Learning the Language of Beads with Hlengiwe Dube

One of the experiences I was most looking forward to on this trip was studying Zulu beadwork with internationally recognized artist and educator Hlengiwe Dube. While planning our travels, we came across one of her lectures at Yale explaining the symbolism and visual language of traditional Zulu beadwork. On a whim, I reached out through social media to ask if she might be available while we were in Durban. To my surprise, she replied yes.

What followed was one of the most meaningful experiences of the entire trip.

Hlengiwe learned beadwork from her grandmother in the Valley of a Thousand Hills in KwaZulu-Natal and sold her first Zulu beaded “love letter” at just twelve years old. Since then, she has dedicated her career to preserving and teaching the language of Zulu beadwork, collaborating with museums and universities around the world—including Yale University, the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, and numerous South African museums. She has authored Zulu Beadwork: Talk with Beads and has spent decades documenting traditional techniques and mentoring thousands of artists and students. (Here is more about her teaching Yale School of Art⁠)

Before we ever picked up a needle, Hlengiwe showed us some of the Phansi Museum collection, transforming what I had been seeing as beautiful decorative objects into a sophisticated visual language. Bead colors, geometric patterns, and even the placement of individual motifs all communicate messages about identity, family, courtship, status, protection, and community. It reminded me of our visit to the San rock art exhibition in Cape Town: once again, I realized that to truly understand the art, you first have to understand the culture that created it.

She anticipated that I was especially interested in the conceptual side of the tradition and had prepared an extraordinary series of didactic materials. Then she unrolled something she had created specifically for our workshop—a long black-and-white beaded panel containing nearly every major symbolic motif used in traditional Zulu beadwork. By removing the element of color, each symbol became easier to study before seeing it incorporated into more complex works. It was an incredibly generous teaching tool and a wonderful example of how an artist can preserve tradition while making it accessible to new audiences.

Then it was my turn.

After choosing a simple pattern and a palette of colors, I began stitching my own small beaded panel. Unlike my first beading experience earlier in Cape Town, I managed to thread the needle without incident! The real challenge came afterward. Every bead had to be added in a precise order, each stitch carefully placed to maintain the structure of the design. More than once I accidentally skipped a row or misplaced a stitch along the edge. Each time, Hlengiwe patiently unraveled my mistakes, explained what had happened, and encouraged me to try again.

The lesson extended far beyond beading techniques.

Hlengiwe shared that after surviving cancer, she became even more committed to passing this knowledge on before it could be lost. She explained that many contemporary commercial beadworkers focus only on making attractive patterns, without understanding the meanings embedded within them. As a result, beadwork intended for weddings or important ceremonies can sometimes unintentionally communicate entirely different messages. Preserving the language behind the designs, she explained, is just as important as preserving the designs themselves. (Read more about this in this article Homo Faber⁠)

As an art teacher, that was especially meaningful to me.

Throughout this journey I’ve been searching for the connections between traditional African art and contemporary artistic practice. My short time with Hlengiwe reminded me that preserving culture isn’t simply about protecting objects in museums. It happens when knowledge is shared from one person to another, one conversation to another, one careful stitch to the next.

I left with a small unfinished beaded sample

(the fruits of my hour and a half of work) plus a much deeper appreciation for Zulu artwork, and a renewed commitment to bring these stories—and this remarkable artistic tradition—back to my students.