Niky Rahner

I was blessed with a simple and rich early childhood, spent running free on a small holding in sunny South Africa.
Born to a brilliant horticulturist and a soft spoken mother, with my big sister and younger brother as companions. We woke up free to spend our days running wild. We had trees to climb, gardens to eat out of, ponds to swim in, and a room... a room called; “The Playroom.”
In this room, you were free to do anything, without one single thought for consequence.
At the heart of The Playroom, there stood a table, specially crafted for us. Its legs were made in a way that they could grow taller as we grew taller. And on this special table you were free to create anything you could dream of in any way that pleased you.
I have a memory of my small hands and arms, covered in that swampy green colour that is a common sign of having gone way too far. My fingers running little waves all along the edge of our table. My brother and sister opposite me, streaks of swamp green in their messy hair, and swamp green on their laughing faces, as they came closer and went away, and came closer again, basically doing some sort of breast stroke on the spot in the paint that covered every inch of our special table.
So much paint, so much can...