Personal blog and creative bin for music composer, graphic designer and philosophy scholar Jerome Arthur. Arthur is creative director at Online Brand Ambassadors, has released five music albums, writes short stories, and has been enjoying long lunches for 45 years.
Some of my favourite clothes are now so old, they have started to disintegrate on me. Other things around me, too, disintegrate. Concepts and beliefs I used to take for granted have been stretched, twisted, re-angled – not always voluntarily. Occasionally not without sarcasm. Ambitions have been fulfilled, fine-tuned, or ditched – that’s all fine, […]
PODCASTS BBC4 In Our Time A History of Ideas Philosophy Bites The Partially Examined Life History of Philosophy without any Gaps Philosophize This The Infinite Monkey Cage VIDEO COURSES A romp through the philosophy of the mind General Philosophy The School of Life A History of Philosophy BOOKS Reading Philosophy, C Janaway, J Hornsby Think: […]
Everything comes together when my dear friend Koen Dehaene at Phomolo Travel uses my music as a sountrack to his extraordinarily stunning Africa photography [Photo Credit phomolotravel.co.za]
I’m at that stage in my life where I find it necessary to deal with unfulfilled life ambitions. The year 2018 seems to be a good year to do this, after cleaning up my personal act in 2017. Building further on my focus on philosophy as part of my law studies from 1991 to 1997, […]
“The miracle is not to walk on water or fire. The miracle is to walk on the earth.” Zen Master Linji Abruptly sucked into the frantic madness of Vietnam’s legendary motorised traffic, there is no gentle introduction to Hanoi, Vietnam’s capital and the first stop on our 2 week’s tour of the country. We should […]
I cook like I write like I make music. I open the fridge, chuck some ingredients that sort of seem to make sense together in a pan, and start cooking. Creating a canvas, really. Setting a scene. I have no idea where this is going. Sometimes, it’s a fragrance that sets me off in a […]
Our feet sprout roots every time we set foot in the Karoo. We’ve come home. Born in the country of TinTin, beer and chocolate, my wife and I moved, entirely voluntarily and eager for adventure, to South Africa in 1997. The connection with the soil, the sun and the people of this part of the world was instant. We feel alive here, connected with history, present and future. Since 2016 we call ourselves part-time Prince Albert locals.
Every year, South Africa’s south-western landscapes turn into tapestries of lush, colourful fynbos and flowers. I captured the magic of this seasonal phenomenon at Bartholomeus Klip in the Riebeek Valley on my camera.
I have captured the olive oil making process at Mardouw in Swellendam, South Africa – from handpicked harvest to bottling – in this short photographic story.
When everything around you seems death ‘n dust, the warmth of the people around you feels so much more intense. Maybe that’s why I love the Karoo so much. That, and Prince Albert …
When pulling yourself through a typically heavy-headed Friday afternoon, remember that the Hemel en Aarde Valley is only one and a half hours away from Cape Town. This wine-obsessed, secluded micro-cosmos is a perfect weekend destination, with great opportunities to hike, mountain bike, and reconnect with family and friends. Oh, and have I mentioned the […]
Tasting my way through South Africa’s Pinot Noirs, I make notes and share my appreciation along the way.
There is something about the soil in Africa. Honesty. Love and respect for the earth we walk on. Dig our hands in. Grow our food in. Have our children play with. In touch with Mother Earth. In touch with ourselves …
I don’t know what attracts me so inevitably about the Karoo, but I feel my feet grow roots every time I stand on its dusty moon-scaped soil.
Living in Africa, with its wide open spaces, I felt intrigued by Europe’s network of alleys during my latest visit to Ghent, Belgium.
An insignificant number. Nothing much has changed in the last 20 years, really. I’m still finding out who the fuck I am and what makes me tick …
… I entered, no longer feeling the usual rebellious discomfort, and sat down in one of the lecture rooms. And then I saw me in the crowd, my younger version, and I went up to him, me, and spoke …
The smell of freshly cut grass. Golden-ripe wheat. Sprouting-green corn. Whiffs of insecticides and freshly ploughed mud that has fallen off tractor tyres and is now, here I walk, lining the narrow streets in scattered, double-lined patterns. It all takes me back to my childhood. One sniff at a time.