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I know where I live.

She works nights and I work the day. She is the alpha and the omega. She gets home at night and wakes in the morning to start the day. We are not from here. No tawhiti taua. That’s me acknowledging how little we matter to you’se who are here. You have said as much. We are trying to live. Don’t press us any further than that.

I hear my son cough through the wall in the other room. He doesn’t know how to spit out phlegm. He lies on his back and keeps coughing it back into his mouth. I get up and turn him over. I don’t sleep well when he’s sick. He tells me sometimes that he needs to go to the doctor. When we take him, they don’t give him anything. They say he has had a virus, and that the virus has passed. Another two weeks and he’ll be alright. But things have gotten better since we moved here, I see him strong, I see him growing, He is mostly happy and has a beautiful character, But because this whole life is so tenuously balanced, on what we can provide, then; I know that if that were ever to go, then there would be no reason to stay.

I feel like Pocahontas when she left the new world for the old. Or the known for the unknown. I feel like her, maybe when she stepped on that boat she knew that she was destined to die. I remember that my boat was my dad's ute - did I know where I was going? I wonder - Why the fuck did I leave? Why am I here? Heretaunga for Tamaki-makau-rau? Then I remember: It was a connection, found between me and a person who had read what I had written that brought me here. It was but for a moment, when I saw another see me.

Image Test

Rangituhia Hollis 2017

ohoake

Old drawings - Character ideations

ohoake

Car tests, getting there.

ohoake

Opening scene, its the lounge of my current whare but without all the mess.

Developing work.

Rangituhia Hollis 2017.

Notes on colour.

Rangituhia Hollis 2017.

I am colour, as my skin allows. I am feint in winter and glow in summer. Glow only when my friends drag me out. I want to be dark. Like ash. Like my father. The one they called black soap. I have tried to be that too, Black. I tried to fall asleep once on the sand of Waipiro, waking burnt red. My skin peeled for days. After that my mind became addled by the sun, & I think I stayed that way. Addled by trying to overdose. By trying to drown in the sand of a place, that I could only get to for a few days. That’s my locus. A pivot point. Waipiro the home of my father. Waipiro of the houses of a thousand children. The red house of Iri-te-kura. The blue house of Taharora. I sink into the turquoise waters of Taharora by entering the door. Like leaving the grounds of the urupa, I wash my hands and flick the water up. It erases tapu. Likewise I pass under the vagina and into the wharekai and tapu is gone. But maybe it’s tapu that has me split? When I fell asleep as a baby on the grave of my nanny. I was lost, I was stuck there and maybe lost there forever. Then someone told nanny off, told her to leave me. At least that was what I was told. And I was brought back to the earth. And I stand on that ground now and look where to go next. I look to someone. I am no leader, not there. Maybe not anywhere. I look to be shown. To be told that I am a skin of winter that lasts. A nexus of freckles. & blotches of moles on my drivers arm that make that karanga call. But I am a hidden ally. I speak and know the language of the oppressor that I revile.

The last night on earth.

Here’s negotiation – Negotiation when identified as Savior,

for the intervention of ambivalent circumstance,

constructing a site of distances with emit boundaries.

“My blankets, my sheets, & my pillows.”

“Ha, it’s my bed”

It’s last chance maybe –

The hard work is reckoning on what’ll result.”

“& Even harder, is figuring on what’s happening.”

“Hell, It’s all too much.”

“I don’t know, I’m lost, & confused.”

This is tight chested panic

– all irrationalfear and hysteria.”

It’s the critical analysis of what can be negated.

Traded away –

So something of self can be preserved.

“It’s the stock take.”

Before the “Sale”

– &

“Oh, to be there.”

“Over the wall.”

– &

“Not against it.”

“Or a cut ahead in line & the first to get it.” –

“Ho hum, Oh well…either/or”

“This Negotiating has got me in with as good a chance as any.”

But it all could end up with

“Me repenting.”

“This is just the fear preceding.”

Heralding the pending succession of solidarity and sovereignty.

Gone to the background of implacable tradition.

“But for Great and Grand resounding reverberations that keep it allin flux & in question.”

“Oh, praise you’ve delayed it all.”

“& Activated hope for the inactive and unmotivated.”

“A perspective shift and world leveling event.”

“Fuck eh! Sputnik,

one sent karanga call, falling on an empty earth.”

Escapee of all established ties

– & the Gift of a new epoch,

“And an old one undone.”

The power of presence: a conversation with Jeremy Leatinu’u

In her influential 1983 work The Social Mirror, artist Mierle Laderman Ukeles clad a New York City garbage truck in a mirrored surface and had a uniformed sanitation worker drive it in a city parade. As the title alludes, Ukeles' motivation was to create an awareness amongst the city's inhabitants of their contribution to creating waste and the undervalued but highly important public service of rubbish collection.

Reflecting an individual's active participation within the ideologies and mechanics of society has been an important current in the history of performance practices. This is evident in other seminal works from the 1960s onwards. From Yoko Ono's Cut Piece (1965) and Marina Abramović’s Rhythm 0 (1974), that both simulated the disturbing nature of collective human behaviour, to more recent works such as Santiago Sierra's ongoing transactions where he pays marginalised people the minimum wage to perform menial tasks as a mimicry of capitalist exploitation, or William Pope.L's painful endurance crawl performances that created a laboured spectacle of race, gender and class divisions. The work of Jeremy Leatinu'u also engages with this ongoing legacy of artistic enquiry. However, while the canon of performance art has favoured the sensationalist, Leatinu'u's approach conversely explores how even the mildly disruptive presence of a single body can cause profound ripples in the veneer of society.

During his postgraduate study, Leatinu'u conceived of Public Observations One (2009) a body of works that included furtive video documentation of street workers, the homeless, buskers, prostitutes, signage bearers, footage of the artist compulsively washing his hands in a public restroom, and a confessional sound work. Public Observations Two (2010), included in the exhibition Puehu: Cultural Dust (24 August – 20 October 2013, The Suter Art Gallery Te Aratoi o Whakatū, Nelson) is a singular work that emerged from those earlier explorations.[1] The video features the artist sitting on the ground amongst the busy flow people visiting the Otara Market in South Auckland.

The inclusion of this work was a conscious decision for Leatinu'u to revisit the first instance when he implemented his now well-tested strategy of performing site-responsive interventions for the purposes of video documentation. Due to this, Public Observations Two has become an important precursor to his later works such as Welcome Project (2010), Tightrope (2011), Dead Mileage (2012), and Spatial Resonance (2013). The following is an edited conversation I had with Leatinu'u during the Puehu exhibition in which he explained these aspects of Public Observations Two.

Jeremy Leatinu’u: When I was working on Public Observations One, documenting people who worked or loiter on the street, I became aware that suddenly through a simple action they separated themselves from the people who were walking by or driving in their cars. I decided to explore this enquiry further and that is where Public Observations Two came from. I was thinking about a very simple action that gives a point of difference between you and the pace of people around you - an action that would suddenly separate a person from the general public.

However, in my research I realised that it’s harder for someone to become willingly separated within a public or a community that they are from or that you feel comfortable within. I came across a debate on TV about a protest against sex workers in Papatoetoe. The sex workers were not doing anything illegal so there was only so much the protestors could do legally. This interested me because it highlighted the politics of space and presence but also morals. Morals seemed to be a big part of the issue for many people who were against the sex workers. They thought it was morally wrong for the community and local families. I was interested in how an action or different sets of values and morals can create friction within a community. These sex workers were actually from the location and were part of the same community of the protestors so there was this internal friction from within.

For me, this was an example of how an action that is not accepted in a place or by a ‘public’ that you consider to be your community can be among one of the most challenging things to experience. You could do it somewhere else and not have the same emotions or reaction − that is the reason why I selected the Otara flea market as a place to perform.

Bruce E. Phillips: It is interesting that you mention social friction because, in the stillness of you sitting on the ground, I became more aware of the movement of the people around you. Your simple intervention reminded me of a fast flowing river – if the people at the market are the water you are a rock, not large enough to damn the flow of water but a size that caused the water to pause, part and flow around. It is the ripples and eddies that the rock makes within the river that is the friction. Why did you choose that strategy for the Otara market specifically?

JL: I was interested in the Otara market because it is a strong meeting place for all sorts of communities from the people that are buying to the people that are selling. So the friction for me was being that rock in the stream within a flow of people and doing something that isn’t going with the grain but against it in a very minor way. And my simple act of just siting down was enough for people to take notice and to participate. There were a lot of people looking and making eye contact. There were other people that would murmur to me ‘what are you doing!’ and to ‘get off the ground!’. There was also a lovely woman who came up behind me and she asked me if I was okay, smiled and patted me on the head. There is a moment in the footage that I am smiling and that is because of that lady - it was such a lovely moment. It was an intense performance for me, even though it was only 6 or 7 minutes long. It is hard to be the focal point in a certain amount of space among a significant number of people.

It was important to me that the performance wasn’t publicised or 'permissioned'. That was part of the intensity because there was no audience around me to suggest that it was something other than what it was. If it was a publicised event it would have greatly changed the reaction because a knowing audience would have given me support for what I was doing. That was not what I wanted the work to be about. It was to be about the experience of putting myself in the position of being isolated.

BP: When you go to these popular large markets there is a degree of anonymity. You might happen to bump into people you know but generally most of us are there to be one of many. So by sitting on the ground you deliberately shifted attention from the group to the individual. It is remarkable that it is so easy to step outside of societal conventions through such a harmless or presumably innocuous action.

JL: Yes, by stepping out of social conventions people will look but more importantly they will chose not to notice you, chose not to make eye contact. As part of Public Observations One I created a sound work that I installed in every toilet in the Elam B[2] building that played a recorded confession of my own interactions with buskers, sex workers and people who were wearing advertising placards. This was my way of revealing how I was in no way innocent because I had avoided eye contact or engaging with these people in order to remain part of the general public. For example, I shared my first experience of making eye contact with a homeless person, other times when I would walk on the outside of the footpath or an awkward moment when I was at the bank and a sex worker was standing beside an ATM machine. I was unsure if I should make eye contact as she may have thought I was there for some other reason than to use the ATM machine. For the people encountering this audio work in the toilets, I was interested in connecting occupants with my confession. We all make these decisions of where to look, where to walk and at what pace, all those responses are influenced by situations of people positioning themselves outside of the ‘norm’. These were things I observed when making Public Observations One.

BP: Why did you decide to be silent when you performed in Otara?

JL: I think that being silent is an important part of the performance. When a person speaks all attention is focused on what they are saying but when a person is silent attention is directed to their body, where they are positioned, the amount of space they are taking up and the disruptions they may be creating.

BP: Being silent also isolates you, in a fundamental way, from communing with others.

JL: Yes that is true. I was also thinking about the gaze: who was watching and how they were watching in both the live public intervention and in the gallery viewing the video work. I was staring at the camera, people who are viewing the video are looking at me and I am virtually looking at them, and people watching the video are also looking at the public. The people who were operating the camera were looking though the viewfinder of the camera and were also being looked at by those walking by. So there is this complexity that compounds in the work related to multiple forms of observation.

BP: What relationship does the work have to peaceful protest? The action is very similar in appearance but different due to motivation and situation. The act of you sitting in the middle of the Otara market is greatly different to sitting down on Wall Street, New York as part of the Occupy movement or as a protester in Cairo − same action but different situation.

JL: Presence is power. Just being alive is a powerful thing. The next step is to decide what you do with that life. People who protest are a powerful force because they are motivated and unified. Without those people sitting there on Wall Street and being visually present the issues that they are driven by become valued so differently. I think that activism or protest is something that I am passionate about and it might reflect that way in the works that I do. In saying so, my work is more about being present, being visible, and just being. Similar to the protestor, and with particular works like Public Observations Two or Tight Rope, there is a greater level of relevance as to why I am there through the actions I perform. So in this case for me, the action has to relate in some way to the place in which I am performing. Considering this, there is some relationship between my work and the act and power of protest.

BP: Can you explain to me how the influences of people, place and documentation enter into your work?

JL: People are everywhere. Humans have visited or occupied every part of the globe at some point or another. It is through peoples collective attachment to particular locations that place is created. I guess that’s what makes our relationships with a place unique because of the people that have established them. A unique experience can also be something to do with memory, the physical spatial experience, what you might have read, how you are transported to a location or the repetition of passing through a place on a daily basis. There are many human aspects that inform a place and for that reason I feel the need to understand the local context before I perform in it.

I have a process that I tend to follow. It is a triangular process: place – performance – documentation. In this triangle all three aspects are as important as each other and are constantly informing and crossing over one another. The place influences the action, the action influences the video, the video influences the location by what is being captured and what you will see, etcetera.

For me, documentation is never only a document. At the time of making this work I was experimenting with this notion and so I just set the camera up how I wanted the performance to be framed. Now I have become more particular how the performance is to be captured almost to the extent of directing. So that has been a process that I have followed but always changes depending on the work. Sometimes it’s not thinking about place as a space of interaction but thinking about place as spaces that are created for a type of experience.

BP: Therefore, in a way, your video documentation is a frame reflecting larger frameworks whether it is physical parameters such as architecture and urban design or ideological socio-political power structures.

JL: Yes in this sense video can be very powerful. It captures time, place, people, ideas and can be an entry point for discussion. If Public Observations One or Public Observations Two can can exist in another time, place and among a new audience like it has in Nelson, then that is a very powerful thing. The power of presence can exist both in a live performance and through a documented performance.

Bruce E. Phillips is Senior Curator at Te Tuhi Centre for the Arts, Pakuranga, Auckland

[1] Public Observations Two was first exhibited in his debut solo exhibition at Te Tuhi, 13 February - 11 April 2010. It was later exhibited as part of the group show Home AKL at the Auckland Art Gallery, 7 July - 22 October 2012.

[2] Elam School of Fine Arts, The University of Auckland

Tangimangaone - Rangituhia Hollis

Tangimangaone, the Wharekai of Iri-Te-Kura Marae, Waipiro Bay.

Made in 2009.

Loa Toetu'u - Recent works.

D.A.N.C.E Art Club

David Sun 2013

The main focus is to see what is there and ask if we could join in

D.A.N.C.E

D.A.N.C.E is an Auckland based collective. Its members, Chris Fitzgerald, Ahilapalapa Rands, Linda. T and Vaimaila Urale formed the collective while they were studying at the AUT School of Art and Design. In response to the hierarchy of art school, the members responded by facilitating events where neutral spaces are created. This practice continued after art school and has developed into a considerable body of work. These works are largely events based, where people come together to share their time with each other over food and drinks, exchange stories and ideas and hold art installations, all as equals. D.A.N.C.E often highlight and respond to the dynamics that exist in the social and cultural context of the environment in question. Past get-togethers they have created included dance lessons, cooking demonstrations, house parties and speed dating.

Who’s Taller? You or Me?

One of the gatherings they organised that successfully responds to social hierarchies was the kava session at the Snake Pit gallery in 2012. Kava drinking has been a part of many cultures in the Pacific with many of the traditions involving ceremonial rituals and protocols which puts emphasis on the status of those who are present, namely chiefs, high priests, orators, commoners etc. Traditional kava ceremonies often occur when important issues need to be discussed and the event follows strict orders of proceedings

This is a contrast to modern Kava drinking which often consist of a small gathering of people, usually family and friends, sitting in a circle drinking kava and having a talanoa or korero with almost no emphasis on hierarchical status. Many Pacific cultures have kept their traditional kava ceremonies and rituals alive for significant occasions and although the modern day kava drinking has adopted some rituals from tradition, the two are very different in terms of the emphasis placed on the status among participants.

The kava session at the Snake Pit has elements of both. With a relatively large gathering, it almost takes the form of kava ceremonies that are more traditional where a large gathering is accompanied by strict protocols of seating arrangements and order of speaking, both stressing the social worth of the participants. While such emphasis of social prominence is important and significant in traditional ceremonies, it is virtually non-existent at Snake Pit as participants negotiated their own seating places with each other and everyone was given a turn to make a contribution to the talanoa. This bares some similarities to the works of Rirkrit Tiravanija involving the cooking and serving of food to viewers in a gallery space. Creating opportunities to gather in a gallery over food and drinks introduces social interaction into a place where typically such interactions would only occur during openings. However, in the case of the kava session, the nature of these interactions differs from that which occurs in an exhibition opening where often small circles of social interactions are formed. One could easily spend the entire hour or two at an opening without interacting with the majority of those present. Being part of the kava session ensures everyone’s presence was acknowledged and all had the opportunity to interact with everyone else. No social standing of any one person was emphasised but due to appropriating certain rituals from tradition and the given the size of the event, an aura of significance was equally bestowed upon all participants.

Where are We Hanging Out?

In 2010, D.A.N.C.E held a pool competition at the K’Rd Ball Room inviting everyone to come participate in some friendly competition in pool. The pool competition being the opportunity to create social interaction had a party atmosphere created by the availability of food, drinks, music and dance. Such atmosphere has become characteristic of many of D.A.N.C.E’s works.

Rather than the artist(s) perceiving a vision and materialising it for the viewer to re-perceive or experience, works of Relational Aesthetics revolve around viewer participation to bring the work into existence. When dealing with social engagements, the site which said engagements take place are contemplated and often considered as an integral part of the work. For instance the kava session could be seen to include those who may only have a limited relationship with or to an institution, to allow them to actively participate in the making of an artwork. This may give the institution the appearance that it is more inclusive than what it really is. The work is temporal and when it concludes, the site may return to its previous state, with all the inequities that may reside there. What may also happen is the potential for D.A.N.C.E’s works can change the perspective of those in charge. Acting as catalyst and rendering the nature of the institution to be more inclusive. The pool competition on the other hand brings art to a place not usually associated with creative practices. Thusly blurring the line between a work of art and a social event, which is very much part of D.A.N.C.E’s modus operandi. With the pool competition, the lack of serious formalities which existed in the kava session reflects the qualities that can be found at the site of the work (the pool hall). It’s a place for people to hang out, unwind and have fun with mates over a game.

In a contemporary society like ours, sense of time and attention span are often reduced due to advancements in technology and the competitive nature of our capitalist economy. In many cases, we have been conditioned to aim high with our goals while trampling on others on our way up and the time we have to spare is often spent consuming media. We tend to view others around us with suspicion and place minimum or zero effort into building bridges. For me, the works of D.A.N.CE serve as a reminder to slow down and to make opportunities for ourselves to share time and space with others and to give people the benefit of the doubt.

References.

Amery, Mark. Making a Shout Out http://www.lettingspace.org.nz/essay-dance-art-club

http://www.tautai.org/d-a-n-c-e-art-club/

All images courtesy of D.A.N.C.E Art Club

Follow D.A.N.C.E on facebook.

Future Animators Exhibition.

Jacky Wu, Daniel Blakeborough, Rochelle Fili, Seve Paeniu, Zayd, Jason, Totara Kalipatama, Pera Robinson and Lehi Guptill

The ‘Future Animators’ exhibition (18 October - 18 November 2013) at Te Tuhi Centre For The Arts in Pakuranga showcased the work of Manurewa High School’s Year 12 Interactive Media class.

The exhibition was the culmination of a year-long animation project in which students developed a conceptual design through to a completed animation. Students were presented with a brief specifying that they create a 3D animation that may develop into any outcome. The only proviso was that they based the spatial design on an aspect of Manurewa High School architecture. Students were introduced to Blender - an open-source software tool which is primarily used for 3D animation, Make-Human - a 3D Character generation application and Photoshop. Students utilised all three applications to complete the project.

The project was a joint collaboration between Te Tuhi, its staff and the students. Visits to Manurewa High School by Te Tuhi Educator Jeremy Leatinu’u got the ball rolling and created this opportunity for students to show their work to a wider community. The exhibition was the inaugural event in a long term partnership between Manurewa High School and Te Tuhi with further collaborations to follow.

Kalisolaite ‘Uhila, Simavao: Concrete Jungle.

Jeremy Leatinu'u 2013

On Saturday 24th of August 2013 the exhibition Puehu: Cultural Dust opened and gallery visitors were greeted with an all day performance by Tongan artist Kalisolaite ‘Uhila. The artist is dressed in a black shirt, sandals, hat and wrapped with tupenu. Standing in front of the gallery he is visible to visitors, pedestrians and vehicles driving along the main road. Grounded on top of existing pavement in front of the artist is a twenty-centimeter thick slab of concrete. On first sight the concrete appears chipped at the corners with two circular holes on the surface, suggesting that the concrete was transported there. The artist grips a relatively small steel shovel wrapped with black cloth and begins striking the concrete with the shovel blade.

The artist’s initial strikes chip the sides and corners of the concrete, clearing away debris with his feet as he goes. He continues to strike, working away at the concrete similar to a gardener turning soil. The sound of steel hitting the concrete, sometimes hard and sometimes soft, would rhythmically echo through the street like church bells.

Throughout the day people visit the gallery, to eat, to meet and to see art. For eight hours of a clear sunny day the artist continues to laboriously work away at the concrete, almost as if in search of something. Flesh grips steel, steel attempts to penetrate concrete. As morning becomes afternoon, signs of his efforts become more apparent with resulting debris increasing. A pronounced groove running along the centre suggests where the artist spent much of his energy and time. The performance ends with the artist briefly staring at the concrete, possibly out of exhaustion or in awe of the concrete slab remaining in one entire piece.

The performance Simavao translated as concrete jungle encompasses multiple meanings and metaphors that reflect physical and emotional experiences many Pacific people faced after migrating to Aotearoa New Zealand. For many Pacific migrants in the 1950-1980s it was a life changing decision to leave their homeland in search of improving their lives. The decision to migrate was encouraged by the New Zealand government at the time. Pacific migration would service labour shortage and the influx of migrants would help boost the country’s economy. However, many Pacific migrants soon realised, their decision to leave their homeland would affect their lives more than ever. Kalisolaite adds:

With second-hand suitcases full of hopes, dreams and white sand beaches, our parents and grandparents migrated to New Zealand in search of the land of milk and honey. With a vision of improving the lives of their families, migrants were met with an icy wind and a concrete-paved city

As the artist mentions, upon arrival to Aotearoa New Zealand many were met with a foreign landscape blanketed with concrete buildings, motorways, roads and paved footpaths. The feeling of cold, hard, segmented concrete under one’s feet would have been a new and almost alien experience compared with the warm, soft and expansive land of sand and earth many Pacific people grew up with in their homeland.

Concrete pathways, driveways and foundations for fencing divided land and people to private living and gave meaning to private property. I imagine this would be something many had to adapt with when you consider the nature of shared and open living of village communities in the Islands.

The comparison of landscape makes me think of my childhood memories. One in particular is of staying the weekend at an aunt’s house in Mangere, to hang out with cousins. As you enter the property you are met with a stretch of dense taro plants growing the length of the driveway. A short walk from the end of the driveway you enter the back yard. A concrete pathway from the wash house door to the clothesline leads you to more taro plants and tall banana trees along the back fence. Because the house was a rental property, my auntie’s garden was fairly tamed and confined. I believe if my aunty had it her way the garden would have ventured out further, resembling large cocoa plantations she and the rest of my father’s family grew up with in Samoa.

Along with the physical experience and encounter of a concrete landscape, Kalisolaite’s performance also reflects the emotional challenges of adapting to new systems and structures. The struggle of breaking through concrete as witnessed in the performance Simavao, reminds me of my father’s childhood struggle of learning English after emigrating here in 1971. Being enrolled in a new school, in a different country where everyone speaks a different language was like hitting a concrete wall. Needless to say, the priorities in achievement were varied in the classroom. At the top of the list for my father was understanding exactly what the teacher was saying and not so much addition, subtraction, division and multiplication. With the help of two Samoan children who immigrated a few years earlier, my father eventually understood what the teachers were saying.

Many who joined the workforce experienced similar challenges, such as my father’s siblings who worked on factory concrete floors and assembly lines after migrating here. Most of my father’s siblings were employed in this line of work for many years, some still are. For many Pacific migrant children this line of work maybe familiar, as it was for Tongan artist Salome Tanuvasa and her video work Expensive Movements. In this four-channel video Salome humbly portrays the hard work ethic of Pacific factory workers and hotel staff who also migrated here. What I am reminded of when seeing this work is not only the challenges described above, but also how this hard work ethic over many years has contributed to the solid foundation of this country’s economy. What is beyond inspirational is that this long contribution essentially derives from great commitment and dedication to those they work for - their family; to provide shelter for their parents, to ensure their family is fed and to help their children succeed in life.

As a son and grandson of Pacific migrant parents and grandparents, it is clear for me to see how such challenges and struggles would be as rigid, dense and almost impenetrable like concrete to overcome. And as the artist spent eight hours of laboriously working away without penetrating the concrete to his satisfaction, one thing becomes clearer. Overcoming such immense challenges and struggles either physically and emotionally were not achieved in one day, but over many years of commitment and dedication to loved ones.

The multiple meanings and metaphors I spoke of earlier, do not just come from the personal memories I have shared today, but rather the similar and diverse memories, challenges and struggles experienced and influenced by Pacific migration to Aotearoa New Zealand. The actions performed, the sounds created, the concrete confronted and the thoughtfulness of the artist in the performance of Simavao evoke powerful memories of a history of adaptation, challenge, struggle and inspirational commitment, dedication and achievement.

Flesh grips steel, steel continues to break concrete.

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