None of us knew how old he was, but the ritual of the dance came from an ancient place. In the black Kalahari night, this patriarch and leader we knew as Xanama, moved to old rhythms of the San Bushman, animal cadences, instinctual vibrations. First, we heard the women's clapping around the fire, then the rattles wound around his wiry legs, finally the roar of the lions all around us.
He was our friend and a huge inspiration to this artist.
Profits from the sale of this piece go to his widow and family along with our hopes for their sustained way of life.