THE FIELD AS WITNESS, 2026: Shana Ellappa

Welcome to The Field as Witness.

In developing this body of work, I spent a long time reflecting on what subject matter could hold the weight of the histories I wanted to explore. In the sugarcane fields of KwaZulu-Natal, three animals appear most often: the snake, the frog, and the hare. Among them, the hare carries a particularly powerful symbolism within the stories and lived experiences of indentured labourers and their descendants.

The hare is a liminal creature by nature. It rarely settles in one place and never quite claims a single home. In many ways, this mirrors the experience of indentured labourers and the generations that followed, a continual negotiation between places, identities, and histories, never fully belonging to either South Africa or India, but existing somewhere in between. The hare becomes a quiet bridge between these worlds.

The visual language of this series is deeply informed by how I first came to know these histories: through storytelling. Growing up, my father shared bedtime stories about my grandparents and ancestors, passing down fragments of memory that were rarely written into official archives. These stories shaped my understanding of the past and ultimately the form these paintings take. The hares in my work often carry human features and expressions, drawn from photographs and family stories. They are dressed in familiar clothing, garments reminiscent of the kaftans my mother wore when I came home from school, or the oriental shirts and Chinese collars my late father often wore.

One of the works in this series, He Wears No Name (2025), is a tribute to my grandfather, my Thatha, whom I never had the chance to meet. In the painting, a hare sits quietly in a sugarcane field, its legs appearing almost amputated. This imagery is drawn from a story that stayed with me from childhood. My grandfather worked in the sugarcane fields, and one day he slipped from a ladder while working near the sugar mill. His leg became caught in the machinery, and the force of the mill crushed both of his legs. He survived only by gripping tightly and preventing his entire body from being pulled into the machine.

Stories like these reveal the harsh realities and violence of labour conditions endured by many indentured workers, histories that often remain absent from official records. Through this work, I attempt to give space to these memories, allowing them to be seen and acknowledged.

The Field as Witness invites these histories into contemporary spaces, particularly the home. I believe artworks can become powerful conversation pieces, quiet prompts that encourage reflection, remembrance, and dialogue across generations. In homes where these works hang, stories may be told again, memories shared, and silences gently broken.

Each work in the series carries a story. Each holds a memory. Because how do we begin to remember without images? How do we mourn without graves? And how might art become a vessel through which silenced histories are felt, honoured, and carried forward?