South Africans are generally mildly surprised when winter occurs. We may complain about the dark and the weather, but we all understand it’s a performance of the novelty of the thing. We can finally relate to women in coffee commercials from Germany, bustling about in hats and umbrellas. Personally, leaving and coming home in the dark makes me feel like Gwyneth Paltrow in Sliding Doors. It means that one’s sophisticated and laden with the stress of fine drizzle and booking a sunny holiday. Switching on our little front lights is our way of nodding respectfully to the bonfires which punctuate serious Teutonic seasons. Its something universally comforting, when you come home after dark, that someone’s left the light on (even if you did it yourself).

I came from a sitting room lamp household, but I have know this light to live in the kitchen, at the backvdoor, in the hallway, or (rarely) to be in a lesser loo. This light is usually quite shitty for most other purposes – the switch is grimy, “jiggling” often comes into play, but it’s there and it follows you your whole life. Like mock Tudor, knee high vibacrete walls, and white dog poo these works document my delight and terror in middle class ritual. The comfort of routine can easily become feeling stuck just light putting in a bulb that’s slight too bright can hammer the reality of grimy linoleum home. I think, like us all all, these lights are just making the best of it.