Werner Bronkhorst is one of those artists whose work you recognise instantly — not because it demands attention, but because it quietly holds it. Born and raised in South Africa, shaped by a landscape marked by tension, beauty, and movement, and later relocated to Australia, Bronkhorst built a practice that balances discipline with intuition, structure with joy.

His large-scale textured paintings, populated by tiny figures in motion, have found international recognition precisely because they resist over-explanation. They invite the viewer in rather than confront them. Following his major exhibition Crack in Dubai — which drew long queues and intense engagement — we sat down with Bronkhorst to talk about growing up in post-apartheid South Africa, the role of environment in shaping vision, the importance of discipline in creativity, and why art doesn’t always need to be intellectual to be meaningful.

This conversation isn't about trends or statements. It is about process, perspective, and learning how to see beauty — even in imperfection.

— Werner, first of all, thank you so much for the exhibition in Dubai. It was something out of this world. I really enjoyed staying in the queue — it was a very big queue — I genuinely loved it.

— That is a big honour. I am very, very grateful that you waited in line. Thank you. I am glad that it was worth it.

— So, you grew up in South Africa. I have been there, and I really loved the country — I am dreaming of coming back. For me, it is a place where landscape, history, and social tension are impossible to separate. When you think back now, what did South Africa teach your eye before it ever taught your technique? What did you learn from the country itself?

— That is an amazing question, because I think about it a lot — what I have inherited through simply having lived and grown up in South Africa, but also how my history, my family’s history, and the history of the country as a whole affected how I grew up and ultimately made me who I am today.

I grew up in post-apartheid South Africa, which meant a much more unified country all of a sudden. People from every corner of South Africa came together, especially in Pretoria, which is where I grew up. It is the capital, so growing up there you are exposed to many different people, backgrounds, and perspectives.

Pretoria is also a very beautiful city — one with strong connections to nature, many sporting activities, and a very diverse population. That combination shaped me deeply. It made me paint scenes that depict humans regardless of background, clan, or inheritance.

You can see that clearly in this collection. It is very diverse: people doing different activities across many different landscapes, especially dry and arid ones. That is very evident in South Africa as well. While some areas receive good rainfall, overall it is a very dry country.

That dryness, those rough sceneries, the textures — they all influenced what I did with this collection, including sports like mountain biking and movement within harsh landscapes.

So yes, South Africa definitely impacted me — not just as an artist, but as a human being as a whole.

— And what about political, social, and economic issues? South Africa has always been under huge pressure, with constant social disputes. Did that influence you at all?

— Definitely. Especially when it comes to art. Art has always been a way for people to express themselves — whether those thoughts are political, social, or deeply personal.

What is interesting about art is that it can be ambiguous. It doesn’t speak in words, so interpretations remain open. Growing up in South Africa, you are surrounded by monuments, statues, and artworks that represent different leaders, ideologies, and histories.

As a child, I wasn’t fully aware of the depth of historical injustice. Often, children learn only the more recent history. But being surrounded by that environment inevitably shapes your perspective.

It affected how I understand the world and how I interpret my surroundings — not only in South Africa, but globally.

— Cape Town has become incredibly visible culturally over the past few years. Institutions like Zeitz MOCAA are astonishing. How does it feel to watch the cultural growth of South Africa from the outside?

— There are so many phenomenal South African artists, because there is so much to express — politically, socially, economically. Since repression has eased, cultural expression has grown immensely.

Institutionally, the growth has been significant. New museums and collections emerged even while I was still living there. Zeitz MOCAA was a huge milestone — not only for South African art, but for African art as a whole.

That said, I do feel somewhat disconnected now, being on the other side of the world. That is why I am very excited to exhibit in South Africa again in the future.

— Do you think there are aspects of South African art that are still misunderstood?

— Art is often misunderstood, regardless of where it comes from. That is why context is so important. Understanding the artist’s story, viewing the work carefully, reading about it — all of that helps people form meaningful conclusions.

— You later relocated to Australia, which is a completely different environment. Why Australia?

— Australia was originally meant to be a one-year plan. I wanted to take a gap year after school to save money for art studies. I didn’t have the financial means to study art in South Africa, so Australia felt like a practical option.

Then COVID happened. Suddenly, I had to decide whether to return to South Africa or stay. Australia was safer, more stable, and offered better opportunities at that moment.

I worked different jobs, but I always made art on the side. Eventually, I saved enough money to commit fully to art for three months — and from there, everything changed.

— How did Australia influence you — both visually and psychologically?

— Moving from South Africa to Australia gave me a broader historical perspective. Both countries share complex colonial histories, but the context is very different.

Australia’s stability allowed me to take creative risks. I could sell my work, save money, and fully commit to becoming an artist. That environment made it easier to focus on joy and beauty rather than tension.

— Did that shift affect the themes in your work?

— Yes. My work became less controversial. Australia is safe, calm, and beautiful, and that led me to focus more on leisure, joy, and peaceful moments.

That doesn’t mean I will never address more complex themes again, but right now I am interested in portraying how people enjoy life — moments when they are calm, present, and most human.

— Can you describe your creative process? Because looking at your work, it feels very intuitive, but at the same time extremely structured.

— It is definitely a mix of both. A lot of my process starts with conversations. I speak to people, I listen, I think. Those thoughts connect to themes, those themes connect to colors, and colours connect to compositions.

For this collection, Crack, I limited myself intentionally. I worked with warm colours only and focused on dry, arid landscapes. The word “crack” guided everything — cracks in rocks, in wood, in salt pans, in skin. That limitation actually helps me stay focused.

Some ideas stay with me for years. They don’t always fit immediately, but once they find the right collection, everything suddenly makes sense.

— A lot of people try to search for hidden meanings in art. Do you think art has to be intellectual to be valuable?

— Not necessarily. I don’t think art always needs to be intellectual to be meaningful. Sometimes you simply like something, and that is enough.

My work is meant to be approachable. Even though it is abstract, the small figures create something recognisable. You might see yourself, your hobby, or a memory.

At the same time, my work means a lot to me personally. Each piece documents a moment in time. That moment can be deeply meaningful — or simply beautiful.

— Movement is a very strong element in your work. Why is it so important for you?

— Movement exists both in the figures and in the texture. Every brushstroke records a physical action in time — my movement, my energy.

In that way, the painting becomes a record of motion. Time passing fascinates me deeply. I love that idea — that the artwork holds a moment that can never be repeated.

— Your style is instantly recognisable. Does that ever feel limiting?

— Not really. I experiment privately — with charcoal, flowers, illustration — but publicly, I am focused on establishing my place within my genre.

Texture, physicality, movement — I genuinely love this process. It feels almost like dancing with the canvas.

— Let’s talk about the Crack exhibition and collection specifically. Why Dubai?

— Dubai is a city in the desert that looks toward the future while still respecting the past. That duality reflects the collection perfectly.

I also wanted to show my work in the Middle East, and Dubai felt like the right place to do it.

— Dubai is often associated with perfection — polished surfaces, flawless images. Crack suggests imperfection. Was that contrast intentional?

— I didn’t consciously think about it that way, but I really like that interpretation. That is the beauty of art — people bring their own context and meanings.

In a city like Dubai, where people come from everywhere, those meanings multiply.

— I have noticed how carefully you document all your creative processes — the colours you have chosen, the work in progress, the naming, everything. Why is documentation so important for you?

— Because this is my life’s work. I care deeply about every step of the process. Documentation allows me to work efficiently and stay disciplined.

When you are producing large collections under tight timelines, you can’t rely on chaos or inspiration alone. Documentation helps me keep structure and momentum.

It is also a way of respecting the work itself.

— There is often this romantic idea of the artist as someone who works purely on emotion and inspiration. But listening to you, there is a lot of structure and control involved.

— Yes, absolutely. Inspiration is important, but discipline is essential. Without structure, nothing gets finished.

I think that balance between intuition and discipline is what allows me to produce work consistently while still enjoying the process.

— What is next for you after Dubai?

— The next collection will focus on the sky, and it will be shown in Berlin. I am very excited about that.

I also have a smaller football-focused collection planned for Los Angeles, which is something quite different but very close to my interests.

— Last question. Let’s imagine it is 30 years from now, and I am standing in a museum looking at your work. What do you want me to feel?

— I want people to feel lighter. I want them to notice the beauty happening around them.

I hope my work encourages a shift in perspective — even a small one. If someone walks away feeling calmer, more present, or simply happier, that is enough for me.

Most importantly, I want people to genuinely like what they see.