Thursday, April 15, 2010

Vikings of the Sunrise art exhibition essay

“What manner of men were they who, by surpassing the achievements of the Phoenicians in the Mediterranean and the Vikings of the North Atlantic, are worthy of being called the supreme navigators of history.”

To depict the journeys of Polynesian ancestors on stone age waka/vaka/va’a is to in someway ride the waves with them or perhaps hover above like the frigate waiting for the morning catch. It requires imagination and determination to traverse the stories have been locked in our physical memories, DNA stored. To remember is to laugh, to cry, to celebrate and to mourn. To remember is to sense the mana of our seafaring ancestors, ancestors whose feats of bravery were underpinned by their knowledge and skill. We know the sea. We know the sky. The wind. The islands. And the stars. But to have only these as portents and guides renders most of us modern Polynesians mute for word and image. Stone-age crafts journeyed from the corridors of Melanesia to Fiji, Samoa, Tonga up to Hawaii, down to Aotearoa and across to Rapanui. Toia mai! Te waka! Left with this legacy, we desperately reach out to grasp fading threads of conversation and reflections of the way we used to be.

Te Rangi Hiroa’s Vikings of the Sunrise creates a starting point for exhibition, artistic exploration, and future collaboration. As death lay in the west with the setting sun, new life and hope rose in the east. Here the dawn brings a new net of emerging Pacific artists guided by the one of the fathers of Pacific Island art in New Zealand. Fatu Feu’u’s diverse practice has seen him exhibit widely in New Zealand, the Pacific and Europe. He has also taken part in many projects aimed at developing Polynesian art and artists. Alapika resurfaces to support emerging artists from Canterbury as they navigate tempestuous artistic oceans.

For two artists their stories are told in wood. A Journey combines nails, plank and a splash of pink — contemporary materials in a new twist. Bonnie Tamati (Samoa) maintains her fresh and dynamic approach by building a tactile depiction that traces events on a voyage: stars to guide, fish to sustain and mountains to sight. Carver Rapheal Stowers (Samoa) continues to meld and twist traditional Polynesian forms with contemporary interpretation. Aboard a Tahitian surfboard, his Untitled work surfaces like an ancient God shaped from the forest of Tane.

Karen Schwabe (Te Whānau a Āpanui, Ngāti Porou) departs from painting to bind a manu harakeke that includes her own hand-made paper. Entitled Tutu maiea Tawhirimatea, whakatere ana Poupaka. When Tawhirimatea rises, Poupaka sails, the artist pays homage to Tawhirimatea, God of the wind and to Poupaka, a navigator. Poupaka, according to a Bay of Plenty waka tradition, arrived in Aotearoa two generations before Kupe. The result is a beautiful and uncommon artwork that although playful in its appearance, flew in wartime as a signal for battle and to mark boundaries.
The remaining artists have expressed themselves on canvas and board. Teina Ellia (Rarotonga) explores the Rarotonga invovation “Tangaroa i te titi. Tangaroa i te tata” (Oh Tangaroa in the immensity of space). Her work conveys continuous patterns of time set upon a void that is blank and undetermined, hence the title: Within the immensity of space. Nails feature once more offering a metaphor to the viewer of the practical and hardy nature of these navigators.

In the Night is Nigh, painter Fuivai Fiso (Samoa) channels the emotional and physical suffering bourne by his ancestors in swirls and rages of red over the full brightness of day and the lonely black night. The work has a wonderful sense of passage and present, its largeness reflecting the vast Pacific.
My work, Polynesian Voyaging Chapters 1-8, offers a compression of time and space with the elements of sea and sky, present, past and future are overlaid. Present in the work is also a diagramatic symbol system that has evolved from experiments in establishing my own Pacific languauge. The grid formation also invites physical and mental reconfiguration.
Vikings of the Sunrise presents a fascinating and diverse range of artistic interpretations. Their response illustrates not only how different Pacific artists work but that the results of their making are exciting, varied and powerful. Te Rangi Hiroa asks in his book’s epilogue: “What new net goes fishing?” This net. This day. This exhibition.

My Perfect Man

I wrote this description in 2008 when Oliver turned five and I started dating again. Then I found him. Corny, I know but true.

He laughs a lot. He sees joy in little things. He is considerate and likes to think things through. He's physical, practical and knows how to change tyres, build tree huts and even better if he can lay a hangi (in his case an umu). He has a love of the land and wants to explore it, preserve it. He's a bit political and self aware. He knows this is our one shot at life so we can be anything and everything we choose to be. AND he knows he deserves all the happiness and love in the world.

p.s. Sometimes Pat doesn't know he deserves mega happiness BUT he does.

When Patrick met ... well ... Me!

Well yes I have fallen under the spell of Patrick Alick Tafunai, and he and I are engaged to be married in October 09. For those of you who are thinking, who is Patrick. How can he be this lucky? Ha ha. Well we met six years ago (apparently he knew right from the start - but then he is quite bright and I am pretty irresistable) but it wasn't good timing for me cos I was ... ah ... pregnant with Oliver and breaking up with his dad so yeah another man was really off the menu ...

ANYWAY, we kept in touch, and when I went back to Samoa at the end of last year, we started hanging out again and while I was thinking how come Pat doesnt have a girlfriend cos he's a great guy, he was thinking, I'm going to have crack her coconut head otherwise she'll never see I'm in love with her. So he ended up asking me if I'd be into a Long-Distance Relationship (doesnt that sound like a cocktail) and after I politely asked him to pull the car over so I could throw up the litre of Bombay Sapphire I had drunk that night, I said yes. Yep, I'm still flash... But I did say yes again, two days later in a sssssober and ssssserious coversation. And from there, Cupid cracked my coconut and I fell in love with this wonderful, charming, gorgeous, gush gush, man and we decided that we want to spend the rest of lives together.

And get this, he thinks it's cute that I am forgetful. Although he hasn't had to deal with my habitual lateness, which I am now soooo good at that I don't even have to practice. But he is also really forgiving. Yay!! Not that he will to forgive his beautiful wife much ... yeah right. So Patrick, like every half Samoan/half Fijian and little bit of Irish man should, went and asked Dad if he could marry his daughter. And dad, said come back in two days (yep that's where I get it from), where Dad consulted the Oracle (mum) and the Princess (me, not Elaine Momoan) and FINALLY gave his approval. And right now, Dad and Pat are in Samoa and Mum and I are in Christchurch. Sigh. Although Oliver and I are off to Samoa in three weeks time. Then in August, Patrick is coming here for three weeks and then our little family will go back to Samoa for an Ifopo mini-reunion. And now it looks like, my honey may be coming for two months in November. Go Patrick Go Patrick ...

So if you are in Chch, you'll get to meet him and taste his wonderful cooking (he's a chef. yay!!) If you live elsewhere in the South Island, I'm prepared to tour him for a small fee and accommodation, okay just accommodation will do.

So now that you know our mini love story, hopefully some of you will be joining us for our wedding. (I'll be the gorgeous one with the silly happy grin, he'll be the handsome one with his arms around me). And of course I will also understand it if you can't make it cos ... um a house fell out of the sky and landed on your foot, your wife is stuck on Big Brother and needs you to be there when she gets voted out, or you're in the top three of the International So You Think You Can Dance competition. But just so you know, only the aforementioned excuses will be considered. ... Okay Okay I will love you just the same if you cant come and yes of course, Patrick and I will love to host you when you visit Samoa (after our 5-year-honeymoon that is).

Okay that's all from me now. Sorry for the group email thing, but really renovating a house, building another house in a different country, raising a 5-year-old giant, being a good daughter, a sensational mum, a forgetful sister, a lyrical writer, and a fabulous fiancee all at the same time takes its toll. Nah! not really, I'm just lazy. Oh, and just so you know, parts of this email have been edited to make events appear more exciting than they actually are - but I thought you'd appreciate that.

When I had cancer

We wake from an impatient sleep. Oliver is the last to rise so I dot butterfly kisses on his rose cheeks. “Moe, Mum”, he whispers. He huddles under woollen blankets to shun the white of the bedroom light but his body betrays him and stretches like a mewling kitten.

Changed out of Spiderman pyjamas, he slides off the bed and follows my pointed finger to the kitchen where Nana greets him with a kiss and a bowl oozing with warm oats.

I shower quickly, taking care to shave under my armpits. It’s the least I can do. Mum and Dad pack their bags; work clothes, boots. I pack mine; toothbrush, pyjamas, books, slippers, and vitamins.

Outside slick rain pours from oily skies. We hurry to the 4WD where Oliver is already buckled in; a sloppy grin pasted on his face, he claps his hands as I climb aboard.

Christchurch Public Hospital. Ground floor. After 7am it’s a blur of people waiting, visiting, working, but it’s still early and we are alone except for a man peddling the morning news. Oliver tears about looking for friends and adventures, his squeals shred the silence.

The powdered lady at preadmission waves crimson fingernails at me and invites me into her office. I don’t ask her name though she asks me many questions, the same questions that will be asked of me for the next six months. Do you have any allergies? Have you had any other operations? Do you know your surgeon? No, I don’t. Yes, I have. Phillipa Mercy.

Boxes ticked and dotted lines signed, the powdered lady sends us to the day surgery reception, where we will wait as cartoons bleat inanely from a donated TV. Mum and Dad are teaming up for this one. They know without the other, they are likely to cry, scream, crash to their knees and hold me so tight I may not be able to breathe.

Young Man From Poutasi

Young man from Poutasi
Came to Aotearoa to paint a Sunday dream
By chance he met Fomison, Clairmont and Hanly
They told him
Paint where you're from man
Paint where you're from
And so he did
And he did
Did and did
Did and did
Did and did
And now I do

Ha ha.

Charnwood Cresent

When I was younger and going to the intermediate school around the corner, I felt like I knew everyone in my street.

Annual school fundraisers would send me knocking on every door asking for sponsorship, hoping for a glimpse into my neighbour's private lives. One of the most generous people down our street was Mr Kate. He had a hearty laugh and his teenage kids were well liked and probably still are.

Then there were the Kellys with their dark eyes and menacing stares. After a while you could see it was just a facade. Nevertheless I think the two boys may have ended up before the courts.

I also remember Dion Calder, a cheerful skinny Maori boy whose family moved to Australia. He was part of my kapahaka at school and although we all smoked and bunked that was as bad as we got. Though I do remember the day D and two of his friends pulled brown eyes at me as I biked past his house.

There were other friends down our street who have moved on: the Apes family, the Faifuas, Vanessa and her brood, Dean Guinea, Cathy, Mark, Normy, the Chinese man next to the alley, Sonya with long beautiful brown hair, and a different Sonya - who was troubled and sometimes seen wandering the streets lost in confusion.

But there are those who have stayed on: number 46 - the Karatau family including my best friend of more than 20 years, there's Ursula from Germany, the Burt family and the Tokelauans on the corner. Although Mr Tokelauan (I never knew his name) has been moved to an elderly hospital who care for him while his family struggle to care for his once beautiful garden.

One time (although I didn't see it) there was a documentary on drug dealing in New Zealand and our street was mentioned. And there was a couple of houses down the far end that had dodgy characters inside and out. It probably didn't do our street's drug reputation any good when our house got raided by a swarm of cops only to find the marquee in our front yard contained balloons for my nephew and neice's birthday.

I moved back to my parent's house - 41a - in 2002 after an absence of about four years. Each time I went back it took a little longer to settle in. But after a year of creeping around the house like I was a foreign boarder, I hung my favourite pictures, rearranged the lounge and made myself at home. Of course, I didn't come alone. Little Oliver had the warmest and brightest bedroom. I wonder if he will remember living with his grandparents? I hope so. The house was colder than I remember but maybe my skin was thinner? And I wondered why our neighbours on the left, who must have been on some Housing Corp rotation because they constantly changed, always swore, dyed their hair blonde and let their childen miss school. In contrast, our neighbours on the right were cheery, brought over misdirected mail and always waved when they saw you.

We lived in that house for 29 years - that's one year more than my youngest brother, Tai. Mum and dad have sold up and moved now. Sometime number 46 has talked about moving but I think they would miss the neighbourly cups of teas, drop-in visitors like me and the odd piece of gossip from Ursula.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Going back to 2008

It was a long flight. My right knee ached despite anti-inflammatory pills. A Hollywood movie ran through its scenes while my son slept peacefully. When the airhostess gave out meals, I accepted more out of curiosity than hunger, and in a bid to while away the time. The five-hour delay while transiting Auckland had heightened my eagerness to see Samoa again.

This was my second visit in six years – the first being Christmas 2007. Back then, as I stepped off the plane one thought went through my mind. I am home. For me, home can never again be New Zealand. Home is Samoa. It is a spiritual as well as physical home that constantly challenges me and forces me to learn, adapt and grow. At Christmas I returned to put to rest some lingering demons and found all could be subdued with a sincere smile and seasonal wish. This time I am here at the request of my parents who are resettling in Samoa after more than 40 years abroad.

For these visits I have been based at my father’s village of Mulifanua. I’m the girl learning to valu the popo and do the laundry by hand. I love it. My body feels better for it too. It’s a bit like being at fat camp, where hard labour and a diet of fresh fish and boiled green bananas is my new staple.

Our new house is yet to be finished so the cooking and clean-up is done outside. Not that I am complaining, especially when I see our neighbours trudging downhill with buckets balanced on large sticks across their shoulders. Thankfully, we have a water tank. When dad proposed buying one, we (who were sitting in our New Zealand lounges at the time) thought he was being extravagant but it’s clear he was simply being practical. A bonus for me is the new house has no tv. There is a distinct absence of Super 14 games, world news and drama penetrating our home via satellite. In many ways we are isolated except for the occasional ventures into town. We do have a radio but I much prefer the birds or the silence.

When I am in town, I confess to being a newspaper junkie. I will sit and read as many as I can. Old habits still make me. When I last arrived I was shocked to learn some new and old political happenings such as all HRPP MPs being salaried associate ministers. I’d like to see the time sheets – if there are any – for all those associate ministers and to see what duties they carry out in their appointments. Also, how much their salaries are, including their cars, overseas travel budgets, and expense budgets.

The other disturbing news was the right-hand-drive switch, although I was not too shocked at this. When a ruler or party has been power too long, they plain run out of ideas and purpose, and then personal agendas start to shape policy. It’s already evident in New Zealand with the Labour Party, who now has more senior journalists working for them than the New Zealand Herald, Radio New Zealand and the Dominion Post. These journalists-turn-spin doctor basically sugar-coat the workings of government so the public can digest and accept them. I think the correct term for it all is propaganda.

It appears in Samoa, the government does not need to sugar-coat its message because its majority in Parliament is so overwhelming. So instead it seems Samoa is at the whim of a dictator disguised as a democratic leader. I can hear the criticism coming forward already. “Felolini, how do you know? You have been away for too long.” But I respond, sometimes, it is just commonsense. Question, question, question until you are satisfied what is being done on your behalf is right, is moral and is for the good of the people. Step back. Take a look and trust yourself. By the looks of it, with all the protest against this move there is plenty of commonsense in Samoa. Unfortunately most of it resides outside Parliament.

In the meantime, I have about a week left in this great country of ours. I am set to return later this year for more family business. By that time, the house will be finished - the cooking and washing up will be done in a lovely new kitchen. The world will be projecting its soap operas and news events in a furnished and comfortable lounge. My temporary oasis will have changed, and I will adapt.