Danielle-Raye  Bischoff

Conception

Conception is a five‑year journey of work that began, and ultimately returned, to the same place, my dining room table. In 2021, amid a moment of rupture, I sat beside my daughter and together we painted the inaugural piece of this series, titled “Annihilation.” 

After that first collaboration, I continued alone, yet I was never truly solitary because when I lifted the brush again, my younger self appeared, the child who once perched on the yellow‑wood benches of my childhood. Fearless with her brush, radiant with joy, she reminded me how to begin anew, repeatedly. 

Untamed strokes unleash ink spills and washes, allowing pigment to find its own path. My adult hand follows, with deliberate, rhythmic pen lines and repetitive marks with pen. Together we colour memory, intertwining play with precision, curiosity with care.

The process unfolds slowly, meditatively, granting presence and clarity, a space where I meet myself honestly. Over time, I have come to view the work as a conversation across ages: between who I was, who I am, and who I am becoming. Conception is, at its core, a reclamation through dialogue with my younger self, exploring the rites of passage of birth, youth, adolescence, motherhood, and death, cycles that continuously reshape identity.

The exhibition invites viewers to to walk this dialogue with me, to witness the tension between fear and creativity, memory and renewal, doubt and expression. It celebrates the quiet power of persistent imagination: by recolouring the past and transforming memory into colour, I discover new ways to move forward.

Current

There is something about being underwater that makes me feel both incredibly present, but also safe and tremendously separate from everything.
I was drawn to a literal interpretation of the theme 'current' and felt compelled to immerse myself in the sea for these shots.
I had borrowed a Nikon camera in an underwater housing and once I was in the water I quickly realised I didn't know what I was doing. The water was murky and kept pushing me around in surges with the tide. Those first few times in the water, I was so out of my depth, not only being pushed around, but also trying to figure out where the buttons on the Nikon were was a very frustrating process.
I then decided to buy a simple underwater bag and began to shoot with my Canon, which I am much more familiar with and the images began to get clearer, but funnily enough – less interesting.
Those first images I managed to get were blurry and abstract and remained the most evocative to me. So I have ended up where I began with these ghost-like images that, to my mind, best convey the fleeting and transient moments that I experienced underwater. These images open a dialogue on the interpretations of 'current' on different levels; firstly the literal current of the sea, which I experienced while photographing and secondly, capturing the current moment as an ephemeral and haunting image that speaks more to a feeling than a detail of the present moment.

Skelly Tidal Pool  II by Danielle-Raye  Bischoff
Skelly Tidal Pool III by Danielle-Raye  Bischoff

Lucky

Lucky investigates the intertwined histories of humans and dogs in contemporary South Africa, 
treating each canine companion as a living archive of social stratification, migration, and power. 
Drawing on Sandra Swart’s ethnographic reading of dogs as cultural signifiers (2003) and building upon the visual anthropology of Graham Hughes and the animal‑gaze discourse of Laura Mulvey, the series positions the dog‑owner dyad as a micro‑political site where authority, belonging, and resistance surface in everyday gestures.

Shot on medium‑format film, the work demands a slower, more contemplative presence, allowing the photographer to inhabit the same temporal rhythm as the subjects. This deliberate pacing uncovers subtle details: hand placement, leash tension, the texture of a worn collar, that betray socioeconomic status, gendered expectations, and regional identities.

An initially pragmatic decision to omit owners’ faces, prompted by concerns over illegal dog‑fighting associations, has become a formal device of “strategic anonymity.” By erasing the conventional focal point of the human gaze, the images compel viewers to read relational cues, thereby exposing the invisible hierarchies that govern care, control, and co‑existence.

Lucky thus operates as both a social portrait and a meditation on the materiality of connection, asking: 
how much of who we are can be read in the way we hold, protect, or restrain the animals that walk beside us?