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There are art materials that behave like tools, and then there are materials that behave like elements . Mpofu Stone Pastels belong to the second category. They don’t glide. They don’t whisper. They resist—just enough to remind you that creation is not a passive act, but a conversation with something older than you. These are not ordinary pastels. They are stones of colour , compressed and refined with the intention of being shaped by pressure, grit, and instinct. The Origin

There’s a moment every artist knows deeply—that split second before the mark is made, when the hand hovers, the mind spins, and something ancient moves through the body. That moment is where Amafutha Sticks were born. Not in a factory. Not in a meeting. But in that tiny space between hesitation and faith—the place where creation demands courage. The Myth of the First Mark Legend tells of an unnamed painter who, tired of the barriers between himself and his canvas—tired of bru

When standing before the bull, there is fear. Real fear. Not the kind that stops you — the kind that reminds you that you’re alive. You feel it in your chest, your hands, your breath. The deep hum of the world runs through your bones. You’re not facing an animal — you’re facing life itself. It’s that same feeling before I paint. Before I speak. Before I step into the ring of the world. It’s the blank canvas, the pause before the first stroke — the quiet before everything begi

A Story of Simchas Torah and Blessing  Every year, on the night of Simchas Torah, my father, Hirschel Falkson, walked  through the streets of Johannesburg with a trolley full of radishes. He wasn’t selling  them or showing off. He was giving them out — bunches of red, cold radishes  washed and ready, with salt and a bottle of whisky in the trolley too. He handed  them to whoever he met. A radish and a l’chaim. A smile and a brochah. He was  known everywhere as The Radish Man.

Urban Rebellion, Public Space, and the Power of Unauthorized Expression in Johannesburg (2015-2017) Introduction Between 2015 and 2017, the streets of Johannesburg, South Africa became an unsanctioned classroom, battleground, and gallery. At the center of this urban transformation was an anonymous artist or collective known only as RAQ, an acronym for Rarely Ask Questions. The phrase itself mocked blind obedience and instead celebrated the act of inquiry. In a city deeply sca