Cast of Characters: The Artist

Truth be told, this one could probably have been titled any of the following: The Artist, The Soldier, The Rebel, The Radical. Chris was one of those guys you meet that seems to have done it all and maintained a great sense of humor throughout an adventurous life. 

I met Chris and his wife Adelaide in Stanford, just outside of Hermanus, on my third day of riding. I pulled up to the farm stall for second breakfast, something that's become integral on days where I'm hitting upwards of 100 kilometers in the saddle. Before I'd even taken off my gloves, let alone dismounted, I was approached by an older couple, sweet as molasses, as they were leaving the shop. Where was I going? Where was I from? Such an adventure! Best of luck to you!

The conversation lasted less than five minutes, but within that time, I had an invite to stop and stay the night in Groot Braak River, halfway between Mossel Bay and George. They'd make sure I had a solid breakfast if I came through. It was about 400km away, but it was on my route, and they'd love to have me. 

I was floored. I had their address and their phone number and I hadn't even left the saddle. Who were these people? Why would they invite a complete stranger to stay with them after a two minute conversation? Were they planning to harvest my organs?

I arrived in Groot Braak about two weeks later, but the vagaries of the road being what they are, I did not have a chance to stop and spend the night with Chris and Adelaide. I did, however, pull Chris away from his work for an hour or two for brunch at one of his local haunts, a place so local that the only menus were printed entirely in Afrikaans.

Chris runs an art gallery, or, rather, Chris is an artist who sells his work through his gallery. But he isn't the typical artist that one is likely to find among the various hippy communities dotting South Africa's Garden Route. You know the type, the ones who sell various trinkets that only serve to clutter up your living room when you get home and realize that you wasted a few bucks on crap that you don't really want and never would have bought if you weren't on vacation. 

Instead, Chris paints beautiful works like these:

 

Chris's background in art stretches back to his youth, when he was one of the most daring up-and-coming artists in South Africa. At the age of 27, Chris's work was on display in 24 countries across world, including the US and Europe. 

At the height of his critical acclaim, Chris was approached by the Broederbond, Afrikaans for "The Brotherhood," a collection of the most powerful men in South Africa. These cultural, political, and economic elite were the architects of Apartheid, and they ruled almost every facet of South African life. 

They made Chris an offer typically unheard of for someone of his age, to join the Broederbond and gain access to South Africa's inner circle, the power brokers, the movers and the shakers, the godfathers. It was an offer he couldn't refuse.

But refuse it he did, and within months, his artistic career was over. He was blacklisted in South Africa, and the government made sure that his work couldn't reach the outside world. Chris told me, "Their attitude was one of, 'If you aren't with us, you're against us.' And that was it. I was out, and there wasn't anything I could do about it."

Like nearly every other South African man of his generation, Chris had been forced into military service, becoming a part of the behemoth that made up what was at the time the world's fourth best army. Many forget, or perhaps never fully realize, that South Africa, under apartheid, came as close as any government ever has to fully realizing an Orwellian vision of control and coercion. The army was one of the central pillars of the old South Africa, and every white man of a certain age was drafted into the machinery of oppression. 

Chris was no different, and it was in between marksmanship training, stick fighting, and jumping out of trucks eight to ten times a day that his rebellious spirit and his opposition to the Apartheid government grew. 

It wasn't that he couldn't handle military life. Indeed, he excelled at it, gaining notable recognition for his skill with a rifle. But the artist's spirit was strong within him, and he never lost his critical detachment from the powers that be. 

So when the Broederbond came knocking, he closed the door.

Chris would eventually go on to work for the government, in the Ministry of Information, rising high in the civil service, but on his own terms. As the political thaw that represented the end of apartheid was working it's way through the system, he happened to run into Cyril Ramaphosa, one of the ANC's most powerful figures in the transition and the current deputy president of the ANC, a man who has since gained immense wealth in mining, real estate, telecoms, energy, and banking. 

Chris, documents in hand, not knowing who he was speaking to, naively asked, "What happens to my position when the new government takes over?" The response? "Your previous service will be commended, but there will not be a place for you in the new South Africa."

So Chris jumped before he could be pushed, moving with his wife to Groot Braak to make a go of it with the career as an artist that he had let go so long before.

And it worked. Chris and Adelaide have lived very happily in Groot Braak for a number of years now. By his own admission, Chris doesn't make much, but it's enough for the lifestyle that they cherish. And that, according to Chris, is the most important thing in life: to lead the life that you want to lead. To live simply and appreciate what you have. 

Despite some of the hardship that he's faced in career and in life, Chris maintains a positively brilliant, or perhaps brilliantly positive, view on the world. He laughs easily and readily, a high pitched, infectious guffaw that carries its own vim and vigor. He's keyed in to many of the hardships faced by his fellow citizens, both in South Africa and throughout the world, but he somehow maintains an energy and an enthusiasm for life that is admirable beyond description.

While writing this entry, I keep coming back to the word life. Every adjective related to Chris: life, life, life. Perhaps that's what Chris represents for me. He's continued on and is doing what he loves in the place he wants to be. I think there's little more that one could ask from the world.

Plus he bought me breakfast. Small victories.