We acquired our chickens shortly after we arrived in Hillcrest in 2000. They were initially justified as they were to be a source of eggs. It fitted our notion of a relaxed and natural farm lifestyle that we hoped to live. Hillcrest was, at that time, a rustic place as we had horses and paddocks across the road and cane fields further along. We did, in those first few months, enjoy the fresh free range eggs, marvelling at the proud and bright orange yolks. However, in recent years our village, along with our rates, and our notion of free range has exploded and we are now part of the busy metropolis that is Durban. The lifestyle we had hoped for has, like the cane fields, gone up in smoke. The paddocks have been replaced by gated estates and the quiet life substituted with shopping malls and traffic. We still have our chickens, although we are a lot wiser about them.

Chickens (and roosters) were part of my imagery long before we got them, because as a subject the chicken has a lot to offer. The images made can assume a wide variety of interpretations and anything from arrogance to timidity is possible. Often there is some measure of stupidity intended, which makes it a fitting metaphor for human beings. It is a colourful subject, has interesting lines and its compact form lends itself to a visually exciting image. As a free range and cocky student I made a linocut print titled “Cocks”. The subject has been repeated many times, but in different forms and imbued with different meanings. Recently, I have made the “Bohemian Bird” which, like all of my previous chicken sculptures, is slightly different in form and content.

The form and content of this work is linked to another new work, “Sensual Soul”, done at about the same time. It is about the poignancy of life: Sensual and beautiful but decaying; powerful but helpless; contented but sad – which all says something about the wonder and futility of life. Perhaps this work has to do with some introspection and looking back on the part of this happy artist whose hair is falling out and whose teeth are missing. One who has begun to think about the pathos of life.

The chickens are no longer a food source for us. They have become our pets and perhaps a mirror of our slightly dysfunctional world. They, like us, have traffic jams and like our ex Chief of Police have some undesirable associates. Recently, I removed a 1.3 m Mozambican Spitting Cobra from the chicken run who lived up to its name and spat at me and in the eye of my dog. Poison was our first option too when dealing with mites on the chickens. A natural alternative was not even contemplated. The traffic jams occur ever day at rush hour which is when I feed them. Each day our flock rushes ahead into the cage and when, on seeing that I am not there yet, they rush out again and into those still heading into the cage. This causes a snarl-up and exacts a lot of foul language as they get under my feet.

Our Arcadian dream is a distant memory. It was worn away by the building boom, undermined by the snakes and the mites, but the most serious damage was done by the chickens. They imploded our pastoral aspirations when my wife saw them dining on dog poop. No matter how natural you might consider this, it is not for us and we have stuck to Pick n Pay’s whole grain eggs ever since.

The DVD is, for our house, a relatively new technology and a great relief for me, as my wife and I have spent most of our married life watching videos in fast forward. My wife, being master of the house, was in charge of the remote and therefore the video machine. She would tape programmes which were intended to be watched later. However, hour upon hour and night after night, we would scroll through videos in fast forward trying to find the wretched programmes. My wife’s insistence that the programme existed and her determination to find it were exhaustive. It was a scene that belongs to Monty Python and absurdist theatre.

Now that we have a DVD player, my world has changed and I have recently watched How Art made the World. It is a BBC production that looks at the “big picture” of art’s role in society. It was one which I enjoyed and recommend (not least because I actually got to see it). It is rare that art is seen as important, a maker of our world, and not just as a bit of ornamentation. In addition the presenter, Dr Michael Spivey, in one of the post scripts bravely states that art is “representation” and “a common human activity”. This reinforces my own ideas about art.

I think that the artist should “paint” his or her experiences, the world around them. That way the art works will be of that person, of that time, of that society and of that place, and therefore be a representation. My recent works, “False Fish” (made from blue gum bark and currently at home) and “Diver” (made from wild olive wood and now at the Strydom Gallery in George), are examples of my “painting” my world.

They have something of the impending Christmas holiday about them, but fishing and diving are more than just a holiday sport or a seaside meal. They are things I have done since childhood, part of my life, and they have, in the past, been a refuge in emotionally turbulent times. These kinds of images I associate with freedom and happiness. I have enjoyed making them as I have played with the forms. Some abstraction and distortion have made them expressive and perhaps they begin to show what I feel and the kind of person I really am.

The reason (in part) why I write these letters, which I hope gives some insight into my slightly absurd life, is to point out the grounds for why I make what I do. However, you do not have to live a ludicrous life to be an artist. I believe, like Dr Spivey, that all people have a creative ability. I have met and admired some highly creative accountants and lawyers – perhaps you could describe them as artists in their own fields. And of course this list of creative people must include my wife.

We never found those missing programmes and only after several years of watching the same old programmes in fast forward was it decided that the video machine was broken. I like to think of this as my wife’s artistic endeavour and it is representative of some peoples’ lives. If it was frustrating, it was also entertaining. So much so that it had me laughing until the tears rolled down my cheeks.

PS. Greg and Kate of Stepping Stones have opened a new gallery in Cape Town and have some of my work on display. It is at No 9 Jarvis Street, which is directly behind the new Cape Quarter Centre (tel: 083 781 8170). If you are in the area pop in and take a look.