Some Final Thoughts on my African Experience
- 7 days ago
- 5 min read
Updated: 7 days ago
When I first applied for the Pat Taylor Teaching Award, my goal was straightforward: learn more about indigenous and contemporary African art so I could bring those experiences back to my classroom. I certainly accomplished that, but the trip offered something less tangible as well. It expanded the context in which I now understand that art—and, in many ways, the continent itself.
Like many Americans, I realized that much of my mental picture of Africa had been largely shaped by media—wildlife documentaries, news stories, humanitarian campaigns (think “We Are the World” from my youth), museum exhibits and lots books. Those things are helpful, but they are only fragments of a much larger story. South Africa is modern, urban, technologically connected, and culturally vibrant. We rode Ubers across major cities, visited world-class museums, stayed in beautiful hotels and guesthouses, ate remarkable food, and met people whose concerns often sounded remarkably familiar to our own. The rolling power outages I had worried about never affected us. Neither did concerns about food, disease outbreaks, or basic travel logistics. Every country has challenges, and South Africa is only a small part of the continent of Africa, but my concerns had been far worse than the reality.
Mark Twain famously wrote that “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness…” I have always appreciated that quote, but it took on new meaning after this journey. Travel doesn’t simply introduce us to new places; it exposes the stories we have unknowingly told ourselves about those places. South Africa challenged many of mine. It reminded me that no country, no culture, and certainly no continent can be understood through headlines or stereotypes. The broad, generous view Twain described is earned not by checking destinations off a list, but by listening to the people, asking questions, sharing meals, wandering museums, and being willing to discover that your assumptions were flawed.
The same was true of the art.
Before this trip I imagined contemporary African art would frequently draw directly from traditional techniques and materials. While there are certainly artists who do just that, they were generally the exception rather than the rule. The artists we encountered at places like the Norval Foundation and NIROX Sculpture Park are engaged in the same global conversations as artists everywhere else. They work in bronze, concrete, photography, installation, video, performance, and digital media. Their work addresses contemporary themes of politics, migration, identity, memory, ecology, and globalization alongside distinctly South African experiences like Apartheid. They are not only reflecting on the past. They are working to shape the future.
The deeper I explored traditional art forms, the more I appreciated just how much knowledge they contain. Spending time with Hlengiwe Dube transformed the way I think about Zulu beadwork. What initially appeared to me as beautiful patterns revealed themselves to be an intricate visual language developed over generations. Every color, arrangement, and geometric form carries meaning, and even those meanings shift from one region to another. After decades of study and teaching around the world, Hlengiwe continues to share the craft and its meaning.
The mission of sharing traditional culture repeated itself throughout the trip. At the Phansi Museum, thousands of objects became more than baskets, vessels, or beadwork once our guide explained the lives and beliefs behind them. At Lesedi Cultural Village we learned that there is no single “African culture,” but many distinct histories, languages, and architectural traditions. The San rock paintings reminded me that art has long served as a bridge between the physical and spiritual worlds. Museums provided context, but conversations with artists, guides, and local people gave those objects life.
That experience also helped me better understand contemporary African art. Traditional practices are not disappearing—they are very much alive, sustained by artists and cultural leaders who continue to create, teach, and pass this knowledge to the next generation. At the same time, many contemporary artists are doing what artists everywhere have always done: responding to the world they inhabit using the materials, technologies, and visual languages of their own time. Just as few American artists today feel compelled to work exclusively with colonial-era methods, many African artists are forging new paths while remaining connected to the remarkable artistic traditions that came before them.
Even the wildlife became part of that education. Watching elephants, leopards, and birds in their natural environment changed how I later looked at sculptures by Dylan Lewis or Brett Murray. Movement, expression, and grace became things I noticed. The safari was not separate from the art. It deepened my understanding of it.
The same was true of South Africa itself.
The country’s extraordinary beauty exists alongside equally visible challenges. We drove past breathtaking vistas and sprawling townships. We visited museums filled with internationally celebrated artists and spoke with drivers frustrated by corruption and inequality. Neither experience canceled out the other. Together they painted a far more honest picture than either could alone.
The lesson that has taken a lifetime to learn and that was reinforced is a greater appreciation for complexity. Good teaching requires curiosity more than certainty. Good travel does too.
This journey will certainly shape my curriculum next year. My students will learn about San rock art, Zulu beadwork, contemporary African sculpture, Ndebele painting, and artists like Hlengiwe Dube, Brett Murray, Jackson Hlungwani, Esther Mahlangu, Moataz Nasr, and many others. More importantly, I hope they come away understanding that African art is not a single story. Neither is Africa itself.
Finally, I want to express my sincere gratitude to the Maggie L. Walker Governor’s School Foundation for awarding me the Pat Taylor Teaching Award that made this experience possible. Pat believed deeply in opening doors for students and teachers alike. I hope these experiences—and the lessons they sparked—find their way into my classroom for many years to come.
Perhaps that’s what I’ll remember most—not any single artwork or view, but how often one experience helped me understand the next. By the end of the trip, museums, conversations, wildlife, history, and contemporary art no longer felt like separate experiences. They had become parts of the same story.
Thank you so much for following along on this journey. I hope these posts have offered a glimpse into a remarkable country, its artists, and the conversations that will continue long after my suitcase has been unpacked and into the new school year.
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