AUA E TE FEFE / DON'T BE AFRAID

I often forget when presenting these works that the first thing people tend to do is inhale sharply when they see the skulls.

Skulls can be a reminder of the things that we have lost and portents of the end that is to come. So seeing uncomfortable reactions is understandable, but this aspect is only part of the power I see in them as a symbolic presence in my work.

When I was a lot younger I was struck by an image in a book of a person using a skull as a pillow. The use of the skull in such a utilitarian way stayed with me and the question of seeing these as something more than props to frame horror; I would seek to answer in later years through my art practice.

My time researching as a visual arts post-grad student afforded me the space and time to consider my position and place as a Samoan born in Aotearoa when framed around structures of identity. Having the time to critically assess what it meant to grow up as part of a Pacific diaspora included decoding the subtle ways I had learned cultural contexts through lived ways of being. This could include participating in family functions where fa’a Samoa, or the Samoan way, is applied. It could also be something as simple as a story passed on from grandmother to grandson.

It was the echo of a story from my grandmother that connected my past to my present-day research and the practice of reinterring the dead, liutofaga that would see me once again re-examine the way we see skulls, or more accurately how we see the bones of our ancestors. In my practice, the skulls are a key element in seeing beyond the dead, being about more than death.

In my artwork, these skulls, or ancestor motifs, have developed in two ways.

Firstly, I present them as timeless, and they hold space for our ancestors to be part of a contemporary conversation that sets the groundwork for what is a possible future. In their second form, they became fragile placeholders of my psyche during a lockdown that tested my resilience and ability to maintain a sense of creativity unencumbered by uncertainty.

In both instances they are not reminders of our mortality, they are not memento mori. These are not the embodiment of journeys ended but are reminders of lessons around lives lived. They are nothing to fear.

In the words of our grandmother, aua e te fefe, don’t be afraid.

BLACK LIVES MATTER

Black Lives Matter.

Black Lives Matter. 

One more time for the people at the back, Black Lives Matter.

Last week I was unsure where it was I stood with regards to that statement, not because of any issue around what it meant because let’s not be dicks about it but BLACK LIVES MATTER! My stance and my issue around where I saw myself fell into something tied around the Samoan concept of tautua (serving or being in service to) & I have pulled this concept up quite a bit over the last few years. Generally, this discussion was framed around narratives focused on relational spaces and roles concerning my artistic community, cultural capital as a Samoan in the diaspora, and the wider intersectional connections created at different levels of Aotearoan society.

Last week Black Lives Matter, the movement, roared back into the spotlight and it roared so loud it drowned out the shrieking terror many of us faced as a result of the global pandemic that is Covid-19. Many of us considered minorities found ourselves joining as a part of a choir that sang a requiem to all of the black lives brutally taken, bought into sharp focus by the continued crushing of black bodies in America. For me, I didn’t know where to start when looking at the song sheet – I didn’t know what my role was and I wasn’t sure how I could serve this long-suffering community. Part of my mind whispered that as the son of Samoan migrants, we had our own issues to contend with, as a minority in Aotearoa we had our own issues to contend with, as someone that believes my role is to tautua to our Maori aiga – we had our own issues to deal with. All I felt was that we had our own issues to deal with and why would I add more to a plate already piling up with the shit 2020 was throwing at us?

Then I remembered something, I used to love hip-hop. I used to love everything about hip-hop, the first time I saw a couple of kids bopping at intermediate to Grandmaster Flash I was intrigued. Then in 1983 we saw Style Wars on TVNZ, channel 1 and that was it – this American artform was now embedded in the minds of brown kids from South Auckland and we took it and ran. Flash forward thirty years later and I was looking at it a whole other way, I wanted out, I wanted to try to reconnect and remember what it was that was my parents, their parents, and their parent's parents. I wanted to remember my heritage and I was becoming aware that this was connecting me to a methodology that helped me connect to so many of our Moana aiga and I found the sea and land of Moana Nui a Kiwa held more for me than the steel and concrete of the Bronx.

The irony here is that to get to this place, this foundation to build an understanding of how our diasporic Moana cultures evolve in Aotearoa I needed those formative years shaped by the cultures I had adopted. They weren’t mine to keep but they gave me an understanding of how to punch up - hip-hop and reggae showed me what it is to stand firm and stand strong. They weren’t perfect teachers but no one ever is and you have to understand and adapt when something you love has toxic elements. I have learned to adapt and understand the good and I filter out what does not work and this is the evolution of my practice – this methodology has come about in part from the revolution that is never-ending for African Americans. They have shown us the difference it makes to see our own succeed, they have been the most visible to any PoC kid wanting to see someone that looks just the smallest bit like them on the world stage in ANY of the arts.

Black Lives Matter.

I have to say that what has given me the greatest joy these past few days would be seeing my younger siblings step up and call out those that would love black culture but not black bodies. Both have been on the same journey as their older brothers and both have excelled in the elements of hip-hop they became expert at – the emcee and the dancer. Proud of you Mark and Tia.

“Crazy seeing some poly hip-hop and RnB artists not being sympathetic to the protests for black equality but are comfortable adopting their artforms. Straight culture vultures.” – Mareko.

Tautua – service. Given freely and offered with alofa.

Black Lives Matter.

Do the right thing.

I originally posted this in a group page on Facebook - I wanted to give these words another place to live outside of that space.

Hello.

I've been thinking a little about the ongoing issues in the United States and as a result it's made me reflect on life here in Aotearoa. I'm posting in here as opposed to my main timeline mostly because I like that this is a safe space for me to unpack my mind but I can do so knowing many of you may recognise the faces and voices I will speak with.

My facebook timeline is usually full of messages and musing from the world and for the most part I really enjoy seeing what friends and family have been up to, my twitter timeline is usually filled with strong opinion and anger but again I do find elements that help me understand and learn more of the world we live in. These two social media platforms are sometimes welcome distractions from the wider world, sometimes a bit too much of a distraction when I should be writing or working on my art (you know what I mean).

As of late both have become flooded, whipped up by a familiar storm and the tide that's swept across both has been pain, pain and anger. I'm drowning.

I know that there is much that we can count on as a blessing that life here in Aotearoa affords us, but I am also acutely aware of the price many have paid for this sense of safety. There are inequalities here that exist and for the most part the veneer of 'she'll be right mate' provides the thin skinned shield that keeps it hidden. But, beneath the surface it still festers and it does break through on occasion - Westlake Girls blackface - it infects and it poisons - Gisborne District Ccouncil Endeavour tribute - and it leaves scars (the list of these is sadly so long I have no idea where to start). I see well intentioned posts from my palagi friends trying to understand and find solutions to the issue of racism, relating their experiences of being allies, and I nod and think 'thanks bro' but I know that they don't understand the dread that builds in your gut when someone looks at you and demands to know 'what are you doing here?'. You know every eye in that place that has not seen what you have seen, those eyes no longer see you, they just see their fears.

The first time I was stopped by the police I was 10, they wanted to know what I was up to and where was I going - I was carrying bread and milk and me being me I thought two things, clown and run or just tell them I was walking home. I told them I was walking home and they left me alone after wanting to know where I lived. I have spent much of my time since trying to be the person that doesn't attract the attention of the police, being the responsible one as far as my parents and family were concerned. Serving the communities I have been a part of and trying to focus on and uplift as I move along.

I pour myself into my art to try cope and my art helps me make sense of the world but I am now at a point that I fear the face my art shows, my recent work has reflected this but I am also aware of the need to understand the deeper issues at play and how they play out.

Taula, or anchors like aiga, heritage and the understanding that the strength of relational spaces in the real world and the world woven by my ancestors keep me steady during storms and more than ever that connection has been my blessing. Sometimes though, especially when you see what is happening here and overseas and there is a sense of despair.

Sorry about the rant but as Samoan language week comes to its conclusion I thought it right to share one phrase my mum would share with me - Aua e te popole. Don't fret/stress/worry.

Every now and then I hear her voice whisper this to me and I am comforted, the comfort is in the realisation that to serve our communities is the right thing to do. To do what is right for our people is the right thing to do - to see the struggles of those who understand us and support them is the right thing to do. Don’t stress, don’t frett, don’t worry - do the right thing.

Rant over.

Alofa and respect aiga <3

Manurewa Sunset

We need to talk about suicide.

I created this image with a mind to including it in the Fatuvalu / Eight Hearts artwork that I submitted as my Masters work but I couldn't. I have touched on my own experience with suicide as a teenager in previous work and I created this as iterative reflection on the outcome of that journey. It's confronting and personal but it works best on it's own as a statement on my ability to see hope in the dark thanks to my brother Uoka Sagapolutele.

The stats alone from suicide this year are horrifying, in an article from Stuff last August there had been an increase in the number of deaths in the last four years and the number dying is the highest since stats started to be recorded ten years ago. This is heart breaking.

There has to be a way to address this that brings a needed change, we can't keep losing people this way - there is always hope but when you are in the mindset of self destruction that is hard to see. I was lucky enough to have an intervention when I was younger and I am not afraid to admit my weakness. What I have now is something I never saw back then and I am truly grateful for the alofa and life I have now.

If you need to talk to someone, anyone about life please reach out - message me if you want and I'll come and tell you about my idea for a sci-fi movie over coffee and toast. Or we could just sit and occupy space and time.

Mad respect to Joseph and'Lydia Fa'afiu for his tireless work with this cause.

I borrowed this list of numbers from the Stuff article - just a way to pass on the alofa.

WHERE TO GET HELP:

1737, Need to talk? Free call or text 1737 any time for support from a trained counsellor

Lifeline – 0800 543 354 or (09) 5222 999 within Auckland

Youthline – 0800 376 633, free text 234 or email talk@youthline.co.nz or online chat

Samaritans – 0800 726 666

Suicide Crisis Helpline – 0508 828 865 (0508 TAUTOKO)

What's Up – 0800 942 8787 (for 5–18 year olds). Phone counselling is available Monday to Friday, midday–11pm and weekends, 3pm–11pm. Online chat is available 7pm–10pm daily.

Kidsline – 0800 54 37 54 (0800 kidsline) for young people up to 18 years of age. Open 24/7.

thelowdown.co.nz – or email team@thelowdown.co.nz or free text 5626

Anxiety New Zealand - 0800 ANXIETY (0800 269 4389)

Supporting Families in Mental Illness - 0800 732 825

From one who found hope - alofa and respect

Reminders of Te Manukanuka o Hoturoa

When we thought of the theme, Aiga Famili, for the latest ManaRewa show that's currently showing at Nathan Homestead from the 24 Feb to the 2 April we knew it would draw out different interpretations from our artists but we didn't realise how varied those would be.  It's pretty amazing to see.

For my own submission I mulled over the theme and weighed up how best to take a piece of me and convey the connection/history I have to Manurewa.  The love I have for my family tied to our past and at the same time release the reality of where we are as a family now all in one go.  It wasn't easy.

I looked at the possible options of portraiture and dismissed it as those I would want to be part of it weren't here.  Landscapes could work but where?  There were so many options but only one really came to mind, Weymouth Beach on the banks of Manukau Harbour, Te Manukanuka o Hoturoa.  Great, I have a location but a landscape?  Not really fitting my earlier stated narrative so I had to review what I was wanting to say and find a way to take this piece of my memory and expand it's meaning as an anchor for my aiga/famili/whanau/family.

I should explain, Weymouth holds a special place in my heart as it was the first beach I can claim as our family beach - it's not exactly Piha or Bethells but for me that's part of it's charm.  In the 80s our father would have us all jump in our different family cars for a trip to the "beach", a muddy oyster bed with the best rock pools and a lot of noisy birds.  His instructions as he dropped us off were "don't drown and watch out for each other" and then he was off for the day with pickup arranged for a few hours later.  My brothers and I spent so many Summers and the odd Winter running around there - it was the best place to be.  On a side note, if someone says it's all good to jump in the channel and let the current take you - they're lying.  Walking back barefoot along oyster beds is as much fun as dancing on broken glass.

So, some thirty years later I found myself sitting on it's broken shell and sand beach after helping with a beach clean up program last month and as I watch a flock of variable oyster catchers it all comes flooding back.  Then I had it - the birds, they would be my key and they would be my heart.

I spent a couple of days getting shots of these amazing black and white birds and from these I constructed the landscape and the portrait of my interpretation of aiga.  The base would be the family evolving as each member seeks to find their individuality, the center the movement that comes that search for individuality and the irony that many find themselves part of the larger mass and moving collective.  The peak, the moment you take all that you were and all you are to find peace in the currents that take you into an unknown future.  None of it possible without that foundation of family that is the first and most important of who you are.

Too choice.

Digital representation of "Reminders of Te Manukanuka o Hoturoa"

As exhibited at Nathan Homestead as a part of Aiga Famili.  

Memory Artists

Last week I happened to be talking with a good friend who also happens to be someone I admire as an artist and mentor and we got on to the subject of my practice and the best way to describe what I do.  Not something I normally consider as my work is an ever evolving tapestry of what I experience, see and love.

He suggested a term for what I am as a creative as being a "memory artist" or something to that effect (ironic that I can't remember the exact term hahah).  The discussion stuck with me and the more I thought about it the more it scratched at my brain and understanding of my work as an artist.  With photography, by it's very nature you play with light and capture moments, with a bit more planning you can twist and turn the light to create moments but in essence the final work is still that moment the shutter opened and closed.  

I realise that I have moved in and out of different parts of peoples lives and I have the archives to prove it  My camera has been there when I have laughed with friends, it's been there when I have cried with family.  It has also been there when I have sought inspiration, clarification and resolution.  All of it kept as a record, a memory that's always going to be there - well it's as permanent as I can make it.

The work can be thought of as objective by some but I know it's subjective - it came from me determining what I want to shoot when I capture it.  If it's studio work, documentary, personal or commissioned it all has my influence one way or another.  Every now and then something comes up that let's me give these moments back, in this case a shot I took while enjoying a sunny morning watching people training their dogs.  A week after, one of these amazing people  without any warning, would pass away.  I found this out a few days after and a little while after that I would be given the chance to give back that moment on that sunny morning.

I have an archive of moments that mean a lot to me and I have realised that I have also managed to acquire moments in other peoples lives - memories that are my art.

Let me share this memory from last week, a moment of peace, gratitude and aroha.  I am so lucky to be able to do what I do and to love doing this while encompassed in an appreciation for those around me and a respect for time.

Shot Andy.

Too choice.

kaiHaka in prayer after the powhiri for Mya at Auckland Airport.

You keep knocking us down, we keep getting back up.

I have lived in Manurewa for the better part of thirty five years and sixteen of those have been in my own home in the mighty west coast sub-suburb of Clendon, 2103.  

I wandered around the area in my youth when the land was more toetoe and livestock than subdivided sections and prefab properties.  There was a sense that the place was going to be something different from the other areas in Manurewa as the developments looked pretty cool to a kid with no idea of how the world worked.

I am guessing that to go with the new sense of destiny in the area Clendon Town Center was built as a hub to service the needs of the new suburb.  My first ever trip there was to buy my new Manurewa High School 1st XV dress uniform from Warnocks and if not for that I would never have considered the place as somewhere I would actually want to go.  Later on I would work as a relief teller for the Postbank branch and still never felt like I wanted to hang around the place.

Fast forward to now and after buying my own home here sixteen years ago and getting to know the area and the diverse lot of people that live in and around it I am proud to say I live here.  From the crazy walkway that runs from the back of the old Nissan factory to the club rooms at the Weymouth Rugby Club, to the solar powered street signs along Finalyson and then over to the craziness that is the now opened up Clendon Town Center I love living here.  

This isn't to say that Clendon doesn't have it's problems; it does and they can be serious but the difference between what happens here and what happens in other parts of Auckland is more about disposable assets and a disposable population that suit the need for waypoints on the map of poverty that is often exploited by media and their reality TV crews or mobile shopping trucks with overpriced stock and underhanded payment plans.  Things can change and so can situations and I hold out hope that the leadership offered by Manurewa Marae when homes were needed for the homeless is also acknowledged by those that would be quick to point out crime rate.

A few years ago our neighbourhood was rocked by the murder of the son of our local dairy, I can remember the reports and the hand wringing about the things that were going wrong with this part of Auckland.  I can also remember the locals that apprehended the person responsible and the huge amount of love our streets threw around the family of the victim.  I saw the good that is at the heart of our community and I know that good is still there and always ready when it's needed.

Call me a blind fool that can't see the thorns for the roses but I'm happy to tolerate a few pricks if it means I get to view the beauty that is at the heart of my town.

Kids cracking whips and parents moving quick - Clendon Rulz OK.

Too Choice.

Personal and in effect.

As this year rounds out I have had a lot to think about and plenty to consider especially with the direction I have taken with my personal photographic work.  I have always anchored my work around the people and places I have grown up and this has always played itself out in the work I have exhibited. 

With my next body of work I have moved away from the stories of those around me to focus on the stories I have to tell about those around me and the way my environment has impacted on my growth and development.  A lot more personal and in many ways a chance for me to share the experiences I have had growing up in two cultures in Aotearoa during the seventies, eighties and nineties.

"The Only Time" is the first image from this new body of work, a statement on cultural awareness, naivety and heartbreak.  It reflects the few times I have worn traditional formal Samoan attire and the contradictions of both occasions on a personal level.  The white of White Sunday reflected by the black of a Funeral.  With one I would be in never ending conflict with my role as a good son and with the other I find peace in the role of the eldest son.  

The theme of contradiction plays out with White Sunday my parents role in encouraging participation would build a resentment of a role I never played well in a religious spectacle I would never feel any connection to.  With the black I am dressed to bury my mother, with it I come to terms with my mothers generation and their love of their culture, aiga and the roles offered and given during the process of saying goodbye to her and my cutting the biological link to their Samoa.  The loss of that part of my link does not mean I lose what it is to be Samoan, I have the love and spirit that bound me to my parents but I am developing as a new type of Samoan - a onetime generation that bridges what was with what will become.

I love what I am seeing in the new work I am creating and as more of it comes to life I will share.

Too choice.