2017 - The Weight of the Dead

Death is always shocking: when we are confronted with the fact of death everything seems to stop for a moment.

Collectively we still understand so little about how trees actually work: a forest’s life is apparently still largely a mystery to us. Only recently have researchers discovered the detailed workings of forest root networks: how every tree of the same species in a forest is connected to every other tree, how some trees are much more connected than others, how they feed and nurture other trees, even other species of tree, or how and why they might actively harm other trees (Quirks and Quarks podcast 2016). Other recent discoveries include the fact that forests can keep alive the stumps of important, ancient and highly connected trees which were long since felled, sometimes for hundreds of years: forests and even individual trees, when left to themselves, can become thousands of years old (Wohlleben 2016: 60). Peter Wohlleben, a visionary German forester, describes trees and forests to be “in some sense conscious and aware social agents with a high degree of control over how their own bodies grow and function” (Gooding 2016: 4). And yet there are only a handful of ancient growth forests left: most forests in Europe are a couple of hundred years old: harvested and replanted over the last centuries for timber (Wohlleben 2016: 55).

That realisation feels like a death to me: we have done away with something very precious and it is irretrievably lost. It stands as an example of a broader, shared concern, about ecology in the face of our human-centered world view. This concern has been described as the modern world’s overwhelming belief in the need to increase “the volume and money-value of goods and services … [at the expense of] a sustainable relationship [with] our planet …, leading to deleterious climate change; and our only hope lies in a new kind of politics1…” (Tudge, cited by Campbell 2011: 3). It has recently been labelled “the Anthropocene”, defined for the first time in the Oxford English Dictionary only in 2014 as “the era of geological time during which human activity is considered to be the dominant influence on the environment, climate and ecology of the earth” (Turner 2017: 1).

In my art I explore some of these issues of death and mourning and my sense of loss, reflecting on the urgency and enormity of the situation: a series of nine oil paintings and oil pastel studies, a small series of four bronze sculptures, and a larger installation, all dealing with dead, broken and damaged trees.

My paintings depict trees as we arguably should not see them – overturned and uprooted – and in my sculptures I try to emphasise by using small forms how delicate and vulnerable the broken branch or the bundle of exposed roots seems. My installation uses the idea of the graveyard: the quiet strangeness of dry tree roots, trunks and branches, cut apart from each other, suspended between two worlds, real shadows cast by lights shone on the roots and branches and false shadows made from vinyl decals stuck to the floor and walls undermining the sense of scale and the viewer’s assumptions of what is real and what is the trees’ imagined residue. The work’s being inside a gallery space amplifies the viewer’s experience of dead nature: the strangeness of seeing trees inside the gallery, and the emphasis on volume and scale (the trees taking up so much space, seemingly more than we are aware of them taking up, outside), is an important part of its meaning.

An object made indoors diminishes in scale and stature when placed outside. The reverse happens when an object made outside is brought inside, it seems to grow in stature and presence. It brings the outside in with it. (David Nash (1945- …), a British land artist, quoted in Malpas 2004: 42).

Layers of visual information make up my installation: suspended tree pieces, lights, shadows and decals. The decals create a subtle tension by interfering with the real shadows and with the scale of the shadows relative to the tree pieces, undermining the viewer’s certainty about what the real and imagined traces of the trees might be, and subverting the viewer’s normal expectations of the natural world’s being a human-centered environment. 

The title of my body of work is drawn from How Forests Think by Eduardo Kohn, in which he makes an impassioned case for our thinking about and engaging differently with the natural world. He describes every living forest as also one that is haunted by the very real spirits of “all the dead that make life possible” (Kohn 2013: 194).

I was inspired in making my installation by two renowned artists’ works: the American land artist, Walter de Maria (1935-2013) and the British conceptual artist, Cornelia Parker (1956-  ). 

De Maria’s interior earth sculpture, The New York Earth Room (1977)2, is a 334 square metre New York loft apartment filled to a depth of half a meter with soil taken from an open field (Rovner [Sd]: 1; 3). The natural world is brought into the gallery in this work, and inside the gallery, where “the contrasts [are] immediate” (Malpas 2004: 146) the earth has “a solemn, weighty … presence” (Malpas 2004: 199), even carrying “its own absence” (Malpas 2004: 146).

Parker’s Cold Dark Matter: An Exploded View (1991)3 is a garden shed and its contents, which were blown up for the artist by the British Army, the fragments suspended around a light bulb. The work, surprisingly peaceful and tranquil (Ghose 2004: 20), explores the ephemerality and transience connected with loss and destruction (Tickner 2003: 377): the stillness and fixedness of the exploded elements and their shadows becoming a shrine-like memento mori. The fact that the exploded remains are suspended enhances this reading: they do not belong to the earthly world anymore, but are part of an ethereal reality (Willemse 2010: 64).

Both works are contemporary expressions of the sublime4: attempts to articulate “a taking to the limits”; “moments of mute encounter with all that exceeds our comprehension… [which] takes hold of us when reason falters and certainties begin to crumble” and which embraces art dealing with transcendence, nature, terror, technology and the uncanny (Morley 2010: [sp]). I aim at a similar result; connecting with the viewer through a sense of shared emotion in the face of a jarring confrontation.

The concept underlying my body of work is stark, and I draw on many elements, throughout, recalling death:  the trees are uprooted or cut to pieces, in the installation a range of shadows is cast by the lights and decals make the false shadows a ghostly element, the regular arrangement of the tree pieces recalls headstones in a cemetery, and the monochrome palette and stillness of the work create a quiet and meditative atmosphere. Yet the installation, paintings and small bronzes also call to mind the beauty of living forests and trees. Perhaps the trees depicted in my installation, literally suspended between earth and heaven, are metaphorically in some kind of between-state, like Cornelia Parker’s work, “between total disintegration and potential reconstitution” (Kemp 1998: 663). Though I invite the viewer to question the place for ecology in our current world view, this provisional aspect opens a possibility in the viewer’s mind for another outcome, perhaps a regeneration of some kind.

Like science, art “entertain[s] the relationship between the known and the unknown, between certainty and uncertainty, between the graspable and the elusive” (Brenner, Burroughs & Glencross 2011: 17-18). But whereas science is designed to reduce ambiguity, “artistic exploration embraces ambiguity and uses it to allow unresolved reflections and assertions of the many ways on which we do not and cannot know” (Brenner, Burroughs & Glencross 2011: 18). My work poses many questions, but answers barely any. I hope to create an experience for the viewer, also, of questioning and reflection.



1. Wendell Berry, a prominent US environmentalist, proposes such a new kind of politics, which acknowledges the inter-relatedness of ecology and economy: “if conservationists hope to save even the wild lands and wild creatures, they are going to have to address issues of economy, which is to say issues of the health of the landscapes and the towns and cities where we do our work, and the quality of that work, and the well-being of the people who do the work” (Berry 2004: 1).

2. Walter De Maria, The New York Earth Room (1977). Earth, peat and bark, 334m2 x 56cm. Dia Art Foundation, New York. Reference No. 1980.135. http://www.vulture.com/2013/07/walter-de-maria-new-york-earth-room-saltz.html (Accessed 30 August 2017).          

3. Cornelia Parker, Cold Dark Matter: An Exploded View (1991). Wood, metal, plastic, ceramic, paper, textile and wire, 400 x 500 x 500 cm. Tate Collection, London.  Reference No. T06949. http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/parker-cold-dark-matter-an-exploded-view-t06949 (Accessed 1 September 2017).

4. US art critic Jerry Saltz’s experience of De Maria’s Earth Room (1977) was that “[it] fills me with ecstatic quiet, and quivers of the surreal sublime, implacable force of nature, nobility of architecture, and acuteness of the human senses. It is an almost perfect marriage of materials, space, phenomenology, and drop-dead wonder” (Saltz 2013: 1).

List of Illustrations        | Page No.

1.     The Weight of the Dead (2017). Tree pieces, bolts, cotton rope, spotlights, vinyl decals, approx. 4200 x 6000 x 3000 mm.   | FRONT COVER; ii

2.     Storms River (2017). Oil on canvas, 505 x 1010 mm.            iv

3.     Acacia Burkei (2017). Bronze, approx. 50 x 400 x 40mm.       2

4.    Freylinia Tropica (2017). Bronze, approx. 150 x 300 x 150mm.      2

5.    Platanus Acerifolia 1 (2017). Bronze, approx. 50 x 250 x 50mm. 2

6.    Celtis Africana 1 (2017). Bronze, approx. 50 x 250 x 70mm.      2

7.    Elm (2017). Oil and oil stick on canvas, 230 x 1150 mm.       2

8.   Jacaranda (2017). Oil and oil stick on canvas, 230 x 1150 mm.      2

9.   Detail of The Weight of the Dead (2017). Tree pieces, bolts, cotton rope, spotlights, vinyl decals, approx. 4200 x 6000 x 3000 mm.         4; 10; 11

10. Uprooted I (2017). Oil on canvas, 700 x 700 mm.                 6

11.  Uprooted tree study 1 (2017). Oil and oil pastel on canvas, 330 x 440 mm.    8

12. Uprooted tree study 2 (2017). Oil and oil pastel on canvas, 290 x 400mm.   8

13. Uprooted tree study 3 (2017). Oil on canvas, 290 x 400 mm.   8

14.  Uprooted tree study 4 (2017). Oil on canvas, 290 x 400 mm.   8

15.  Uprooted II (2017). Oil on canvas, 762 x 1016 mm.    12



Berry, W. 2004. Compromise, Hell! Environmentalists are not radical enough. Grist Magazine http://www.grist.org/comments/soapbox/2004/10/20/berry/?source=daily https://www.organicconsumers.org/old_articles/corp/berry102104.php (Accessed 27 August 2017).

Brenner, J, Burroughs, E & Nel, K (eds). 2011. Life of bone: art meets science. Johannesburg: Wits University Press.

Campbell, P. 2011. Get planting. The secret life of trees: how they live and why they matter by Colin Tudge. London Review of Books 27(23). www.lrb.co.uk/v27/n23/peter-campbell/get-planting (Accessed 27 August 2017).

Ghose, S. 2004. Destruction and nostalgia – Cornelia Parker’s Cold Dark Matter: An Exploded View. Modern Painters Autumn 2004: 19-21.

Gooding, F. 2016. Thinking about how they think. Are we smart enough to know how smart animals are? By Frans de Waal and The hidden life of trees: what they feel, how they communicate by Peter Wohlleben, translated by Jane Billinghurst. London Review of Books 39(4).

Kemp, M. 1998. Parker’s pieces. Nature 392: 663.

Kohn, E. 2013. How forests think: toward an anthropology beyond the human. Berkeley; Los Angeles; London: University of California Press. https://is.muni.cz/el/1423/podzim2015/SOC587/um/KOHN_HowForestsThink_2013.pdf (Accessed 1 September 2017).                                                                                              

Malpas, W. 2004. Land Art: a complete guide to landscape environmental earthworks nature sculpture and installation art. Maidstone: Crescent Moon.

Morley, S (ed). 2010. Documents of Contemporary Art: The Sublime. MIT Press & Whitechapel Gallery. https://mitpress.mit.edu/books/sublime (Accessed 27 August 2017).

Quirks and Quarks podcast. 2016. Trees have their own fungal internet. 24 September 2016. CBC Radio. http://www.cbc.ca/radio/quirks/quirks-quarks-for-september-24-2016-1.3774759/trees-have-their-own-fungal-internet-1.3774946 (Accessed 17 February 2017).

Rovner, L. [Sd]. Earth room. Message is the Medium. http://www.messageisthemedium.com/writings/earth-room (Accessed 30 August 2017).

Saltz, J. 2013. The Walter De Maria work that recalled my past and made my future. http://www.vulture.com/2013/07/walter-de-maria-new-york-earth-room-saltz.html (Accessed 30 August 2017).

Turner, J. 2017. Life with Ms Cayenne Pepper. Manifestly Haraway: ‘a cyborg manifesto’, ‘the companion species manifesto’, companions in conversation (with Cary Wolfe) by Donna Haraway and Staying with the trouble: making kin in the Chthulucene by Donna Haraway. London Review of Books 39(11). https://www.lrb.co.uk/v39/n11/jenny-turner/life-with-ms-cayenne-pepper (Accessed 27 August 2017.

Willemse, EW. 2010. The phenomenon of displacement in contemporary society and its manifestation in contemporary visual art (MA thesis). Pretoria: University of South Africa.

Wohlleben, P. 2016. The Hidden Life of Trees: What They Feel, How They Communicate - Discoveries from a Secret World. Unabridged Audiobook, 7 hrs 33 mins. Harper Collins.


2016 - A Walk in the Park

In this body of work, A Walk in the Park, I explore how difficult it is to escape the congestion of city life and one's inner mental "noise". I live in Parkview, a suburb of Johannesburg, South Africa (fig 1), and regularly walk or run in city parks near my home: Emmarentia Gardens and Melville Koppies, hoping to escape from the fullness of the city. But escape is impossible: I hear the traffic even when at the centre of the park, ranks of suburban houses encroach on the edges of the park, my own concerns bubble to the surface, my phone pings with a message demanding my attention. 

A "walk in the park" is a commonly used idiom for something that is uncomplicated and easily done. I use the phrase ironically in my exhibition title because I argue that it is not easy to escape: a walk in open parkland can be a complex exercise, encroached upon with the interference from the city and one’s own inner world.

I explore the influence of city congestion and my busy inner world on the outer landscape primarily through oil paintings of park landscapes, which are visually disrupted in various ways. I depict disruption by using painted devices such as camera lens distortions or viewfinders depicted in the image and by using other materials to disrupt the surface of the traditional oil painting in unexpected ways. I also project video clips onto the paintings and allow the projection to spill over onto the walls, so that the moving image disrupts the borders or “wholeness” of the painting.

At first glance my works look like straightforward landscape paintings, but the strategies of interference challenge the viewer to reassess. On further inspection the works reveal themselves to be depictions of my inner awareness; my own psycho-geography.

My frequent visits to the parks informed the development of the works on exhibition. I spent considerable time there walking, running, sitting, photographing views and noting all the sounds I could hear, experiencing the parks as a recreational user and observer. While in the parks I noted my own emotions closely – fear of being alone and the possibility of assault, physical pleasure at the release of exercise, annoyance at having certain thoughts or concerns disturb my relaxation. Some disturbances were thoroughly prosaic: my dog rolling in stinking debris or being attacked by someone else’s dog. My artworks aim to capture this conflicted psycho-geography experienced during walks in the park.

It also took time to work out exactly what I wanted to “say” with my works. One afternoon in my studio, in a mood of frustration and inertia, I picked off all the peeling varnish on my studio table. I decided to use it as a medium in some of the paintings, such as Uphill (2016) (fig 2) and Emmarentia Path (2016) (fig 3), as a trace of the studio time spent giving shape to these works. According to Laurent Thévenot (1949 -), a French sociologist, our practice “brings into view activities which are situated, corporeal and shaped by habits without reflection” (Thévenot 2001: 64). This inclusion of an unexpected material onto the traditionally painted surface started to speak about a disruption of view, and an unsettled state of mind. As the challenges in my practice became clearer to me, I responded conceptually by introducing complexity into my works and by consciously using faults and flaws. 

In each of my paintings, there is a moment of incongruence or disruption that interferes with the “traditional” landscape painting. The South African art historians Elizabeth Delmont and Jessica Dubow describe landscape painting as a “process of translating alien territory into a space for the self” (Delmont & Dubow 1995: 11). My art demonstrates this process: my practice of spending time in the parks is translated into visual depictions of “my” park landscapes – highly subjective versions of the actual landscape.

In every conceptual artwork, its “base materials [are a] … meaning-laden … sub text”[, which] can … be manipulated to emphasise latent metaphors … [and] support an intention” (Eksteen 2010: 7). The connotations associated with the use of oil paints include open-endedness and plasticity and those associated with the use of mixed media include fragmentation, layering and history (Eksteen 2010: 15). I use these connotations consciously in my works. For instance, I used oil paint only for the panoramic paintings, Melville Koppies East I  (2016) (fig 4) and Melville Koppies East II (2016) (fig 5): I am less prescriptive about how they should be viewed and I invite the viewer’s spontaneous response to the strangeness of the composition, whereas in the video and painting works, Looking Down (2016) (fig 9) and Uphill (2016) (fig 2), I used mixed media and further layers of video and audio to suggest several ways of “reading” those landscapes. 

I have drawn on the multi-layered paintings of South African painter Frikkie Eksteen (1973- ) as inspiration (figs 6 and 7). His figures seem anguished; his landscapes are charged with unfolding drama. These layers of meaning are reflected in his painting process: rough splashes of paint obscure previously precisely painted areas, parts of his paintings remain unfinished, revealing the underlying computerised inkjet printing structure. 

I use similar strategies of disrupting the image and the surface of the painting in Looking Down (2016), Uphill (2016) and Emmarentia Path (2016).

In Emmarentia Path (2016) (fig 3) I contrast the leftmost third of the painting with the rest of it: on the left the paint “escapes” the limits of representing the landscape. Pieces of dried studio table varnish are incorporated in the paint, interfering with the illusion of depth. Both the “escaping” paint and the varnish draw the viewer’s eye back to the surface of the painting, hindering the viewer’s access to the landscape and referring to the process of painting, sometimes also fraught and frustrating.

In Looking Down (2016) (fig 8) I leave much of the underpainting visible, contrasted with areas of more thickly layered paint. Looking Down (2016) is a painting partially overlaid with a video work (fig 9), the video element a further layer of expression, interfering with and changing the painted surface and influencing what the painting “says” to the viewer. The video shows the ground in front of my feet as I walk downhill, suggesting an inward focus.

In Uphill (2016) (fig 2) I again use the dried varnish on the surface of the painting to disrupt the viewer’s expectation of perspective and depth, and I overlay the painting with a video projection which deals with the effort of walking uphill, especially when one is ill, as I was when I made the video. The video sound (the rough breathing of a person trudging uphill) adds an additional audio layer dealing with difficulty and disruption. There are thus three additional layers over the paint influencing the painting’s meaning. These strategies are clues to the viewer to look more carefully at the landscape and beyond what it presents at first glance. The title is also a pun: “uphill” is colloquially used to describe something arduous.

The works combining video and painting also address the relationship between microcosm and macrocosm: the influence that one’s state of mind (microcosm) can have on one’s perception of the outer world (macrocosm). The individual within the park is visually represented by the smaller video within the larger painting in Looking Down (2016) (fig 9). The video shows my introspective viewpoint during a walk, and is combined with a painting of the lower parts of trees – both elements suggesting being lost in one’s own thoughts. The macrocosm of the park being obscured by my overwhelming mental world is explored in Uphill (2016) (fig 2) where the larger video spills over the edges of the smaller painting. Both mixed media paintings create the impression of a “world within a world”, asking the viewer to consider the relationship between these worlds.

Thévenot explains that we engage with the world by moving all the time between our individual interests and public interests: we continuously shift “along a scale between greater or lesser generality” (2001: 65-66). My works depict this constant shifting between my own internal vision and the external landscape around me.

In the triptych paintings entitled Viewfinder I – III (2016) (figs 10-12) I offer the viewer visual clues about the best vantage point from which to view the next scene in the triptych, using the yellow-green square in the paintings, which suggests a digital camera viewfinder.  It fulfils a dual role, leading the viewer closer into the view, promising greater clarity, but it also obscures the landscape, preventing the viewer from being fully in the landscape.

10, 11 & 12. Marian Hester, Viewfinder I (2016), Viewfinder II (2016) & Viewfinder III (2016)

The composition of the paintings Melville Koppies East I (2016) (fig 4) and Melville Koppies East II (2016) (fig 5) draw on the distorted visual perspectives that the 360-degree panoramic function of our digital cameras can generate: telephone lines or fences curve instead of being straight and paths suddenly seem circular. These distorted representations disturb one’s “normal” expectations of the landscape. They reveal that looking through a camera lens alters what one sees. They become a metaphor for how one’s mind’s eye can influence one’s experience of the outside world. Both paintings were inspired by South African artist Heidi Fourie’s painting of a 360-degree panoramic view of her studio (fig 13). Fourie (1990-) has also explored the idea of “glitches” in internet mapping images, depicting these errors in her paintings. 

The idea of using the error to “make strange” or to “defamiliarise” the viewer is described by sociologist Hubert Dreyfus: “defamiliarization and the way of being it gives access to is ‘the strange’” (Dreyfus 2001: 167).

I used the strategy of revealing errors consciously in Three Trees (2016) (fig 14) by using the “wrong” colour – a reflective blue - for the shadow of the three trees, and I incorporated ground sandstone which I found in the parks into the surface of the paint in the foreground (fig 15) to exaggerate its position as the nearest area in the painting to the viewer, even though the foreground is not the focal point.

Collage (2016) (fig 16) uses an abstract composition to depict the impact that mental confusion and urban congestion can have during a walk in a park. 

In using these various strategies of “making strange”, my work also reflects a theory of Mark Taylor’s (1945 - ), an academic and writer on religion and art, who writes of a “third way” of artistic creation, namely “disfiguring”, which lies between abstraction and figuration. In this in-between zone, figuration is neither erased in favour of abstraction “nor absolutized but is used with and against itself to … [represent] that which eludes figuring[,] … something other that almost emerges in the cracks of faulty images” (Taylor 1992: 9).

My final work in the exhibition is a stop frame animation, entitled 1885-2016 (fig 17), of a sequence of small, sketchy oil paintings showing the development of the original Highveld farmland into the suburbs surrounding the parks. I am conscious of the importance of recognising the historical and political implications of the landscapes I have used in my artwork, and to that end I researched the history of the areas in question. I bought and borrowed historical maps and used the information in them to show the development of the suburbs. Now a protected natural park area, it was still farmed in the 1930s. (Incidentally, I found one of the old farm fenceposts and painted it in Melville Koppies East II (2016) (fig 5)). The animation shows the shrinking open space of the original farm, Braamfontein, as it is consumed by the growing suburbs. The narrative of the animation becomes a metaphor for how the city and the disorienting clutter of modern life can encroach on and interfere with one’s mental state. 

17. Marian Hester, stills from 1885-2016 (2016). 

This body of work aims to communicate my experience of the impossibility of escape from the congestion of city life and one’s own inner world, described in a series of painted and multimedia landscapes. The landscapes depict my psycho-geography: they show how I have “translated” the actual landscape by making it a personal landscape of the mind by using deliberate painterly and multimedia techniques to challenge the viewer to reassess the works beyond their first impression. I used errors consciously, using the idea that defamiliarisation gives us access to a new way of being, and exploring a way of making which lies between straightforward figuration or abstraction. 

List of Illustrations 


1.     Map of section of Johannesburg. https://www.google.co.za/maps/@-26.1577028,28.006798,14z (Accessed 20 August 2016).                 

2.     Marian Hester, Uphill (2016). Video projection over oil and dried varnish on canvas. 45 x 61 cm.              

3.     Marian Hester, Emmarentia Path (2016). Oil and dried varnish on canvas. 76,2 x 101,6 cm.

4.     Marian Hester, Melville Koppies East I (2016). Oil on canvas. 23 x 115 cm.

5.     Marian Hester, Melville Koppies East II (2016). Oil on canvas. 23 x 115 cm.

6.     Frikkie Eksteen, Detail from Hollow Men II (2014-2016). Oil and inkjet on canvas. 78 x 40 cm. Photograph taken by Marian Hester at the Fried Contemporary Gallery, Pretoria in June 2016. 

7.     Frikkie Eksteen, Gathering at the Monument (2015-2016). Oil, spraypaint and inkjet print on canvas. 123 x 123 cm. http://friedcontemporary.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/16_Gathering-at-the-Monument-new-1.jpg (Accessed 10 August 2016).

8.     Marian Hester, Detail from Looking Down (2016). Video projection over oil on canvas. 76,2 x 101,6 cm.

9.     Marian Hester, Looking Down (2016). Video projection over oil on canvas. 76,2 x 101,6 cm.

10. Marian Hester, Viewfinder I (2016). Oil and oil pastel on canvas. 70 x 56 cm.

11. Marian Hester, Viewfinder II (2016). Oil and oil pastel on canvas. 70 x 56 cm.

12. Marian Hester, Viewfinder III (2016). Oil and oil pastel on canvas. 70 x 56 cm.

13. Heidi Fourie, Shifts and Contrivances Available in Wild Countries (2015). Oil on canvas. 240 x 110cm. http://www.art.co.za/heidifourie/ (Accessed 10 August 2016).

14. Marian Hester, Three Trees (2016). Oil and crushed sandstone on canvas. 55,5 x 70

15. Marian Hester, Detail from Three Trees (2016). Oil and crushed sandstone on canvas. 55,5 x 70 cm.                                                

16. Marian Hester, Collage (2016). Oil on canvas. 76,2 x 101,6 cm.

17. Marian Hester, Still from 1885-2016 (2016). Stop frame animation video, [1:33].



Delmont, E & Dubow, J. 1995. Thinking Through Landscape: Colonial Spaces and their Legacies in Panoramas of Passage: changing landscapes of South Africa. University Art Galleries, University of the Witwatersrand: Johannesburg and Meridian International Center: Washington DC

Dreyfus, H. 2001. How Heidegger defends the possibility of a correspondence theory of truth with respect to the entities of natural science in The practice turn in contemporary theory: 159-171. Edited by TR Schatzki, K Knorr Cetina and E von Savigny. London; New York: Routledge.

Eksteen, F. 2010. Thought-forms: a rough guide to conceptualisation in art-making in VAR3701 study guide: 1-18.

http://www.art.co.za/heidifourie/ (Accessed 10 August 2016).

https://www.google.co.za/maps/@-26.1577028,28.006798,14z (Accessed 20 August 2016).

Schatzki, T, Knorr Cetina, K & von Savigny, E. 2001. The practice turn in contemporary theory. London; New York: Routledge.

Taylor, MC. 1992. Disfiguring: art, architecture, religion. Chicago; London: The University of Chicago Press.

Thévenot, L. 2001. Pragmatic regimes governing the engagement with the world in The practice turn in contemporary theory: 64-82. Edited by TR Schatzki, K Knorr Cetina and E von Savigny. London; New York: Routledge.

University of South Africa. Department of Art History, Visual Arts and Musicology. 2010. Only study guide for VAR3701 visual arts 3: VAR3701/1/2011 VAR3702/1/2011. Pretoria.

VAR3701 study guide see University of South Africa.  Department of Art History, Visual Art and Musicology.