Where the Wild breathes: Kenya research trip, 2025

Jamie Lord
Oct 30
4 min read

The sun rose over the acacia-dotted plains of the Masai Mara, flooding the savannah with a golden glow and revealing the quiet movement of life beneath it. As an artist, I was immediately struck by how light shaped everything; the silhouettes of giraffes against the horizon, the glint of fur, the dust that seemed to hold form in the air. Each moment felt like a composition unfolding in real time.

I travelled to Kenya for two weeks on a research trip, to observe, study, and understand the wildlife that calls these landscapes home. My journey took me through four remarkable locations in the south: the Masai Mara National Reserve, famed for its big cats and sweeping plains; Lake Nakuru National Park, sanctuary of the black and white rhino; Lake Naivasha, alive with birdlife; and finally, the iconic Amboseli National Park, where elephants roam beneath the shadow of Mount Kilimanjaro.

This experience was invaluable, seeing animals in their natural environments, watching their behaviour, interactions, and coexistence. It’s changed how I see the wild, and in turn, how I approach my work in the studio.

The lions did not have a care in the world that we were watching them

The Mara stretched endlessly, scattered with acacia trees and alive with quiet stories: herds grazing in motion, giraffes moving like brushstrokes across the horizon. The lions ruled with effortless confidence, powerful yet calm, every gesture full of authority. I’ll never forget locking eyes with a male lion just a metre away, his gaze unflinching, assured, and utterly sovereign.

Among all the encounters, the tension between lions and hyenas stood out most, the raw balance of dominance and patience, noise and control. And above all, the leopard: elusive, fluid, and beautiful. I watched a female move ahead of us, her body a perfect study in power and restraint. By contrast, the cheetah felt lighter, faster, their movements more urgent, an energy that pulsed through every stride.

Even among the plains game, there was rhythm and character everywhere, warthogs bounding with joy, zebra sparring in dust clouds, and buffalo standing immovable, like dark sculptures carved from the earth.

At Lake Nakuru, where both black and white rhinos coexist, I saw strength expressed in the most deliberate way. Three white rhinos moved slowly across the open plain, each step grounded, heavy, and intentional. At a watering hole, two bulls faced off, not with chaos, but with measured control. Their stillness carried more weight than movement, each subtle shift loaded with tension and authority. That balance, mass and precision, restraint and force, is something I aim to capture in my work.

White rhino in Lake Nakuru National Park

One species I didn’t expect to be so captivated by was the baboon. Full of energy and character, yet deeply expressive, they reveal emotion through gesture more than face. Near a waterfall by the Mara River, a troop became a moving representation of curiosity and play: climbing, grooming, leaping, and squabbling. Yet within the noise were moments of thought and pause, where individuals sat in still reflection. I found myself drawn to those contrasts, motion and calm, chaos, and order. The same rhythms that define sculptural form.

Baboon staring at me near the Mara River

Lake Naivasha was alive with motion, a chorus of wings, ripples, and calls. Among its birds, the African Fish Eagle commanded quiet dominance. Perched high above, its body tense and ready, it waited. When it moved, it was pure grace, wings unfolding in a single fluid sweep, talons slicing the water, rising again with effortless precision. The transition from stillness to power was deeply sculptural, the essence of intent made visible.

The intimidating African Fish Eagle perched atop a tree over Lake Naivasha

Amboseli, with Kilimanjaro’s snow-capped peak in the distance, is a land of giants and dust. The elephants here carry the landscape with them, their hides darkened by earth, their movements slow, rhythmic, and purposeful. One herd waded through the marshes, calves tucked between adults, older juveniles testing their independence, while the matriarch stood sentinel, calm, commanding, and timeless. Watching them was like observing emotion in gesture, power balanced by tenderness.

And above the plains, flashes of colour marked the lilac-breasted roller. Kenya’s unofficial bird, with its seven vivid hues, seemed to carry the light itself. One morning, I watched two perform their courtship flight, spiralling through the air in dazzling coordination. For a moment, the entire landscape felt to move in harmony with them, a dance of balance, freedom, and beauty.

My most reflective encounter came with a lone lioness, old and scarred but relentless. For half an hour we followed her steady path through the grass, every movement measured, determined, and powerful. Her eyes held both strength and wisdom, a quiet resilience that spoke of survival. It reminded me that beauty in nature is not fragile, it endures, and the constant battle between beauty, and brutality.

The lone wanderer: an old, injured lioness on the prowl

Now back in the studio, I find myself revisiting those moments in clay and paper, the stillness of the lioness, the rhythm of elephants moving through dust, the flash of a roller in flight. Kenya reminded me that wildlife art is more than observation; it’s about capturing rhythm, connection, and emotion. These encounters have reshaped how I think about sculpture, not just as form, but as movement and story.