I’m not really one for public sculpture in nature. In a city, fine — they have their place. We’ve got a few in Cape Town that feel like they belong, like Jan Smuts or Cecil John Rhodes up in the gardens. They sit within the built environment and, somehow, make sense there.
But out in nature? That’s where I struggle.
Most people will probably take umbrage with this, but I prefer nature in its untouched, pristine state. No additions, no interpretations, no well-meaning installations trying to tell me what I’m already there to feel.
And yet, things aren’t pristine anymore, are they?
Take the coastline around Kommetjie. Urbanisation creeps in. Weekends bring crowds of leisure fishermen, all hoping to pull something — anything — from a sea that feels increasingly empty. Then there are the commercial operators with their row boats, dragging nets across the ocean floor, taking far more than most of us ever see.
I used to walk in Slangkop Nature Reserve and notice those carefully stacked stone piles people like to build along the paths. Dozens of them at one point. Little human signatures scattered across the landscape. The last time I was there, about two weeks ago, they were gone. Either the people moved on or the urge passed. Good. It felt like the place could breathe again.
But then there’s the driftwood gannet.
Near Bird Island, you’ll find a five-metre-high sculpture of a Cape gannet — or malgas — created by local artist Chip Snaddon. It’s built from driftwood, steel, and wire gathered from the coastline, commissioned by Protect the West Coast. They’ve named it “Koos Malgas,” and it stands there, weathered and watchful.
I’ll admit, I was curious. There’s another one closer to home in Silvermine Wetlands — a sea otter — so I’ve seen this kind of thing before.
The photograph I’ve included here keeps the gannet at a distance. That’s deliberate. If you’re interested, go and see it properly. Walk up to it. Look at how it’s been put together.
Because, for all my reservations, this one does something.
It says something.
These sculptures are made with care — you can see that immediately. And this one, in particular, points quietly but firmly to the precarious state of the Cape Gannet and its ecosystem. Overfishing, habitat pressure — most of it happening far offshore, out of sight, where the real damage is done.
So maybe that’s the question.
Are signs like this necessary?
I still lean toward leaving nature alone. But standing there, looking at that driftwood bird, it’s hard to ignore what it represents.
Maybe we’ve reached a point where nature, on its own, no longer speaks loudly enough for people to hear.
Next time you’re in Kommetjie, go and have a look for yourself.
