PONO: The potential of making something that leads to nothing, curated by Janet Lilo

Manaakitanga over tea

 

Chantel Mathews - Te Tuhi, 2021

Anyone who has experienced the warmth of manaakitanga can tell you that they can begin with making a cup of tea. In my case, manaakitanga was shared over a cup of coffee. Now, I don't usually drink coffee, but I relish the taste in good company. Manaakitanga, as I have learned in PONO and conversation with artists Chantel Mathews, Jacob Hamilton, and Janet Lilo, is the passing of invitation. Manaakitanga, in its traditional sense, conveys values of care, generosity, and protection. "PONO, the potential of making something that leads to nothing," has been an active journey of exchange, affirmations, and contemplations. In a similar light of care, a workmate shared the meaning of PONO with me. It means truth or sincerity in Te Rēo Māori. If my first experience of PONO as a process doesn't sound charming to you, I don't know what does?

Tea with Chantel

We revisit the tea analogy of Manaakitanga with Chantel Mathews. Gazing straight ahead in her speech and then around the café space, you can tell she is envisioning potential exchanges. Conversations over tea perhaps? She shares her passion and vision of bringing people together through social gestures. A mind-map of ideas and possibilities came out: a workshop with young women, stitching, sharing stories, and asking questions; interactive online activities; a body of bold texts, statements, stories; sharing a cup of tea, kai, conversations, and engagement activities with Te Tuhi's community. I understood all of it. Imagine you're preparing for a family function. You are responsible for ensuring the elders or guests are fed and well-taken care of. Your cousins and siblings are busy peeling and washing vegetables for lunch in the kitchen. You want to join in on their gossip, but the oldies' tea is feistier. Outside, your aunts and uncles are clearing and decorating the yard for night-time celebrations. Mum and Dad are out for last-minute shopping, and you're left in the living room to entertain your elders/relatives. You know that different conversations, activities, and responsibilities are happening simultaneously and in the same household.

 

In the living room, your elders are back to discussing family matters over tea and biscuits. You hear laughs and jokes coming from your younger cousins outside, and you want to be amongst it all, but you can't leave because, at any moment, your aunty could ask for some more tea. Still, you know that when you all gather at the table for dinner, all the sensations of those conversations during the day make up the steadiness of your family dynamic. This is how I imagine the scenes and impact of Chantel's potential activities and mind-maps. Worldbuilding, instrumental and communal. It might not be a home or exist in a gallery, but you know that those conversations, sharing of tea, and stories are still happening. Her lockdown walks, a cup of tea, and time spent with her son and family, as she shares over our zoom chat, are all relevant experiences to this show. There is an endearing sense to all of it! An experience that she hopes to realize at Te Tuhi through PONO. The way she thinks, moves, breathes, ponders, and manaaki herself can be likened to the anticipation of her work in space; careful, organic, and welcoming. Even Chantel's scooter story of visiting Jacob with food at his home comes to mind. To me, this nurturing nature seemed to come naturally to Chantel; to manaaki, Jacob is to learn about sustaining their collaborative relationship. Janet recalls this story as the "art of figuring each other out," a significant part of their collective well-being as collaborators and artists. These moments become the foundation of exchanges, much like the tangible pieces that will sit in place of the art gallery for engagement. They re-make and re-imagine gallery dynamics familiarly. It brings us home.

Coffee with Chantel Mathews  - Te Tuhi

Conversation with Jacob

Jacob Hamilton - Te Tuhi, 2021

On-call, I listen to Jacob talk about the process of building a dwelling for himself. Naturally, I picture a boxed structure of no fixed abode—a kennel-like appearance but human size. Although I imagine it to be compact and minimal, it accommodates its essential purpose; to house, offer warmth, and a place of belonging. If you're familiar with the setting of land occupations, or any camping grounds, you can visualize this too. Imagine rows upon rows of portable shelters; tents and canopies of all different roof shapes, firmly organized next to each other; some with awnings covered in tarpaulin underneath wooden anchors; some with tin and wooden roofs along with other variations of waterproof materials. There are signages plastered on the sides of each structure; it adds extra layers of security. You also see ropes run along their forms, some to tie loose and found materials. Thinner ropes are attached to posts planted into the ground at every corner for stability. It is merely intuitive and efficient. Whatever your experience and knowledge of these occupations are, there's an underlining understanding that they are built to occupy space temporarily. More than this, these dwellings reflect the advocacy of the individuals/communities and their shared value of protecting and cultivating the land. So, in that framework of mind, we recognize Jacob's process of assembling dwellings as a foundation to manaaki oneself and the land. To me, Jacob's ideas and approaches offer insight into how he makes out a home. Referring to his making/process as a measure rooted in his regard for land, sustainability, and overall well-being, he reflects on the nature of living and occupation in this show. 

He lists the places of the sourced materials and their exciting stories/histories. There is a "150-year-old piece of wood from Norway, plywood from mall dividers, state-housing homes, junk runs, and some packaging materials from China." Intrigued by the collected histories in this one piece, I re-think his role as a gatherer of stories. I thought of his recycling process as a gesture of care. This notion of reinstating life and meaning to the discarded materials generates many exchanges, which goes back to how we manaaki – or care, where does it begin and end? I like to think that manaakitanga extends to the handling of objects too. Just like how Chantel would describe the care in making a cup of tea! Genuine and open to new potentials and processes. Jacob acknowledges this feeling in his months of thinking, collecting, and rebuilding as a space that helps him grow and explore the totality of his practice. Perhaps, the manaaki is a state/space occupation to contemplate his purpose and voice as an artist in PONO and this world. I find this interesting because I am made aware of his space of reflection boundaries. Yet, as a listener, I feel welcome and safe in his dialogue and process, not imposing nor distant for my understanding of the conversation. It's a nurturing sentiment to his journey as an artist. In its entirety, the progress in his PONO dialogue is established in the sincerity of manaakitanga, trusting and governing. The same nourishing foundations in Jacob's process underpins the potential exchanges, conversations, methods, and learnings that he hopes to continue in the Te Tuhi Gallery occupation.

Jacob Hamilton  - Te Tuhi, 2021

Chantel Mathews  - Te Tuhi, 2021