I first went to Namibia on an overland 21 day road trip in the early 90s. It was a 21st birthday gift from my parents. We had an experienced driver and 8 of us set off, camping out in the open as we made our way all the way up to Etosha pan in the far North. I was blown away by the ‘otherness’ of the landscape; lunar almost, stretching on forever. The heat, the silence, the light and vastness of this red country was burnt into my memory and I longed to go back.
I was 50 before I returned again. A new student in my painting class and now friend, mentioned that he owned land and a little house in the southwestern Namibia Desert where he had previously hosted photography retreats. I felt the longing rise up again and I think he could see the look on my face. A year later, he suggested that we take a group out there to work on our art practices.
The place is remote, more than two hours from anything that looks like a shop and there is very little signal. We needed to take everything with us. The trip, for those flying, entailed overnight bookings in Windhoek, flight coordination, vehicle hire and a 6 hour drive across very desolate countryside. There is also food and art supplies to consider and pack.
We stayed at a little family run lodge that is 9 km from the house where the retreats are held, just to sleep and eat breakfast before heading out early each day. We arrived at sunset; red sand, red sky and a little red house in a landscape strewn with millions of round yellow melons. When there has been rain, Tsamma melon creepers spread across the land and produce millions of melons that eventually die back, leaving the melons strewn everywhere. It’s surreal.
When night falls, the Milky Way settles over the little red house to the sound of barking geckos. The arid desert environment of this part of Namibia creates one of the most pristine and unpolluted stargazing experiences on the planet. At night, in complete darkness and total silence, it feels as though you’re floating around in the Milky Way, that it’s around you... like you can reach out and touch the stars.
As far as creating work is concerned, I tried to help people through the overwhelm, though I was pretty overwhelmed myself. There are often tears when everything stops and you are out there alone like figures in a Friedrich painting… How do you begin? Personally, I try to steer away from landscape painting per se. I encouraged the other artists to go a little deeper than reflecting simply on the beauty of the place and to perhaps investigate the sublime or brutal qualities of the desert - if they pick up a bone to think about vanitas painting and Momento Mori when they work with it; if they work with the light moving through the house across objects, through veiled curtains and old photos, to think about the intimacy of these small spaces and how light falling on objects tells stories.
These are the things that have changed and evolved. Next April, will be our fourth art trip to Namibia. I am now better placed at facilitating in the overwhelm. I’ve learnt that some parameters create more freedom and greater exploration. Watching the stress of our busy, very connected lives drain away in the 8 days that we spend there, I’ve learned to insist on daily alone time without a phone even though ‘it’s just for photos.’
This is an incredible retreat that shifts and turns with each new group. It’s inspired me to do less studio workshops and lessons and spend more time with artists in extraordinary places.
Written by Dee Donaldson
You may view Dee Donaldon's work at Otomys between 10am-5pm Tuesday to Friday, or by appointment on Saturdays and Mondays.
