Though Gabrielle’s project is intended to span the country — the project began in the Western Cape’s Overberg region, a wildly fertile and mesmerising assortment of landscapes. From rugged mountains, to vast swathes of farmlands, speckled with the intertwining aqua-scapes of rivers; if you’ve ever had the pleasure of driving (running, cycling or simply being) in the region, you’ll know its expanse and glory in your very bones. The emotional sense evoked when I’m in the Overberg, even without any familial or cultural connection to the region, is kind of inarticulable — so, departing from my usual interview style for CEC, this interview is shared entirely from Gabrielle’s perspective; the only way which was fitting. As Gabrielle shares with us the life-giving and spirit-asserting ways in which horses, human beings and the lands of South Africa have heralded Gabrielle’s next chapter as an artist; the urge here for us all is to consider the ways in which soft-spoken call of the earth and maybe, our destiny, can find us at any time and change our lives forever; lest, we only listen.
Can you talk about how you became immersed in this project, and how it evolved to become that’s both long-term and now, part of the fabric of your life?
“My love for horses and people drew me into this project in the most unexpected way. At the heart of it all, I have my dad to thank for introducing me to horses.
He used to take me along when he visited his friend, Uncle Johnny, in Sandvlei, who had a couple of horses. While they had tea inside, I would “ride” around the yard with Uncle Johnny’s kids on some very kind and patient horses. Looking back, it was wild, as I must have been only about seven or eight years old.
It was also my dad who introduced me to the small towns in the beautiful valley where I now reside and work intermittently. He worked as a plumber in many of these towns and had family friends there. I remember getting so excited every time he’d say we were going to “Horsey Land.” I’d dash to the bakkie and jump in, standing on the passenger seat, eager for the adventure.
One memory that stands out is pressing my face against the window of my dad’s bakkie, trying to get a closer look at the kids riding horses bareback to the shop to grab snacks. Their horses would patiently wait outside for them. All I wanted was to join them, feeling a sense of magic that’s hard to describe. I thought they were the coolest ever (I still do).
Fast forward to two years ago, I came across a photo on a local horse group I follow on social media – a boy rearing on a massive Friesian stallion. That image reignited that same magic, and in that moment, the project began to take shape.
I initially tried to reach out to him and a few of his contacts, but without success. So, I started documenting local horse shows around the country while I worked out the details of the project.
Towards the end of that year, my health took a turn for the worst. I spent the following year battling these issues, which led to an operation to remove an organ that left me bedridden for a while. But during that time, I made it my mission to return to horses and fully commit to the project. I started riding again (after 15 years!) and threw myself into the project with renewed energy”.
You’ve travelled around South Africa, capturing horse culture – can you touch on some of the places you’ve been and what differences and similarities you’ve found fascinating?
“I’ve been following several show circuits, including the Saddlebred, Vlaam, Boerperd, and Friesian circuits, travelling from Swellendam to Bloem, Parys to Constantia, and many small towns in between. Next on my list are George and Moorreesburg, and I’m also eager to spend more time documenting Hackney pony shows and the competition culture surrounding them.
One common thread I’ve noticed is the deep desire for genuine connection in these communities. Human curiosity thrives in these tight-knit environments, and some of my most memorable experiences have come from simply wandering into places that piqued my interest and then diving down the fascinating rabbit holes they revealed.
The people I’ve encountered have been incredibly generous with their time, their hearts, and their stories. I often say to anyone who will listen—I started this project and visited these small towns because of my love for horses, but I stayed because of the people.
In small towns, everyone greets each other with a politely raised hand or gentle nod of the head, whether on foot or in a vehicle. One of the things I find jarring when coming back to Cape Town is that kindness on the streets isn’t doled out quite as generously. The contrast between the openness of small towns and the fortified nature of city life is stark.
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