The Art of Survival

A long-overdue conversation with Michael, the roadside sculptor.

OBSERVANT CAPETONIANS would have noticed the quiet figure consistently hunched over a block of wood next to the road as you enter Gardens. The roadside sculptor sits in his spot day and night. After dark, the street light above him highlights his presence.

Witnessing his stoic diligence can evaporate almost anyone’s personally-conceived issues.

Michael is an impressively large human. Tall and broad, his size is emphasised by an off-white puffer jacket and hiking boots.

We had planned to chat almost a year ago, so when my footsteps made a noise on the gravel, he looked up and smiled, motioning for me to sit.

Our conversation started, filled with patience and intentional repetition. It became clear that words aren’t needed when you’re in an exchange of understanding.

“Everyone has happiness from the baby form,” he started. “Everyone has happiness in them; they just need to find it”.

A laugh appeared. His theory about happiness is simple: humans are born happy before creating their own unhappiness. Bear in mind this sentiment comes from a man who sits amongst his belongings next to the road.

Michael’s hands are enormous, filled with the evidence of a hard life. On this particular day, his carving hand was injured, preventing him from sculpting.

“Every day, I make something and then put it there,” he continued, pointing at a wooden fish next to the road (waiting for its forever home).

“Each sculpture takes time. Four days to make. I started making animals about five years ago. I make them and then just hope for a buyer.”

Michael usually tries to sell a sculpture for R400, but anywhere between R300 and R500 is also acceptable. He says everything he does is for money. He doesn’t think about the artistic process, only money for survival. He explained how nice it feels when he knows he can survive. He imagines that everyone with money must feel so nice the whole time because they know they can survive.

Michael looked into the oncoming traffic, picking his gnarled hands while thinking.

“We are all too busy every day. Every day is the same thing. During the night, we sleep. During the day, we work.” He looked up at the street lamp and explained how his days and nights are all wrapped in the same light.

We both sat happily in silence for a moment as I wrote down some notes. Even though engines roared next to us, the stillness was incredible. Me on a stump with a little notebook. Him on a plastic sheet on the ground. Table Mountain watched over us both.

He explained his sculpting process as if it was an analogy for life. First, he finds any wood (usually pine). If the wood is soft, the carving is easy. If the wood is hard, the carving is difficult. When the wood is hard, and the carving is difficult, it requires more planning, measuring and time. But, with more planning, measuring and time, the outcome is usually better.

“I learned myself,” he continues. “It’s easy to learn things. If you try, you can do.”

I asked him what his beliefs were. 

“I believe in making something to get something. Ya, I believe in making something to get something.”

Michael was born in the Freestate and has been in the Western Cape for nine years. He described himself as happy, good and proud. He assured me he is strong and simply needs enough money to survive. To make money to survive, he creates art. 

This art is Michael’s Art of Survival.

I drove home with peaceful energy. I looked at the wooden fish on my passenger seat and smiled. My eyes welled up with tears because I realised, in my interaction, that I had made someone feel like a human that day. Later that evening, I reflected on the interaction. Once again, my eyes welled up... only, this time, for a different reason. I realised that I hadn’t made Michael feel human; rather, the person who was made to feel human was me.

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Go to LeScarf.co.za to get “Create don’t hate”, a shirt tributing Michael’s notion that you need to make something to get something in life.