Story of my art: Fairy Tale of “Cameroonian garage, 2025”

So here it is, my next painting is finished. If my memory serves me correctly—and it certainly does, since it hasn’t been that long—this is the first painting signed with the year 2025. It’s the third piece in a series reflecting my visits to Africa, specifically Cameroon. A kind of fairy-tale version of everything I experience there is emerging.

The first two are slightly larger (4.2 x 2.1 meters, made of two panels); I showed them here the first: Drinking of brendy ha and here: The Ngoze ceremony. This one, however, is “only” 3 x 1.5 meters and made on a single canvas, which I find more convenient. I painted it in the school studio during my internship in Clermont-Ferrand. Whether I like it or not, it will soon have to be taken off the frame and rolled up, as my time in France is coming to an end. It’s an oil painting, so hopefully, it will be dry enough.

Now, let me tell you something about it—another one of my African fairy tales.


Once upon a time, there was a car. Specifically, a Mitsubishi pickup. I don’t know the exact model, but I’m sure it was mostly gray, made in the year 2000. We bought it at the end of 2023, so it’s easy to guess that it had already been through a lot.

One day, my African brother called me, saying he had found a great car—exactly what we needed. Finally, we would be able to travel much more easily on those African village jungle-like dirt roads, where driving an ordinary car is nearly impossible. And he insisted that we had to buy it because we wouldn’t find anything better for the price. The car had 4×4 drive, plenty of storage space, and an attractive price, so we agreed to buy it.

Alright then, I sent the money, which, by chance, was available at the time. My brother bought the car, transferred the papers—everything was set. I was excited for my next trip, knowing we could explore new places. And so, there I was in Africa, sitting in our car.

But alas, not a single day passed without something going wrong with it. Yes, we managed to take one or two trips to the village, but the car smoked terribly, and we had to drive at a snail’s pace. That was the first journey. Then, on another trip—quite late at night, actually—we were heading to a Bwiti ceremony in a different temple than usual. The car was cruising along fine when suddenly smoke started coming from the engine. We stopped and opened the hood—flames!

Luckily, they weren’t too big—just some seals around a pipe had caught fire. We quickly put it out by throwing dirt on it. There was no water nearby (not that I even know if using water to extinguish a car engine fire is a good idea). And a fire extinguisher in an African car, as part of the “mandatory equipment”? First-aid kit, orange vests, warning triangle? Haha, that’s a joke. None of that exists in “Black Africa.”

So, we found some dirt lying around and put the fire out quickly. But then came the next problem—what to do with a car that now had a solid layer of dirt inside the engine. Well, we figured that out too. Once it cooled down, we blew and brushed it off and decided to head back home instead. I think we made it back just fine, but on other trips, we weren’t so lucky. We had to leave the car stranded by the roadside, removing all valuables—like the spare battery, without which the engine wouldn’t even start, and the USB fans, which, once forgotten, were never seen again. The rest of the stuff wasn’t valuable enough for anyone to care.

The car technically had locks, but the passenger-side lock didn’t work, so we always left it unlocked. But that was never really a big problem.

An open car hood and discussions about a broken-down engine became part of everyday life and are now simply part of my African experience. Mechanics always competed to diagnose what needed to be replaced. I barely understand car repairs in Czech, let alone in French, so when my brother explained things, all I could do was nod. My main job was just to pay for everything—there wasn’t much else I could do to help.

The usual process was: we’d hand the money to the mechanics, and no matter how many uncles or friends recommended them as “really reliable guys,” they would often disappear for several days. After many phone calls and chasing them down, we’d hear all sorts of excuses for why they hadn’t finished the repairs.

To cut the story short, the car was broken more often than it was functional, and we poured endless amounts of money into it. Or rather, I did. Well, every experience has its purpose. For me, it meant I started praying more and connecting more with my “buddies.”

And that brings us to the mysterious appearance of the blue elephant riding a bicycle. Of course, every interpretation is entirely valid, and I don’t claim exclusive rights to the meaning of my own paintings. Think what you like. But as the author, I might just hint that this little elephant symbolically represents a sort of “spiritual helper” or “spiritual guide” that appears in different—well, I’ll sound crazy if I say “visions of various entities,” won’t I? They usually come when called, but anything said about them is ultimately untrue and meaningless. So take it with a grain of salt. Maybe they’re just the wild imaginations of some so-called artist.

Anyway, the elephant in this painting is colorful and almost as real as the other “real” elements in the scene. Yes, that’s right—or at least, it could be, if you want it to be. These “guides” can be just as real as the broken-down car and the guy peeing in the top left corner. Just as real as the second seated figure on the bench next to the guy in the green shirt with glowing white sneakers.

And what did the elephant say in response to my desperate pleas for help with our constantly broken-down car? Well, actually, he didn’t say much at all.

He just rode by on his bicycle, grinning, saying something about how he must have lost his tusks along the way.

“Huh, well, that’s hilarious,” I thought. “Where could the elephant have lost his tusks?”

“But wait, there’s no one else sitting on that bench next to the guy with the glowing sneakers. What do you mean?”

“I mean, I see him…”

“Oh… Okay then.”

“Thanks, Elephant,” I told him. “And who’s that Transparent Guy on your back?”

“What Transparent Guy?” he asked.

“Oh… never mind. He’s not actually there,” I realized.


And that’s all for now. Ding-dong, the fairy tale is over. And unless some magical fairy—or at least Planky or Coughy—suddenly appears, they’re still trying to fix that 2000 Mitsubishi in Africa to this day.

“Wait, but what’s that giraffe doing there?”

“Well, it’s resting and waiting for them to finish.”

“Oh, okay. Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.”



Oh hi there 👋
It’s nice to meet you.

Sign up to receive awesome Art content in your inbox, once per month

We don’t spam! Read our privacy policy for more info.

Comments

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *