I am a new generation that grew out of the remnants after the genocide. We are like flower petals left in the wind. The pollen flew away without a trace, and we are a beautiful picture of a past life. And it is quite possible that someday the real Himba tribe will be reborn. I don't think any of our children. After all, the “cultural values” of the whole world have already invaded our lives, And they became an intoxicating drug. It's like something you haven't seen before and it attracts you. How to forget what has already happened?! If we forget this, it will happen again. And while we are a national minority - They protect us and try to multiply us. As we become bigger, we will have to be reckoned with. In the meantime, we are fish in an aquarium. Beautiful, well-groomed, but not aware of the truth of big water. Winter will come, and I will leave again for a new world, get an education and work. Game of Himba.
Canvas. Oil. 157x97 November 2023
Не каждый смысл находит мгновенно отголоски в хранилище души, но каждому дано задеть струну. Вопрос лишь в том, кто рвёт, а кто старается едва соприкоснуться?! Всему есть своё время и итог...