Hope Masike's Mbira Mberi: a reflection by Ignatius Mabasa

Ignatius Mabasa’s foreword to Mbira Mberi, a new book by Hope Masike, published by Tribe Hope Foundation, Harare, 2026

Reading Hope Masike’s new book, Mbira Mberi, brings various enriching feelings. As someone who had the privilege of knowing and relating with mbira luminaries such as Ephat Mujuru, Dumisani Maraire and Chiwoniso Maraire, I am thrilled beyond words that Hope Masike has finally done what I long challenged many of my artist friends to do: write your own stories!

Partly memoir, academic and mbira playing handbook… Mbira Mberi is not merely an act of documentation, but an act of cultural reclamation, an opportunity to reflect on the beauty of the mbira and to articulate its meaning from within, as a cultural insider.

Over the years, I have consistently urged fellow cultural practitioners and intellectuals—among them Cont Mhlanga, Chenjerai Hove, and George Kahari  to tell our own stories. I have argued for a mode of writing that blends the personal and the academic, not only as a contribution to our cultural heritage but also as a necessary decolonising practice. In this regard, Masike’s work stands as both response and example!

One of the strengths of Mbira Mberi lies in its engagement with earlier scholarship, particularly that of Western ethnomusicologists such as Hugh Tracey. While acknowledging the usefulness of such work, Masike does not shy away from pointing out its limitations, including its often patronising gaze. Her critique is both measured and necessary, opening up space for more grounded, self-representational scholarship.

Masike poignantly reflects on the irony that, in writing about the mbira, she has often had to rely on the work of cultural outsiders, largely because many of our own mbira masters have either felt intimidated by writing or have not prioritised it. In doing so, she implicitly challenges other living mbira artists to reject the lingering colonial assertion, attributed to a former Native Commissioner, that “the native does not write.” This book, therefore, is not only a narrative, it is a call to action.

The text is both informative and accessible, demystifying complex musical concepts while guiding the reader through the journey of learning to play the mbira. Masike’s storytelling is marked by wisdom and humour, and she generously offers practical insights for aspiring players. Her advice that one should not be tempted by a cheap mbira, but rather seek an instrument that “chooses you,” captures the deeply relational nature of this musical tradition.

Importantly, the book balances historical and cultural reflection with contemporary realities. Here is a book about Hope Masike’s life in music with iconic photographs. Masike observes how mbira practice continues to evolve, with modern players incorporating innovations such as instrument strands, branded cases, and digital tuning applications. In doing so, she resists the temptation to freeze the mbira in an imagined past, instead presenting it as a living, adaptive tradition.

Her observation that more work needs to be done to historicise the mbira outside colonial frameworks, is particularly compelling. One cannot help but reflect that such efforts should have been undertaken as national projects in the early years of Zimbabwe’s independence, when many knowledge holders were still alive. That this work is being done now, decades later, is both commendable and sobering. It speaks to the gaps in our cultural institutions and the urgent need to invest in the documentation and celebration of our own narratives.

While the book makes a significant contribution to scholarship on music and band management, it also opens up important avenues for further exploration. At times, one wishes Masike had allowed herself more space to delve deeper into more issues, or to offer a fuller account of her own personal journey. There is, perhaps, room in the future for a more expansive biographical work that would further cement her place within Zimbabwe’s cultural archive.

Nonetheless, what Masike has achieved here is no small feat. Even where the focus leans toward specific traditions such as Nyunga Nyunga, the work challenges other artists and researchers to document and reflect on their own practices.

A defining feature of Masike’s artistic journey, as reflected in this book, is her courage to experiment and hybridise. I am reminded of the legacy of Dumisani Maraire, whose students have explored bold musical fusions, blending Shona classics such as Nhemamusasa and Dangurangu with compositions by Western classical figures like Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Ludwig van Beethoven. In a similar spirit, Masike’s adaptation of Shona church hymns onto the mbira demonstrates both innovation and resilience. As she notes, such experimentation has attracted criticism from multiple fronts, yet it is precisely in these contested spaces that new creative possibilities emerge.

This book is, ultimately, an important and timely contribution. It affirms the mbira not only as a musical instrument, but as a repository of knowledge, identity, and cultural continuity. More importantly, it signals a shift towards African artists writing themselves into history, on their own terms.

Ignatius T. Mabasa, 2026

+we reproduce this foreword to Mbira Mberi with the kind permission of both Ignatius Mabasa and Hope Masike. For orders: +263 779 626881/hope.masike@gmail.com 

Andrew Chatora becomes a publisher!

 

Prolific Zimbabwean novelist, Andrew Chatora, has established a publishing company at his UK base and is looking for new manuscripts from new and established authors.

The specific focus is fiction and memoir.

Called ‘Friesian Publishing’, the newly minted independent literary imprint based in London, derives its name from the Friesian horse. Long associated with strength, the Friesian horse is also a symbol of elegance and endurance. The emblem reflects the press’s editorial philosophy which is stated as “a commitment to publishing books of substance that can stand the test of time while remaining attentive to the moral and imaginative concerns of the present.”

Speaking from London, Chatora, the author of Diaspora Dreams says, “Friesian Publishing was founded with the aim of publishing books that endure beyond the immediate moment.” He adds that they are seeking work that engages thoughtfully with questions of identity, history, migration, power and belonging without reducing literature to labels or limiting it to prescribed categories. "As our remit is broad, we seek to avoid rigid categorisation."

Their open call for new work appears clearly aggressive, as the imprint has simultaneously announced its first forthcoming title, Unstoppable March of the Human Condition: Essays on Politics and Literature, a nonfiction essay collection by Andrew Chatora himself.

The collection brings together a series of essays that explore how literary culture intersects with questions of power, historical memory and the evolving moral imagination of the modern world. This brings to mind Ngugi’s words in support for his writing of Homecoming: “In a novel, the writer is totally immersed in a world of imagination… At his most intense and creative, the writer is transfigured, he is possessed…(but) in the essay, the writer can be more direct, didactic, polemical, or can merely state his beliefs and faith…to define his beliefs, attitudes and outlook in the more argumentative form of the essay.”

Essays such as Andrew Chatora’s enable authors to act as public intellectuals to address issues in real-time, sometimes offering more credible, direct insights than the mainstream media.

This route has been taken by many other great writers of fiction; Chinua Achebe, Ngugi wa Thiongo, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Chenjerai Hove and more recently, Tsitsi Dangarembga.

In Chatora's debut essay collection, the legitimate role of the contemporary writer is uppermost. These essays offer a unique reading experience, appreciating great writers like Charles Mungoshi, Ngugi wa Thiongo, Yvonne Vera, Ayi kwei Armah and many other luminaries who have influenced the author’s own writing journey and consciousness over the years. Wide-ranging in scope, the essays span literature, history, politics, exile, language, and identity. 

Chatora  reflects on the condition of exile and the function of literature. Celebrated literary critic, writer and poet, Onai Mushava, makes insightful guest contributions to the collection.

Andrew Chatora is the author of four published fictional books and has developed a reputation as an important fiery voice within Afro diasporic literary discourse. His editorial stewardship is expected to shape the imprint’s transnational outlook, particularly its engagement with writing emerging from African and diaspora contexts.

Writers wishing to submit manuscripts to Friesian Publishing may do so via email:

submissions@friesianpublishing.com. Full submission guidelines and further information about the imprint can be found at:

https://www.friesianpublishing.com

 

 

 

Golden Guvamatanga's debut poetry collection!

 

A book review

Title: Let the Children Make a Wish,

Published in Harare by Underclass Books & Films ISBN: 978-1-77933-034-5, 160 pages, 2026.

Author: Golden Guvamatanga

 

(Reviewed by Memory Chirere)

In Let the Children Make a Wish, Golden Guvamatanga’s poems in English operate in the spirit of Blues music. The Blues are endowed with an inexhaustible energy that veils and relieves suffering.

Veteran journalist, Golden Guvamatanga’s debut poetry collection, is clearly inspired and anchored on Zimbabwe’s November 2017’s ‘Operation Restore Legacy’ movement. His poems appear to be about finding what the nation promises itself and if it really delivers. What is right and what is wrong for and about Zimbabwe?

The poet constantly wonders if April 1980 and November 2017, the two cataclysmic dates in the history of Zimbabwe, are each other’s twin shadows. What was won or lost through those two dates?  Sometimes the poet thinks that they are each other’s sparring partners. Could he be thinking, too, that they are both about running on the same spot in a dark summer night? Guvamatanga touches on the euphoric promises of 1980 and 2017, and the subsequent challenges of how exactly we can make history grant the children their real wish.

If the children were to draw Nehanda on the township wall, would they make her fly like an angel? Why? Why not?

Here, as in Blues music, is an expression of the resilience and tragedy of the people. In an overriding avuncular tone, the title poem talks about the need to let the children make a final determination about their heritage. But the children can only make that wish “only if their fate lies blissfully in their obliging hands and when their destiny is poised for their expectant, loving palms.” But do Guvamatanga’s children know who they are and what they want? Who is eating the children’s cookie?

In these ghetto-centric poems, written by a poet who grew up long after the guns of liberation went silent, we are linked to issues that refuse to die in Zimbabwe. This is often called the Zimbabwean question which is “the recurrent economic, social and political crises” from colonial conquest in 1896, up to the present. As you read these poems, you feel that Zimbabwe is a nation of unresolved conflict of over a century. Guvamatanga writes, in one of these poems:

“The old does not give in easily to the incoming new.

There is always a drift towards war when a new power

threatens

To dislodge the hegemonic control of an existing

one from the levers of power.

But this new carry promises of prosperity.

 It comes scarred by hostile tirades from the old.”

 

This is a question once raised elsewhere by another Zimbabwean poet, Tanaka Chidora. As stated by Franz Fanon elsewhere, the new and the old are failing to have a clean break because, maybe, the seeds are not exactly new. The deliberately irregular lines of these poems point at our wobbly cartwheels on which we ride in our ever-challenging quest for an anchor. The poet, however, suggests that although we are not yet there, we are the right people who must try to get there! That is the most redeeming thrust of this collection. Ties with the ancestors are created and Guvamatanga is suggesting, like Amilcar Cabral, that we can reclaim our upward thrust in history.  

For Cabral, reclaiming the "upward thrust in history" meant that national liberation was not just a political act of gaining independence, but a return to the source of a people's own culture and history, which had been interrupted and suppressed by colonial domination. In these poems the prophet keeps saying that there are many things that need correction. The ancestors keep saying that:

“Only yesterday I was like you boy

I was there too when the world craved for light

But darkness found me moseying wildly in its sight.

Just desist from following that lane, Son,

 For soon you would be talking from the grave like me.”

 

This book is about the land of notorious plumbers. They know every corner of the old sewer system. Now, these plumbers also cause the blockages so that they come to unblock them! So that they are congratulated by all and sundry! These are often called white knights or Spotlight Rangers. Both concepts refer to someone who swoops in to solve a problem they likely instigated or encouraged, often to look good. 

 

These poems dwell on the township which teems with the boys and girls who play around the township corners and the bridges. Guvamatanga appears to sympathise with them. He gives them a voice that challenges stereotypes, often using humour, oral tradition, and solidarity, to survive and critique the "ways of big people in society".  Guvamatanga elevates the ordinary experiences of these little people, showcasing their joys, struggles, and culture as worthy of artistic representation.

 

Do not be sad... because there are many sunny love poems that anchor this book, with some clearly autobiographical! This collection operates like a notebook, insisting on being unfinished and unhinged too. The poet surely wanted to dance a new and ungainly dance through poetry. Many thanks to Onai Mushava for the inspiring selection and editing. Mushava himself is a firebrand poet. Viva Zimbabwean poetry!

 

Kungoenda...translated by Primrose Dzenga

Leaving, just like that
Translated from Shona to English by Primrose Dzenga
Original title: ‘Zvakanaka sei kungoenda’
by Memory Chirere, from collection, Shamhu yeZera Renyu (2023)

O, how nice it would be
just to go
and go—
leaving behind this damn city,

just like that.

During the evening news hour,
I will not be here.

They will be surprised—
because I never miss the news.
My place will be empty.

They’ll think-

Maybe he went out to relax
and he’ll come back soon

a little tipsy.

But come morning…
and I won’t be there
my pillow untouched.

They’ll try to call
but

my phone will be off.
They’ll hear that tiny woman’s voice:

“The number you have dialed

is unreachable.
Please, try again later.”

They will call…
and call again.
Still nothing—nothing.

Nothing.

They will wait,
thinking

maybe I’ll call back.

By the time they search for me

in my office,
I’ll be far, far away—
(maybe somewhere around Dotito

past Kadohwata, going…)

Then back here- maybe they would have seen that I am not even in the office.

My desk would be orderly.

I’ll have crossed the river

and kept going…

They’ll not find me at my desk.
My table—neatly arranged.
They’ll find my pen
marking a place in the book I was reading:

Page 36,
just before page 37.

And on page 37,
they’ll see the line from

my favourite author

scribbled in ink:

“I am afraid of fear because it frightens me.”

They’ll look at my teacup-
and find dried tea leaves
from days

and days ago.

On their way out,
they’ll find my jacket
hanging behind the door,
draped the way it always is,
right shoulder drooping—
as if I were still wearing it.

And in their minds,
they’ll see me walking…walking,
the way I walk
Like a man who has wandered all night,
shoes sloshing,

Swaying to the left to the right

to the left to the right…
heading away, going, and going—
 away from this giant city.

By then, I will have gone as far as Pachanza,
gazing at the mountains of my boyhood—
the Mavhuradonha mountains!

Mavhuradonhaaaaa!

Back in the city,
they’ll call again,
and that same woman will reply:

“The number you have dialed is unreachable.
Please try again later.”

They will curse,
but

my photo on the wall

will still be smiling.
They’ll say to it,
“This kind of joke is not funny.”

They’ll ask my friends about me.
and someone will say:
“I last saw him walking down the office steps,
reading what looked like a newspaper.”

My students will say:
“We last saw him
when he said, ‘a poem is like a crab—
it walks sideways
but tells its children to walk straight.”’

They’ll check the car park.
My car will still be there.
Doors unlocked—
because the damn old thing does not lock.

They’ll rummage through the glove box
for clues—
finding only
the power bill number
and the water bill number.

By then,
I will have passed Mukumbura,
almost reaching Putukezi (Mozambique)—
going far, far, far.

Those who love me
will begin to gather in this giant city

as if there is a wedding party.

Some will open my chicken coop,

and feed my chickens,
clumsily scattering the grain.

They’ll watch the chickens feed—
like witches
slurping a witch trap potion.

People will hear of my disappearance
on the radio.
They’ll remember all the useless stories I told,
 and shed tiny little tears,
then wipe them away.

Some will recall

what I stopped them from doing,
swallow their saliva,
and hope I never come back.

Some will rejoice:
“He was too much!”

But someone will see somebody

walking on the street in my style
but coming up close realizing:
Ours is thick but not as stout!

Some will hear a voice outside
that sounds like mine—
draw the curtain, open the window,
and see the fishmonger instead.
And how joyful I’ll be by then,
so far from this giant city,
walking, walking and walking.

How many times have I wanted to go—
and failed?

I will remember everyone briefly,
look back once—
but because I’ll be too far,
I’ll say:

What did you expect me to do?

You won’t hear me anymore.
By then,
I’ll be staring, melding into darkness—
darkness ahead,
darkness behind.

Time drifts, my dear,
and a man—
may just disappear,
my friend.

But I will fold my hat
and tuck it under my arm,
or maybe
lay it gently on the wet earth.

For a journey this long
doesn’t require excess baggage.

 

+The translator of this piece, Primrose Dzenga, is an award-winning poet, storyteller, author and development scholar. Her work on Privilege of Articulation examines the impact of voice on systems and interventions.

+ Memory Chirere is a Zimbabwean poet and his Shamhu YeZera renyu won a national arts merit award in 2023.

 

Zvakanaka sei kungoenda

(the original poem in Shona by Memory Chirere)

Zvakanaka sei kungoenda

nekuenda nekuenda…

ndichisiya zidhorobha rino?

Panguva yenhau dzemanheru

ndinenge ndisisipo.

Hakuna anozvifungira

nokuti handipotse nhau dzemanheru.

Panzvimbo yangu panenge pasina munhu.

Vachati kune kwandiri kutandara

saka ndichadzoka ndanwira nwira.

Pavanozomuka rechimangwana

Ndinenge ndisipo.

Piro yangu isina kurarirwa

inovabaya moyo. 

Pavanozama kundifonera

vanonzwa foni yangu yakadzimwa

vongopindurwa nekamukadzi kaye

kuti: munhu wamuri kuda haabatike

zamai kufona zvakare gare gare.

Vagofona vagofona.

Warawara!

Vanofunga kuti ndichafona.

Vozoona kuti handisi kufona.

(Pavanozonditsvaga kuhofisi kwangu

ndinenge ndave sekwaDotito

ndinodarika Kadohwata ndichienda…)

Ndipo pavanoona ndisimo muhofisi.

Patebhuru  panenge pakarongedzwa.

Vachaona penzura iri pakati pebhuku

randaiverenga papeji 36.

Pamhiri papeji 38

vachaona ndakamaka maka neingi

mazwi emunyori wandinodisisa

ekuti: ndinotya kutya nokuti kunotyisa.

Vachatarisa kapu yangu yeputugadzike

voona yakaomerera masamba emazuva nemazuva.

Pakubuda muhofisi mangu vachaona jasi rangu

riri seri kwegonhi senguva dzose

richirembedza bendekete rerudyi semaitiro angu.

Mundangariro vachandiona ndichifamba

mufambiro wangu wemunhu ararirofamba

seya seya, seya seya

shangu dzangu dzichigwedezeka

ndichienda nokuenda

ndichisiya zidhorobha rino.

(Ipapo ndinenge ndave sekwaPachanza

Ndichitarisa makomo ehujaya hwangu:

Makomo eMavhuradonha.)

Muzidhorobha rino vachafona zvakare

vachingopindurwa nekamukadzi kaye

kuti: munhu wamuri kuda haabatike

zamai kufona zvakare gare gare.

Vanobva varidza tsamwa

pikicha yangu ichinyemwerera kumadziro.

Vachabvunza zvishamwari zvangu

voudzwa kuti ndakapedzisira kuonekwa

ndichidzika mastepisi epaohofisi

ndichiverenga chinhu chainge pepanhau.

Vadzidzi vangu vachataura kuti:

vakapedzisira kundiona

musi wandaiti:detembo rinoita segakanje

kufamba nedivi asi richiti vana varo vasadaro.

Vachaenda mupaki voona chimota changu.

Madhoo haana kukiiwa nekuti hachikiike.

Vachagwedebudza kabhineti kutsvaga humbowo

Vowana nhamba dzemagetsi nedzemvura chete.

(Izvozvo ndinenge ndodarika Mukumbura

Ndinenge ndovavarira Putukezi)

Vanondida muzidhorobha rino

vachatanga kuungana sepamuchato.

Pane vachavhurira huku dzandinochengeta

vozama kudzifidha.

Vachadziona dzichidya chikafu

kunge varoyi vari kunwa muteyo.

Pane vachanzwa nezvekushaikwa kwangu pawairesi.

votondera tunyaya tusina basa twandaiita navo

vobva vadonhedza tumisodzi.

Pane vachatondera zvandaivatadzisa kuita

vomedza mate vachiti dai ndikasadzoka

Vanotoita pati!

Pane vachaona munhu anenge ini achizvifambira

vave pedyo naye voona kuti handisirini.

“Wedu mukobvu asi haana kuzokorawo kudai!”

Pane vachanzwa munhu achitaura

panze nenzwi rinenge rangu!

Vachavhura ketani

Vovhura hwindo

voona  murume anotengesa hove

kwete ini!

Zvinozondifadza sei ndave kure

nezidhorobha rino

ndichienda kudaro.

Kangani ndichida kuenda ndichitadza?

Ndichatondera munhu wose munguva pfupi.

Ndichacheuka

asi nokuti ndinenge ndave kure

ndichangoti: “Maida kuti ndiite sei?”

Saka hamundinzwe.

Izvozvo ndinenge ndatarisana nemhindo.

Kumberi mhindo.

Kumashure mhindo.

Ndichapeta heti yangu

ndoiisa muhapwa

kana kuikanda pasi

nokuti rwendo rurefu harudi

katundu

kasina

basa.

 

 

 

NZWISA: Samantha Vazhure's solo exhibition begins in Harare

 

NZWISA EXHIBITION; 17 to 25 October 2025

at PaMoyo Gallery, 24 East Rd, Belgravia, Harare.

Opening 17^th October, 6pm till late, thereafter 9am to 5pm daily.

Live Music by Hope Masike. Cash bar and traditional music

 

Artist: Samantha Rumbidzai Vazhure (nee Majange)

On 17 October, I’m opening my debut solo exhibition, Nzwisa, in Harare. Curated by @pamoyo.gallery this exhibition brings together works inspired by the sacred landscapes of Zimbabwe, Shona cosmology & the Welsh countryside where I live. Each piece reflects my evolution from self-taught painter into an artist ready to take the next step in my journey.
Here’s a little glimpse of my process behind the scenes… building textures, layering acrylics and weaving memory.

My impressionist and expressionist art is vibrant and protrusive – touching and feeling my strokes and daubs of acrylic on canvas is gratifying to the tactile sense.

I am a self-taught painter and accomplished bilingual author and literary activist, who grew up in Zimbabwe. 

We exhibit limited edition prints made from 3D scanned images of my original paintings, so they look textured. The high-quality images are printed on acid-free, water-resistant, smooth fine art 320gsm giclee paper, using high dynamic range inks and delivered in robust postal tubes. All prints come in editions of 100, are numbered, titled, dated and signed by the artist, and include a certificate of authenticity. All the limited-edition prints are available in the following standard dimensions and prices: A3 - $70, 50 x 70 cm - $250.

I am the Publishing Director and Founding Editor of Carnelian Heart Publishing Ltd. (established in April 2020) and was named African publisher of the year in 2023 by Brittle Paper.  My journey into painting started in 2022, almost by accident, but it quickly became my freedom, my passion and my path.

Here; descriptions of a few samples of the exhibits:

1)      Munhu Wangu (2025)

A tender evocation of intimacy, Munhu Wangu reflects the personal claim of belonging: “my person.”

The work celebrates the sacred bond between two people, balancing vulnerability with strength. The brushwork suggests both protection and exposure, reminding us that love is not ownership but communion.*Illustrated for SoulDeep Music Zim’s latest single, Zvakanaka.

2)      In the embraces of struggle (2025)

After Dambudzo Marechera in House of Hunger: “Something fighting floated down from a pale blue sky. As it floated down to my level, I saw that it was a black man and a white man locked in the embraces of struggle.”

Illustrated for the cover of Cynthia Rumbidzai Marangwanda’s novella, The Toppling, where spirit medium MaMoyo battles the ghost of imperialist Cecil John Rhodes, this piece acknowledges hardship not as defeat but as an enveloping force that shapes identity. The strokes carry tension, yet within them lies resilience.

3)      Iwewe neni 1 (2025) Iwewe neni. You and me. The painting explores togetherness beyond the physical, delving into emotional and spiritual partnership. It portrays the invisible thread binding two beings across space and circumstance. *Illustrated for SoulDeep Music Zim’s latest single, Zvakanaka.

4)      Ziroto (2025)Ziroto, meaning a significant dream or prophecy, in Shona, is a visual elegy of memory, loss, and the violence of historical silence. It is a depiction of Chaminuka’s prophecy of the coming of Europeans to what is now Zimbabwe. In Ziroto, history is not a neutral record, but a battleground. The work is a quiet indictment of cultural displacement and the dangers of forgetting. Through it, we are asked: who controls remembrance? And what happens when even our descendants no longer recognise us?

Vapfuri Vemhangura (2025)

Literally, iron smelters. Figuratively, the artisans of old Zimbabwean societies. The painting recalls craft, labour and innovation. It situates metallurgy as heritage, linking human creativity to elemental transformation. The Soko Vhudzijena clan are acknowledged as iron smelters who migrated from Hwedza, in their praise poem. The Lion Totem clan are also said to have migrated from Mutoko via Hwedza, to Chivi. It is believed that they may have been Soko people who changed their totem to Shumba for strategic purposes. Inspired by the history of our people’s migration during the spread of iron age farming from the north to the south of what is now Zimbabwe, three men leave the iron smelting scene, accompanied by a protective Chapungu, the Bateleur eagle.

 Iron ore was broken up and placed in a smelting oven, together with charcoal. Air was pumped into the oven with goatskin bellows. When the heat in the oven reached a very high temperature, the iron leaked down to the bottom. When the iron cooled into a lump, the furnace was broken open. The iron was then ready to be heated again and ‘smithed’ or hammered into tool shapes. Neil Parsons, Focus on History Book 1, 1985 p52

“The clay furnace is in the shape of a womb and has symbolic breasts. Possession, dance and mbira music accompany the process.” Gillian Atherstone & Duncan Wylie, Zimbabwe Art, Symbol and Meaning, p65

 Silence (2024)

Silence is a small-scale textured painting that speaks volumes through subtlety and colour. Set against a warm yellow base, the painting centres on a pair of lips whose quiet presence suggests withheld words and unspoken stories. To one side, textured patterns in shades of orange, red, mauve with touches of violet-blue evoke the rich and intricate beauty of African artistry. The interplay of vibrant hues against the subdued backdrop creates a powerful contrast, embodying a silent strength and the layers of expression that words alone cannot convey. 

 …and many more!

Regards

Samantha Rumbidzai Vazhure