can be when one has not had the opportunity to be in an educational setting for years, or in some of their cases, ever. They are all eager to improve their skills—so I try to feed that with encouragement, positive critiques, and suggestive questions about their paintings. I mention how often I screw my own work up still, and how I don’t treat anything I am making as precious— it all is subject to my harshest judgment, and I paint over many things all the time. I particularly enjoy the camaraderie they reveal, and encouraged them to share with one another anything they could can that I them individually. Some already do this, and as many are former “street kids” I’m aware they learned to do this somewhat instinctively to survive. Self-confidence and trust, in their own ability to grow and also to aid one another in developing these skills, is a big part of my aim. I’m not doing this to discover the next Basquiat. (He didn’t end up so well anyway.) I’d much prefer they find a sense of who they are, some community, perhaps some validation, but ultimately some peace through this practice. It has brought me all the above. Three have gained a good deal of experience. But their life circumstances here often has them walking a borderline. For instance, Patrick, who I enjoyed so much last year, has a keen eye for bold colors and pattern that marks him as a candidate for a career in fabric and textile design. However, some personal things have arisen and he’s not been coming around Alfajiri campus for a few months, so I missed him entirely this trip. Yusuf is articulate, driven, and a passionate sponge about art (and it seems, everything!). Thanks to Alfajiri’s steadfast support he continues to blossom in all his abilities. I brought some art books this year and he tells me at one point: “I will read every page.” I laugh and tell him, just look at the pictures for now— you have years to make room to read each page! While pursuing his studies in statistics and programming, he always finds room for his art-making. He often takes commissions from friends to hone his skills and “earn small bits from these side gigs.” Yet admit all this passion, he excitedly told me an application he applied for to design some software as part of his studies has been accepted. In addition to sharing his knowledge with the less experienced young men in our group, he’s also sometimes been helping Alfajiri staff with their art therapy sessions with the street kids. For the first time ever, I finally had a chance to work with Nick. He’s soft-spoken and thoughtful, and through Alfajiri’s help, the mentorship of the owner of a local framing business, and his own hard work, he’s establishing a very solid foundation. Alfajiri and the supportive framer have managed to get him a set of basic tools to do serious framing. From what was a ramshackle mess of a shed, Nick has cleared up two modest spaces, fashioned a decent roof, and made himself two workable rooms to frame paintings for Nairobi artists in his own shop. It’s another amazing transformation by Alfajiri, from a young boy at great risk to a young man focused and resolute in achieving productive, life-sustaining goals. In addition to framing as a profession, he’s got great potential as a painter. I saw glimmers of a personal direction emerging, and felt it as much by the many excellent questions he asked me! “What if people see this and say it looks like another known artist in Nairobi, should I worry?” “Do I have to do shadows on forms? Sometimes I just like it this way…” I insist that as long as he knows if he’s copying something to learn not rip someone off, or aware when he’s not following rules to try and make something appear photographic, he’ll be fine. Listen to your instincts, you’re on the right track, I sincerely, happily, tell him. Another four young people are at what I consider “level one” of training in the fledgling “Alfajiri Art Academy.” I got along with each personality very well. [I’m only avoiding listing their names for their own protection.] [I’m only avoiding listing their names for their own protection.] By my final day, one had me talking to another’s girlfriend on the phone; I elicited a round of teen-age howls when I asked her if she was girlfriend number one or number two? I had many good laughs with them all. We’d just begun developing a rapport, making it very hard to recognize I won’t see them again for a year, if that! One was struggling with a simple landscape to which he’d begun adding details. “What should I do?” he asked (a typical beginner’s question). What do you think? I asked (a typical mentor’s reply). “I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right” What aren’t you happy with? “I’m not sure…” Well, keep trying to answer that, and just work on different areas. We can look again after our lunch. And don’t forget, it’s just paint, you can change every thing about it if you want. You’re the one in control of it. Just before the break, when I get back to him, I was stunned to see he’s painted out the entire canvas, something I’ve rarely seen any of them do. What happened? I ask. “I just decided it was not going to work and it was better to start all over, “ he tells me proudly. I tell him that getting the details precisely right on the trees he was working on took patience, but painting the whole thing out like this took even greater courage. I can feel it sinking in and catch a faint smile from my side view as he stares at his freshly over-painted canvas. “Mistakes are always a good thing!” He tells me, glowing — an idea I shared the week before with them all. Why is that? I ask, gently testing him. “Because they mean you are moving forward, seeing something you must fix or can change! You are learning!” Amen, amen! This is precisely how study in the arts impacts lives. I’m confident these once impoverished kids that Alfajiri has steadily guided now at least have a shot. 
 
 Last year I was encouraged by my friend and art dealer, Carol Lees, to make a visit to RedHill Gallery, about 15 km outside of Nairobi. The gallery is a retirement project of a wonderful couple, Erica Musch-Rossler and Hellmuth Rossler, who each spent decades working in healthcare NGO’s throughout Eastern Africa. They met through their professions, and selected Kenya as the most suitable place to settle in. Along the way, they both had a sincere interest in the cultures of the people they served, and developed keen aesthetic eyes. They were aided in locating a rambling estate with several structures in need of repair by an artist/entrepreneur they’d met at an art opening over fifteen years ago. Their smart and beautiful refinements to the original design have transformed the living residence into a lovely blend of private areas and open spaces. There’s an especially nice semi-enclosed sitting porch where I would easily spend most of my time, given the comfortable Kenyan weather 8-9 months of the year. Stone pathways and thoughtful plantings and maintenance of the grounds all enhance the visiting experience. They’ve wisely set aside a few acres for gardens and use by local folks to grow a fair portion of their foods. (I can attest to the richness of some of their farm to table ingredients!) As they traveled they collected art works by many contemporary African artists, often lesser known ones. To further share in their passionate appreciation, they turned an old farm building on site into an open-air gallery. Through their careful curatorial discretion, the gallery has earned a reputation for showcasing exceptional new talent and broadening the opportunities of dozens of East African artists. At this point, they are working diligently to catalogue their beautiful and generous efforts. Each visit has been a delight, and I now consider it a given to make time to see them and RedHill Gallery. Beyond the abundant and tasty lunches Erica has offered, as well as her delicious cookies, coffee, and teas, it is the conversation and sense of community they create which stands out. While there I’ve met visitors from all over the world, and always interesting discussions evolve which I very much value. This is, I feel, largely due to their informal, open, and welcoming presence. As they travelled so much during their careers, they mentioned how they now are content to cut back on excursions beyond seeing family abroad, or visiting Nairobi or nearby locales. As Hellmuth has expressed, now the gallery brings people from across the world to them! They are kind, gently inquisitive, insightful, and readily share in a warm sense of humor, all indispensable qualities earned working among and living in what are often extreme societal conditions. I admire them, aim to emulate their many fine qualities, and feel very fortunate to call them friends. . 
 
 Few things can bring one as much joy as being able to see someone grow toward their potential. Whether as a parent, elder, sibling, teacher, or mentor of any age, witnessing another blossoming is an extraordinarily beautiful experience. As I’ve written about and happily updated for the last few years (see my website essays on Alfajiri in Feb. 2022, 2023, & 2024), my young friend Ibrahim continues to take steps forward against all odds. As an infant he was born into a terrible circumstance in a slum; abused as an infant he suffered a head injury that put him in a coma and he was not expected to live. Defying all, he then had to survive the poverty of his world, and find his way beyond still more abuse, destitution, and starvation, followed by understandable addictions which gave him a means to cope with the deep injustices he had endured, all before he was even 14. We met in 2022, when he was about that age. Something about his quiet focus and gentle presence impressed me then. Through exemplary efforts by my friends Ann Boyd and John Paul Wasiro of Alfajiri, despite some setbacks, he has steadily gained his footing. So it is my great joy to make the effort to visit him in his hometown of Isiolo, Kenya. It’s a small crossroads city about four hours north of Nairobi. Once again my stalwart friend Paul Gene Goto agreed to drive John Paul and I on the long journey, up and back in one day. This included a final route on a meandering maze from a school, over storm-drenched and deeply pitted, soft-mud roads that rarely support vehicles. The two of us in the front seat barely contained our mutual anxiety through the labyrinth. As he put it: “If we get stuck, we are walking and getting a room for the night, because we will not locate a vehicle anywhere nearby to pull us out!” Only his very skilled handling of his Prius through terrain that might have put a Land Rover to the test, extricated us (amazingly!) without incident. ~~~ Journey aside, it made my heart soar to be able to sit next to Ibrahim, a once dminutive, soft-spoken young teen, and recognize he’s turning into a tall, solid, responsible young man. Alfajiri deserves great credit for guiding him, but largely Ibrahim, who never knew his father and lost his mother two years ago, with minimal support from extended family members, has done the hard work. Day after day staying disciplined amid not only typical teen age distractions, but basic living challenges few of us could begin to handle. And now he is moving beyond all his impediments. He is in trade school, learning the basics of welding, and soon carpentry, window work, and building gates. I could not be more thrilled for him! He continues to impress and inspire me. He has touched my life in a very special way. We also were able to go to his former primary school, adjacent a severely impoverished neighborhood, and visit with his younger brother, who Ibrahim has stepped up to look after best he is able. I wish more people who live in modern industrialized nations like the US could experience these settings. It is so enlightening to see the bare block buildings with spare interiors, daylight from windows the primary light source, dirt courtyards and sometimes floors, too many children packed into one room, many of whom are going without substantial meals on a daily basis. But imagery doesn’t reveal the whole story, either, because, as I have experienced again and again, these young people getting by in situations we can barely fathom, are as often as not incredibly appreciative of the chance to learn. They are delighted and positively beam at the sight of a Muzungu coming to visit — and nearly fall over one another with excitement, waving to get my attention or a response to their shouts of “Hallo!” “How are YOU?!” Their genuine joy in the most simple, unmarketable, non-purchasable experiences pierces through the falsehoods of so much of what we are told (or unconsciously trained) will bring us happiness. And also deeply touch one’s heart. The whole experience recalibrates one’s world, and reframes the idiocy of our consumerism and the divisive attitudes being promoted right now by too many in our society, especially tragically, by our so called “leaders.” These are the experiences that refine and reshape my life, and help me gain perspective on what is real and important and deserving of my energy. . 
Every place, every culture, has its own unique palette; Watamu, Kenya.    About a year ago, I saw an interesting painting at the home of Hellmuth & Erica Musch-Rossler, gallery owners and art-loving friends in Kenya. It was by a Kenyan artist, Camille Wekesa, and I learned that she also was involved in promoting conservation. Art and ecology are two of my primary passions, so I looked into her work. It was fascinating — I wanted to meet her, but my trip was ending and I could not make it happen. Months later I reached out from the US, and she welcomed meeting me this year. She’s in a rural region about three hours north of Nairobi, which gave me an excuse to visit a new part of Kenya. Camille is warm and thoughtful. She has the quiet confidence of someone who has earned mastery in her discipline. This is paired with the geninue curiosity and attentiveness of a wise person who still humbly learns from others. I quickly saw the many ways she generously gives of her time and energy. Her father is Kenyan (a former veterinarian surgeon) and her Scottish mom managed the household. Camille and her two siblings grew up on the large family farm, with animals and a memorable acacia tree forest on the property. She fondly recalls camping trips, and visiting parks as a child, and credits her parents for encouraging a healthy relationship with the natural world. She was creative early on and her parents supported her pursuit of art. She did her university studies in Florence, Milan & Rome. After graduation she began doing mural work, which led to a six years as a creative professional for hire living in London. Eager to return to her own art, and out of the urban setting, she returned to her homeland, Kenya. Though Nairobi was greener than London, after a bit she felt a pull to be in a rural, more spacious setting. Through mural commissions she became familiar with Nanyuki, and the many nearby preserves and conservatories. It’s a small city of about 30,000 mostly native Kenyans, with a number of old estates established largely by Europeans or adopted by recent expats. She became fond of the eclectic small town, about 30 km northwest of Mt. Kenya, and settled in Nanyuki over a decade ago. We have similar interests in the natural world and each recognize preserving what’s left must involve revising the relationship of people to the geography and environment in which they live. We both appreciate the simple lifestyle of communities in rural settings. Camille’s place is a short drive along an inconspicuous, rutted dirt road lined by local dwellings and shops. Her homestead reflects her aesthetic: one of humans in harmony with the earth. Intertwined with her mural work, she quickly established herself a few decades ago among the first generation of landscape painters in Kenya. Her earlier paintings were a more direct “documentation” [her word] of Kenyan lands and sites, surprisingly, something rarely being done by Kenyan artists. In the few of her early paintings I saw, I could feel a nod to Italian light and depictions of vistas as in the 16th century, as well as a certain precision of craft. Always open to influences, she has also studied Asian landscape traditions which are a bit less literal and aim to present the feel place. She admitted it was difficult to pin down prominent artistic influences because so many had affected her perspective, and she continues to learn. Of late, her paintings are more abstract and evocative, less directly descriptive of objects, and more suggestive of the character of a forest, a cluster of trees, or a section of branches. I feel they might be seen as depicting the forces of nature. She has a lifelong love of trees and branching forms have taken prominence as one of the primary vehicles of expression in her imagery. These could also be interpreted as sprouting organic growth on a microscopic level, or the ever-expanding cosmos. She told me this motif has emerged unconsciously, which is fitting. The layered colors and sinewy yet elegant tendrils project a vitality that is at once felt in each individual form striving, yet also as a fully integrated, pulsing whole. To me they can be sensed as a glimpse into the dynamism of all life forms, whether observed in micro or macro scale. Due to her love of the land and all beings, Camille has a longheld interest in conservation. She also recognizes the value of engaging with the human community, both in it expanding her own creativity and empowering all involved in the achievement of larger goals. Toward this end, she’s remade several of the structures on her small estate to suit this vocation. A small barn once used to store feed has been transformed by raising the ceiling, pouring a concrete floor, and adding several large windows. It’s now her welcoming, comfortable, efficiently laid out, light-flooded studio. A couple of old building spaces formerly used as stores have been remodeled into a simple two bedroom apt. She can now host artists-in-residence. She’s recently secured support to set up a couple of wonderful “tiny studios”, these are set amid a copse of trees, and used for intimate art workshops with small groups of kids, or as open-air studios for herself or visiting artists. In a brilliant wedding of intentions, Camille has married together her ecological concerns with her creative profession. In tandem with art camps for kids, she co founded a non-profit conservation association. This local women-led, primate preservation project is working to preserve the riparian buffers on a local river. The primate issue and the rivers are connected because farming and grazing along it can cause disruption of the river and vegetation along its banks. Such “breaks” in the natural corridors impede or can prevent the natural flow of the wildlife, in particular several species of primates particularly the black and white colobus monkey. Sadly, like so many species across the globe, both their numbers and habitat are rapidly declining so such pathways are evermore crucial to their survival. The group is Ontulili Primates Protection Project. https://oppsite.wixsite.com/ontuliliprimates/about-us . Wisely, by empowering these determined and dedicated women (always a powerful resource but especially in many African cultures), they ensure commitment and sharing of the understanding among the broader community. In addition it’s an effective way to get local farmers to adjust their behavior toward more sustainable practices as trust is more easily established via the local folks. The source of the Ontulili river begins on Mt. Kenya and the path of the river flows adjacent her land. The collective meets on site and some of the childrens’ workshops tie simple creative projects with ecological issues. The kids are both directly and indirectly guided to a better understanding of the scientific and holistic reality of the human place within the earth’s systems. A crucial key to stemming the wasteful and arrogant path our modern way tends to encourage. Beyond these noble ventures, Camille’s laying the foundations for an eco/art venue on another patch of her land. She has served on the board of several organizations including the Karura Forest and The Great Rift Valley Trust, among several others. She established her own foundation, https://www.orkedifoundation.com , to promote this evolving initiative. Plots are awaiting use as functional gardens, gathering places, and art installations. On site she’s planned a series of eight unique circular concrete “gathering spaces” echoing traditional mud huts of the region. In each one she intends to design and paint wrap around murals illustrating one of Kenya’s ecosystems. I was able to visit the first completed structure (the interior lighting and a few small details not quite complete). This mural features the ecosystem of the Aberdare’s Forest, one of Kenya’s primary water sources. There’s something special about being in circular dwellings, as my yurt-familiar friends can attest. They become all the more magical when one is literally surrounded by a glowing painting that embodies the colorful diversity of an ecosystem. The mural’s composition and design are enhanced by a skillful and beautiful sense of pattern, flow, and rhythm. The whole effect subtly yet powerfully reinforces an awareness of the interwoven cycles of this thing we call life. Her longterm goal is to use these spaces and the two acres of land as farming/gardening/artistic sites, merging function, beauty, and educational opportunities. As she expressed, part of the appeal of Nanyuki is “…In rural Kenya, if you have an idea, you can still just dive into bringing it into reality, without too much bureaucracy or expense.” Hard work, a noble community-oriented vision, creative skills, compassion, courage, and a strong dose of Chutzpah certainly help! https://camillewekesa.com/paintings/ .  Above: From Camille’s website, an earlier landscape “documenting” her homeland. Below: (Left) The renovated store buildings turned into two-bedroom apt for guests/artists in residence. The mural was painted by a visiting artist. (Right) Camille and guest local artist Boniface guiding young on es in a workshop in one of the mini-studios on the grounds.
 Camille merging within her glowing mural in the first completed circular building in the evolving eco-art village.
About a year ago, I connected with a Kenyan artist who happens to live in Nanyuki, about three hours north of Nairobi, near Mt. Kenya, the second highest peak on the continent. We set up a meet, and I booked an airbnb in the region. It met all my basic criteria and seemed interesting. My friend Paul kindly drove me. The last leg included a stretch of very rough dirt road—about 7 km of what we used got call “washboard” road. When we finally reached the google pin drop, we found the final turnoff drive to the home was also very rough, and only skilled handling of his Prius enabled us to climb the steep, rocky, fragmented path. It was a minor test of our perserverance before a lovely surprise. We crossed under the lintel of a large gateway and suddenly we were on a luxurious and bountiful plateau. A large seemingly colonial-era mansion was on the left, front door open. All manner of richly colored blooming plants and vines were cascading from the structure. Tended gardens (that seemed to have been allowed to ramble) loosely framed every visible structure. I heard a horse snort, and noticed a barn and stable across the way; another building appeared to be housing for the staff. At last I recognized the RiverStone cabin of my booking. 
Their story was inspiring, and we quickly found several common interests. I remain keenly interested in, and a big fan of regenerative organic farming. She told me of other artists residencies available nearby. I felt she might enjoy connecting with Camille Wekesa, the artist/conservationist I’d come to meet. As we walked the grounds near the house, Jules told us about her many animals, which included a horse, and ever since a wandering donkey’s visit, they now also had a mule. Paul noticed some chickens and his eyes lit up. He came from a rural setting and it’s one of his goals to one day find land for a small farm. I can appreciate his desire to allow his family a less-congested, more peaceful environs than the intensity, noise, and pollution of Nairobi. In addition to the off-site farm, Jules happened to mention she’d attempted keeping bees as well, but without success. I smiled, as only the day before I was reminded that Paul and his wife had taken on beekeeping. They’d even created their own “value-added” product lines beyond honey and wax, including soap, shampoo, lotions, tinctures, and propolis to the endeavor. In fact his wife Elizabeth is an expert, and now serves as a lecturer for the National Beekeeping Institute. Paul was politely quiet until I insisted he tell our host about all of this. Jules was both excited and receptive. Before Paul left for the long trip back to Nairobi, they’d begun discussing the possibility of having her come to Nanyuki to offer a consultation. After he was on his way, JUles offered several options for local food, arranged a driver for me. I had a satisfying dinner at a nearby hotel, savoring a warm meal, and my good fortune in being led to StoneRiver Cabin.  Note my stalwart sentinel guarding the entry to my lodging.
|
|
RSS Feed