gnarly books
i write and illustrate
I had never finished reading a book in my life—until two years ago. My therapist in South Africa handed me a copy of The Little Prince and said, “You’re just like him.”
Intrigued, I opened the book and didn’t stop until I’d read the last word. A mere 100 pages, taking roughly an hour and a half to finish, yet it left an indelible mark on me. I smiled through every page, instantly understanding what she meant. That feeling—connecting with a story, being touched by it, and feeling seen—was so powerful. It helped me, especially by touching my heart and making me smile. That’s the same gift I want to give to others through my own creations. For me, creating is like self-medication—a form of therapy to better understand myself. It’s a win-win.
At the time, I was in a rehab center surrounded by breathtaking scenery that felt like a dream. Baboons would sneak into the cabins to steal food, penguins waddled along the majestic boulder-strewn beaches, and porcupines casually strolled across the streets. The vibrant bird of paradise flowers added a splash of wonder to the landscape. The Dutch names and snippets of old Dutch language spoken by locals gave me an unexpected sense of belonging—like I was home in a way I’d never felt before.
That same evening, standing at Cape of Good Hope, I saw whales breaking the surface of the ocean, spraying misty jets of air from their blowholes beneath a double rainbow. In the distance, a powerful storm rolled over the horizon, its beauty both terrifying and awe-inspiring. And in that moment, lightning seemed to strike not just the sky but my soul.
It was then that the vision of Rainbowboy came to me, fully formed. The concept, the visuals—it all unfolded in my mind like magic. All I had to do was capture it on paper. It felt as though the story was writing itself, shaped not only by the moment of inspiration but also by the personal process I was going through in therapy. My healing journey wove itself into the narrative, and as I worked through my struggles, the story grew alongside me. The writing and illustrating seemed to flow effortlessly; the drawings came alive with the words, each inspiring the other. It was so perfect it almost frightened me.
In rehab, we were only allowed to visit a supermarket and a clothing store under supervision once a week, on Saturdays. But my creativity wouldn’t wait. One day, I slipped into a small art shop hidden around the corner near the toilets. I crouched beneath the counter, explaining my situation to the shopkeeper. They kindly helped me gather some supplies in secret, allowing me to start bringing my visions to life. When I ran out of materials, I even resorted to using charcoal from the braai (a traditional South African barbecue) to continue drawing.
As I write this now, I’ve completed one book, Silly Robin, and four more—including Rainbowboy—are currently in the making. It’s funny to think: not only have I now finished reading The Little Prince, but I’ve finally finished reading two books in my life! My focus is improving... slowly but surely. Hehehe!
Silly Robin designing process.
