Here is an excerpt of an artist's biography she wrote about growing up white in apartheid South Africa:
Little by little the mind wandered and realized that there was a very dark side to this Eden. Although the surroundings were so blissfully in tune with my yearnings, I was discovering one step at a time what it meant to be in a repressive regime; how unfair it was to some people and a feeling of not belonging to all this overtook me.
I started attending the black musicians' concerts and lively plays in the only place in Johannesburg where blacks and whites could share their respective expressions. Wonderful music, chants all so meaningful, cries of protests and the intense need to shape the deep frustrations in the face of injustices, to be a people in its own right - all this taught me the essence of being an artist: a deep, uncompromising necessity to express one's inner and outer world. But this had a price and it meant living on the fringe and eventually leave.
Painting primarily, has enabled me to go beneath the surface (which was a far cry from what I initially learnt about art: make a pretty picture, if you stick as closely to reality and distribute colors without going over the line then you will get an A!...) that it can be a testimony of one's underworld; that it can reveal the subterranean, inner images that haunt or puzzle ; my animals could be symbols of currents that shape my conscious reality. I have a strong need to let go of all clean, aseptic, pretty, decorative streaks. It is important to allow what is less controllable to take one over as completely as possible and I would say, almost get into a trance. As a true westerner having no initiation into these realms, putting paint on paper is the closest gate to expressing mysteries and magic in my life.