6x4

M O O N B L I N D

Last night I watched our planet cast its shadow on The Moon. Very few humans have had the chance to view Earth as a whole but those who have often report a profound shift in perspective as they see our fragile blue planet hovering alone in endless space. The overview effect. All of our joy, grief, ecstasy, war, disaster and triumph taking place on this lonely sphere. No divisions, no borders, no passports: just one planet, one ecosystem.

As I watched The Moon turn copper red I felt like I was looking into an obscure mirror. We rarely have opportunities to feel the size of our planet. Perhaps when we contemplate a photo from space or glimpse that graceful curve from a small window on an international flight. I watched that same curve as it cast a shadow across the face of the pale moon. It gave me a sense of the Earth as a mass in space, in relation to the sun, in relation to the moon. Then emptiness between these bodies became apparent, the endlessness of space beyond, unfathomable. Somewhere in that shadow was me. Somewhere in that shadow was every single one of us. That distant mirror watching us, knowing the planet and all its inhabitants to be one.

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I finished making this blind for the bedroom window on the evening of the blood moon. I used leftover fabric from the large jogakbo-inspired patchwork screen I made to fit the window in the gallery of the Dowse (over 4 x 6 metres in size!). As light from the sun and moon filters in through the circle, arriving from millions of miles away, I hope it will always be a reminder of this overview effect.

THE VESSEL
An upcoming show at

We are living in times of profound, unprecedented loneliness, where the myth of the individual self claims to offer paths to success and happiness but ultimately works to isolate and disconnect us from ourselves, each other, and the world. We feel alone and wonder what is wrong with us, rather than interrogate the society that offers little potential for community-building, shared storytelling, and collective dreaming. When we examine our environment it quickly becomes clear that nothing is individual or separate: everything is connected through a complex web of relationships, even our bodies rely on a whole ecosystem of microbiota for survival. We are not alone. We are part of this world and it is part of us. This show is not about my work as an isolated phenomenon: it is an ode to the network of connections that have shaped my world and creative practice, to those who have come before me, and to those who will continue to create, share, and listen to stories for as long as the human race exists. When we can find moments of connection, despite the tides of disunion and confusion that try to keep us apart, we feel the boundaries of our personhood become permeable. We sing, longing to melt into the great ocean of being, and feel the walls of our empty vessel reverberate with the song of the world.

I warmly invite everyone to the opening

Friday 20 Feb, 6pm

Come dressed in your most extravagant outfit!
The one you never have an occasion to wear!
Whatever makes you feel like your best, truest self!
A celebration of embodiment!

Free return bus service leaving from Te Papa on Cable Street at 5:30pm, returning at 8pm. First come, first seated

Please RSVP to [email protected] by 16 Feb

In the spirit of togetherness, I have invited dear some friends to create a collaborative public programme on the 21st and 22nd


Details to come!

Thanks to the friends who helped with this shoot
Camera: Francesca Logan
Photography: Bri Leone-Rhea Lawrence
Assistant: John Harris

Working with raw materials directly from the soil has been very special for me. My interactions with indigo in the past have been with the powdered pigment extract, but through working with Gina of 'Growing Textiles' I have been able to begin a relationship with the living plant. I loved being able to experiment with how I could use different parts of the plant in various applications. I used the fresh green leaves in an ice-extraction dye on silk, suede, and wool. The leftover pulp from this I mixed with flour and made into beads. The dried leaves I used as a bed for the ceramic eggs given to me by Cheryl Lucas for a show 'Free Range' at The National. The remaining dried leaves I will try to grind into a pigment. I made this coiled basket vase using the dried stalks. The waxed linen thread was coloured using charcoal from my fireplace. It was finished with a mixture of Tung oil and beeswax, and it holds the retted and dried stalks of linen that I will process into fibre after this show.

This basket travelled with me while I went on holiday with some friends...

Planting hopes like seeds for the coming year

I want to find ways of aligning my life to the cycles of nature: to the seasons that change, reminding us of the passing of time and the eternal dance of life and death. This is not an original idea, until very recently it was the unquestionable force that ruled our lives but in our post-industrial world we live according to the beat of the calendar and clock. These metronomes don’t acknowledge the ebb and flow of the seasons but keep us in time to a standardised hour, the metric of our productivity. They view us as clockwork rather than beings with rich inner lives and an innate connection to larger systems. I want to see the year as a cycle rather than a calendar. As I embrace the coming Spring I plant my hopes like seeds for the coming year.

Earlier this year I made a connection with Gina and Charlotte of 'Growing Textiles NZ' out at BHU organics college at Lincoln University where they are growing organic linen, indigo, and other dye plants. I helped with their first indigo harvest and took some home for my own use. This was my first time connecting with materials directly from the soil and it was a transformative experience. Using these materials, grown with love and care for wider systems, made me see my connection to place and to others in a new light. I felt, in an embodied sense, the massive part textiles have played in our lives and communities until so recently. Textiles is the second most polluting industry in the world. Working with Gina and Charlotte gives me hope for the future and I am excited to help with the coming season.

This work was made in response to a dozen ceramic eggs given to me by Cheryl Lucas. It will be included in 'Free Range' at The National where 16 artists have been invited to respond to their own dozens. It is made from dried indigo stalks from the previous harvest, after their leaves were stripped to use as dye. It holds the eggs on a bed of dried indigo leaves. It holds my hopes for the coming season. It holds my hopes for our relationship with textiles and the planet as a species.

WEEKLY OBJECTS
I've made a limited edition series of candleholders called '요일 (yo-il)' for the yearly fundraiser for Objectspace, an institution that has been hugely supportive to me and many other makers since 2004

They will be released at 12pm Wednesday 14th of August https://www.objectspace.org.nz/shop/

In my second year at Art school I swore off making art and decided to only focus on making functional objects. I wanted to understand my identity, what it means to be human, and what connects us to the roots of our being. I found that everyday objects were able to do this very effortlessly, reflecting aspects of our experience simply by upholding their function. They speak so poetically about how we live our lives and the rituals we enact in our intimate and public spaces. We have been making useful objects since the beginnings of our story. These archaeological relics reach out to us across time and allow us to feel connected to the people who made and used them. Beyond their physical characteristics they are imbued with intangible power: with emotional, cultural, social, and spiritual resonance. This ability for functional objects to tell stories is endlessly exciting for me. Making is not just working with materials for their physical characteristics, it is also working with their immaterial, narrative qualities.

I made these seven candleholders from limestone salvaged from the quake-demolished Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament in Ōtautahi, where I grew up. Thinking about the idea of 'Weekly objects' I named the series 'yo-il' after the seven days of the week in Chinese characters (also used in Korea and Japan). Each day of the week takes its name from a different element and each candleholder has been treated with a different finish to reflect the name. Many of the finishes were made from materials from around my home: Houhere bark from the backyard, soil from the garden, natural indigo from an old dye vat, and charcoal from the fire. They tell the story of my home, my culture, my city.