A Past Life—a quiet tribute to the relics of rural life

As you might know by now, I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for old things—old buildings, old windmills, rusted-out relics of a bygone era—and yes, especially old tractors. These artefacts speak to me of a past life: one filled with stories, hard work, and dust-kicking determination. That’s what this painting is about—A Past Life—a quiet tribute to the relics of rural life that are slowly being swallowed by the sun-baked plains of the Karoo.

It’s so easy, and happens so often, that in the mad rush and busyness of modern life—especially in our increasingly urbanised world—valuable parts of our heritage get left behind. Forgotten. Overlooked. They slowly decay, rusting into the dry earth, buried beneath the sands of time. The Karoo, with all its silence and space, holds these ghosts gently, like sacred keepsakes scattered across the platteland.

I often speak of the humanity I try to portray in my paintings—not through faces or figures, but through the things we leave behind. Old gates, barns, sheds, roads, and yes, tractors. Objects that hint at stories once lived, hands that once worked, and lives that once pulsed in these now-quiet places. My paintings are filled with these artefacts. They’re not just props—they are the main characters. They speak of a time and a people. Their silence tells you something if you know how to listen.

This old blue tractor is one of those characters.

I discovered it in the tiny town of Klaarstroom, tucked beneath the majestic Swartberg Mountains in the Western Cape Karoo. If that name rings a bell, it’s because it’s the same tiny far away village featured in my previous post, Klaarstroom Soft Light. Clearly, Klaarstroom is proving to be quite the muse for me.

Now, to be fair—and here’s where I confess a small artistic liberty—the landscape in the background of this painting doesn’t actually belong to Klaarstroom. Geographically speaking, the rugged mountains and empty, open plains you see here are located much further away, in the more central parts of the Karoo. Think somewhere near Middelburg or Graaff-Reinet. It’s a bit of a mash-up: a found tractor from the Southern or Eastern Karoo, and a background inspired by the Central Karoo’s endless, dramatic skyline.

And I’m okay with that.

In fact, this has always been my approach. I’ve never set out to be a human camera, slavishly copying a scene exactly as I saw it. I’d much rather be a painter—an artist. A person who takes what he sees, feels it, remembers it, rearranges it, and paints something that speaks not just of a place, but of its essence. Something that carries emotion and memory, not just pixels.

That’s what A Past Life is. It’s not a copy. It’s a composition. A visual memory. A quiet tribute to the Karoo’s soul, seen through the lens of my own.

Let’s talk about that tractor, though. Old and blue, long retired, it sits in the landscape like a forgotten soldier. Rusted, battered, a bit weary-looking—but still proud. To most, it might look like junk. To me, it’s poetry. It tells a story. Probably a few. You can almost hear its engine if you stand quietly enough. You can imagine the hands that drove it, the fields it once tilled, the sunrises it saw.

My affection for old tractors doesn’t come from nowhere. I grew up on a small farm on the outskirts of Bergville, in Northern KwaZulu-Natal. It was a modest patch of land, but it was full of life—and full of machines that felt like family. One of my happiest memories as a young boy is of a little grey Massey Ferguson that chugged faithfully around the farm. It wasn’t just a tractor. It was freedom, fun, and something deeply grounding. That mechanical companionship, that earthiness, never left me. Perhaps that’s why I keep finding old tractors with my camera—and why they keep finding their way into my paintings.

This particular tractor, though blue and far from home, reminded me of those early days. Of cracked boots and diesel fumes, of dirt roads and wire fences. Of a past life—not just its own, but mine too.

That’s why I paint these things. Not because they’re quaint or rustic, but because they carry weight. They hold memory. And in our modern, polished, and ever-hurrying world, I think we need a little more time spent remembering. Pausing. Looking again.

The Karoo is perfect for that. It’s slow. It’s vast. It whispers instead of shouting. It allows for quiet stories to rise from the dust. And A Past Life is one of those stories.

So yes, it’s a landscape painting. But really, it’s a memory. It’s a salute to the everyday heroes of our rural past. It’s a portrait of resilience, wear, and weathering—and of the strange beauty that comes when something is no longer new, but still standing.