Above the rhino, the bold, oversized numbers "1979" float, a mysterious inscription that could reference a date, a code, or an archival number—its ambiguity adds to the painting's cryptic resonance. These numerals are shaded in blue and partially obscured by a white bird perched solemnly atop them, introducing a sense of spirituality or watchfulness.
Surrounding the central figure is an explosion of fauna, rendered in varying levels of abstraction and whimsy: a jellyfish drifting like a specter, a flower-crowned whale floating through the air, a lion whose gaze pierces outward, and an array of other creatures including camels, elephants, and primates. This menagerie suggests a collapsing boundary between the terrestrial and the fantastical—perhaps a nod to the delicate balance of ecosystems or the surreal absurdity of their decline.
The upper left corner features a swirling, almost hypnotic red form that could be interpreted as a heart, a planet, or a wound—its tendrils reaching toward the rhino’s horn with a sense of urgency. Neon pink splashes, musical notations, and other erratic marks give the painting a sense of uncontainable energy, like graffiti layered over time. There's a cacophonous joy here, but also a looming sorrow.
The use of outlines in raw, sketch-like fashion—especially on the outer creatures—speaks to incompletion or disappearance. It feels like the artist is capturing animals in the process of fading, as if they're being erased by history or negligence. The tape border decorated with architectural forms further reinforces a theme of containment, suggesting a curated, museum-like framing of natural life—a preserved past rather than a thriving present.
Altogether, this work is a brilliant contradiction: playful yet melancholic, primitive yet deeply layered. It interrogates our relationship with African wildlife, identity, and memory. The painting compels the viewer not merely to look, but to decode—each stroke and symbol pointing to a narrative that is urgent, unresolved, and profoundly human.