why do we?

I visited the very lovely Auckland City Art Gallery while in Auk and enjoyed the experience. Why? Because I loved seeing more of the collection – in particular the lovely small image from circa 1832 that shows Rangihoua Pa in Northland. I have not yet found a copy of the image but it’s a small image, painted by an anonymous painter with little houses going straight up a seemingly perpendicular hill. The houses seem to have little red rooves.

It was a delight to see so many familiar colonial and 1980s/1990s images and some (like this one) new.

I liked the big pink tree thing outside and enjoyed seeing the McCahons (see previous post).

But as I wandered the maze of galleries I felt as if I was in Italy again. I got lost, I couldn’t exit and the rooms are full of paintings.

Why do we look at art?

My generous friend who took me to the airport says that art galleries are designed to educate us about being bourgeois. He mentioned a book that I cannot recall the name of. And in a way it’s true. We look at art so we can feel that we identify. That we belong. That we understand the code. Museums also were begun to demonstrate the wonderous nature of things collected from colonial voyages.

I like seeing the work of some of my friends – J and F who finally met. Its because they are personal, I understand the reasons and they belong in my world.

This is Juliette’s semiotic work about reading and study. She wanted, she said to make the papier mache with the discarded proofs of her dissertation but didn’t have the energy to do it so it’s old Readers Digests. The discarded dissertation would have been more personally meaningful perhaps but this works too. Echoes of my old school desk!!!

So what DO I think of the Auckland City Art Gallery? I think it’s splendid but I think it’s old school. It confirmed my place in the world but it did not challenge me. But I also did really love seeing all those paintings with which I am so familiar and which were the background to parts of my life. And the joined building is beautiful.

the gorge, the gentleman and goldie

1910 c1910s-30s Bowler hat by Scotts of London and Calhoun's of Canada prv.jpg

As I drive down Ngauranga Gorge on my way to work, I frequently spot an elderly fellow walking down the gorge. It’s unusual to see anyone walking down the gorge but this particular fellow attracts my attention for the way my mind references him.

What’s distinctive about him is his clothing. I swear on most occasions he wears a bowler hat, always a black suit and my mind has concocted a long pounamu earring. He walks with a long walking stick which he holds away from his body.

I’ve associated him with Charles Goldie’s painting of Te_Aho-o-te-Rangi Wharepu called All ‘e Same t’e Pakeha. I can’t copy the image here ‘cos it’s copyrighted and I haven’t asked permission.

It’s an odd sight, though, to see someone like this walking down amongst the cars.

A month later: I saw this fellow at the local supermarket. He was carrying a carved walking stick, has a facail moko and indeed wears a bowler hat but carries a supermarket bag. I almost went up to say ‘hello’. He does look remarkable.

one more

Te Hau ki Turanga was the centre of the Maori Hall at the old National Museum in Buckle Street. It was used as a retreat to sit and think, a place for learning raranga and waiata and a focal point for any hui.

The carver, Raharuhi Rukupo represents himself on one of the pou as he should. It’s a beautiful piece of work which created a sense of comfort.

Its present incarnation at Te Papa shows it off as a piece of beauty but, in my mind, fails to recreate that sense of comfort and calm. It’s a bit more hectic.

So, I’m pleased to hear that at last the house will go home to sit near its sister house Te Mana o Turanga.

The story of Te Hau ki Turanga is not a happy one, so I’m hoping there’s a happy ending to this story and it provides comfort for people as it did to the staff of the ‘old’ museum.

REF: Volume 105, No. 1, Te Hau ki Turanga, by Deidre S. Brown, p 7-26 Journal of the Polynesian Society.

who can tell?

I remember a friend telling me he wanted to get the story of his nanny but she kept going ‘around the houses’ and never putting things in chronological order. I remember an elderly man telling me in frustration that I read too many books and I should listen as I tried to understand the Ringatu philosophy (he meant I needed to shut up and listen to him properly).

Photo of kaitiaki Maori circa 1990. Alan Marchant.

When I visit Te Papa, once I have traversed (and it does feel like a grand traverse) the spaces and managed to avoid the small people who rush about willy nilly and unchecked (I suppose I should value the enthusiasm) I often have fleeting moments of memory.

And so to visit the Tainui exhibition was especially poignant for me.

The visit and a subsequent discussion made me think of people: the kaitiaki with whom I shared meetings, talks and at times a whiskey or two, Galvin MacNamara (aka James Mack), Mina McKenzie , Marj Rau-Kupa and many more whose vision was to create spaces in museums for Maori to tell their own stories.

I remembered James (as he was then) remaking of the Maori hall in the old Buckle Street building, hui that were at times fraught, sessions of heated debate, conferences and workshops. The Treaty workshops held before and during 1990, and the support and love of many people. And the last trip I made with museum people to Pungarehu to support the return of some taonga that had been ‘misplaced’ by museums.

We thought that we were creating something new and good. That changes were occurring.

So what of now?

It’s wonderful to see the return of Mataatua to Ngati Awa. There is a new museum in New Plymouth. More Maori work in museums than ever before. Tikanga is acknowledged.

Some acquaintances said that things are more difficult now because it’s harder to know where the honesty lies. That perhaps all we had achieved was that Pakeha were better at hiding racism. I certainly have the sense that we are better at appropriating.

Sometimes I think that the stories have changed and evolved. That new tikanga is replacing the tuturu Maori tikanga. But maybe that’s what happens when cultures evolve?

Mainstream education appears to be no better for Maori than before. Which is why wananga are so important and have been so successful.

Maybe it’s time for the revival of the idea of iwi museums. Maybe it’s too hard to rid museums of the shackles of their colonial inception?

Like the hippy dream of a better world, maybe the vision and hopes of kaitiaki and those who supported them, has been altered a little in the practice. Maybe that’s just how it is?

Maybe it’s time for a new dream? Maybe I’m getting old and cynical? Maybe I’m still a hippy at heart?

Tainui exhibition at Te Papa

On the right hand side of the entrance to the Tainui exhibition at Te Papa is a label that tells some of the story of a pare found in the swamps in Hauraki. Had I not known where a pare might be I would not have raised my eyes above the watery entrance doorway to the pare that sits above it.

And for me that is the story of the exhibition.

The space provided by Te Papa for the changing iwi exhibitions is evocative of a womb. So the long tunnelled first part provides us with the story of the waka and the treasures brought to Aotearoa. The right hand side tells the story of the men while the left is mainly dedicated to the women. It was great to see korowai and the story of the Hetet/Te Kanawa family and Te Aue Davis, another woman I admired who died last year.

I was a bit confused as to why Hoturoa is on the women’s wall but liked the idea of the food/plants and kumara brought here. Clearly I was a tad more interested in the women’s side.

It was hard to see the whakatauaki as they are placed above eye level so that the labels, bright orange and cream, dominate the show. It made the connections between the sayings and the themes a little muddled and made it look like a show that aimed to educate.

It was good to see some old friends, in particular Uenuku who stands alone and semi majestic but looking a little lonely. Above him the “Hurunui-Jones” spiral is directed onto the ceiling and we see it again in the multimedia room (I think. I did not see all of that showing but I enjoyed the little I heard and saw of the story of the matauranga of Tainui waka).

For me the puku of the Tainui exhibition (and yes the metaphor continues) was the Kingitanga area. Maybe it’s because it’s a history that has more written records, maybe it’s because I was privileged (and I mean that) to see the exhibition of the parliament records while I lived in Hamilton so it had some context for me. Maybe it’s because Te Papa is better at dealing with the written word than the metaphysical and oral world.

I didn’t stop to see the newspapers and I found it hard to appreciate the taonga partly because of the displays and partly because of the dominance of the written word. I missed the relationships of the themes a bit but grasped the intent.

I exited via a fallopian tube past images of nga tangata o te waka o Tainui and thought about the people I know and knew and the learning I did while I lived in Hamilton.