Wagon Wheel Gate: A Journey Into the Heart of the Karoo

If you’ve read any of my previous posts you would know that I’ve always had a deep affection for the wide-open spaces of the Karoo. Its sweeping horizons, the faraway mountains, and the unique Karoo fynbos that make up the landscape—each element tells a story. A story of quiet, rugged beauty. But it’s not just the endless expanses of the land that captivate me. It’s the detail—the unexpected, often overlooked objects that stand as silent witness to the passing of time and people. And among these, the ubiquitous cattle gate of the Karoo holds a particular fascination for me.

Cattle gates are such a defining feature of the landscape here in the far away Karoo, each one unique in shape and size. They are simple, functional pieces of architecture, yet there’s something about their form and placement that always manages to intrigue me. They blend with the environment, standing like silent sentinels in the landscape, marking boundaries, controlling movement, and yet, they add so much character to the scene.

This particular gate is unlike most I’ve seen. It caught my attention because of its uniqueness—made up of a series of wheels in different shapes and sizes, creating an intriguing composition that drew me in immediately. Of course, the most prominent of these wheels is the wagon wheel at the centre, hence the title of this painting: "Wagon Wheel Gate." The gate itself, an almost whimsical structure, is juxtaposed against the vastness and raw beauty of the Karoo landscape, creating a striking contrast that I wanted to capture. Again the suggestion of humanity and human presence without the actual presence of the human figure.

The Challenge of “Wagon Wheel Gate”

This painting was a bit of a departure for me in terms of the usual scale and content I tend to focus on. While I’ve often worked with wide-open, minimalist landscapes—empty in their vastness and simplicity—this painting demanded something more. Yes, the sense of space and distance that I love so much is still there, but there’s a lot more going on in this piece. More detail, more structure, and more complexity. And that’s where the challenge came in.

First and foremost, the wheels. They might seem simple at first glance, but creating them with precision and accuracy… not so easy. The roundness of the wheels, the structure of the spokes, the perspectives—all require a delicate touch and a keen eye for detail. The subtle nuances of light and texture are what make them come to life, and the challenge was to ensure they didn’t just sit flat on the canvas but instead became part of the landscape, part of the story.

And then, of course, there’s the windmill. If you’ve ever tried painting a windmill, you’ll know just how tricky it can be. Each blade is different—different shapes, different angles, different curves. The light falls on each one in its own way, creating a whole spectrum of shadows and highlights. The challenge lies not just in getting the windmill technically accurate but in making it feel as though it belongs in the scene, as though the windmill is part of the landscape and the story the painting is telling.

Realism and the Art of Improv

As with all my work, I approached this painting with my signature style: a blend of realism and improvisation. While I’m often labeled as a realist, the truth is that much of my detail is a bit of sleight of hand. I don’t want my paintings to be photographic—though they might appear so at first glance. What I strive for is a balance. A balance between photo realism and what I would call “painterly realism,” where the detail, particularly in the vegetation is not so much painted leaf by leaf or blade by blade, or the earth pebble by pebble, but the detail being more suggested, using substrate texture, and paint consistency, and layers, and transparent glazing techniques to (hopefully) give life to the work rather than using thousands of static brush strokes.

I’ve always believed that painting is as much about improvisation as it is about technique. The act of creating a painting is a dance between precision and freedom. Even though I might begin with a strong sense of how I want the final piece to look, there’s always room for spontaneity and adjustment as the painting evolves. This is especially true when dealing with a subject like the Karoo, where the landscape itself is so wild and unpredictable. The texture of the land, the shifting light, and the ever-changing atmosphere are all elements that are not always easy to capture in a way that feels both real and painterly.

That’s where improvisation comes in. While the gate itself, as seen on Witkrans Guest Farm, is accurate to my photograph, the background, the sky, and many other elements are improvisations. The windmill wasn’t there—but its in the painting. Not part of the Witkrans story and history—but very much part of the Great Karoo story. The Karoo has a way of inspiring creation—not just copying! And for me, the background and context in “Wagon Wheel Gate” isn’t just a replication of the real landscape but a reflection of the spirit and the feel of that place.

The Inspiration Behind the Painting

This painting is one of the fruits of a trip we took to Cape Town not long ago. We overnighted at the superb guest farm—Witkrans, located between Middleberg and Cradock. It was a peaceful, restful place, surrounded by the beauty of the Karoo. As we arrived at the farm, I was immediately struck by the gate—I've seen, photographed and painted so many cattle gates before, but this one was unique, and I knew I had to capture it. I photographed it from every possible angle and direction that day, knowing that one of those photos would inspire a painting. And sure enough, one of those came to life in this piece.

But like most of my paintings, “Wagon Wheel Gate” isn’t a literal representation of what I saw that day. It’s more of an emotional and visual interpretation of the experience. While the gate is real, the rest of the scene—the background, the mountains, the sky, the windmill—was created from my imagination, memories and other photos of the area composited in. The windmill, the wheels, and the dry, dusty earth here reflect the essence of the Karoo but are pieced together in a way that is unique to this particular painting—not a slavish copy of a single photograph

Time Well Spent

This painting took longer to complete than most, and that’s partly because of its physical size (one by one and a half metres), as well as the level of detail required to accurately render the wheels and windmill. But more than that, it took time because of my engagement with the landscape in a deeper, more personal way. I count my time spent driving in the Karoo, stopping, getting out of the car, walking in the wind and sun, and taking countless photos, as part of the time spent making the painting. A painting like this is so much more than time in front of the easel in my studio. I don’t want to just paint a gate in the Karoo. I want to capture the sense of remoteness, the quietude, and the sheer scale of the place—where the land feels as though it stretches on forever, and the only things that interrupt the silence are the occasional breeze, the sounds of distant birds and the plaintive bleat of grazing goats and sheep.

Time well spent, indeed. Because, at the end of the day, it’s not just about the painting itself. It’s about the process—the way it connects me to the land, to the history, and to the stories that shape our experience of this remarkable landscape.