Tautai More Than We Know Catalogue
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Transcript of Tautai More Than We Know Catalogue
A
MORE THAN WE KNOWAn exhibition by Jeremy Leatinu’u and Kalisolaite ‘Uhila and a season of contemporary Pacific performance curated by Ioana Gordon-Smith
B
MORE THAN WE KNOWAn exhibition by Jeremy Leatinu’u and Kalisolaite ‘Uhila and a season of contemporary Pacific performance curated by Ioana Gordon-Smith
2 3
Jesus said: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the father except through me.”
John 14:6, The Bible
These are the words printed on a billboard outside the window
of my apartment. I’ve read the sign so many times that I know
this excerpt from the bible by heart. At night, through the walls I
often hear passersby reciting the text. While these are irregular
events occurring days or weeks apart there is continuity
evident in the delivery of the phrase, from person to person.
The booming voice of each speaker suggests a unanimity that
the voice of God would be deep and resonant. In pairs, glass
sliding doors rise vertically to indicate the compartmental
divisions between floors, faces, external balconies and hidden
interior rooms. Thin facades such as these allow for the aural
transmission of developing understandings between unseen
identities to pass in at least in one direction. Deeper into the
hub of the city, the Kenneth Myers Centre on Shortland Street
has its own spatial relationship with sound. A two layer brick
wall shell forms a 56 centimetre barrier intended to cocoon
the interior from outside noise. As a result identities both
inside and outside the walls function without any indication
or knowledge of each other’s movements. Years experiencing
intrusive audio bleed between the interior and exterior walls
of inner city apartments have contributed to my understanding
of just how rare this form of dissociation is in the city. It
was this soundproofing that also intrigued artists Jeremy
Leatinu’u and Kalisolaite ‘Uhila when they were approached
to develop the exhibition More than we know for the Gus
Fisher Gallery. In response to this spatial anomaly; site specific Jeremy Leatinu’u
the other side of speakingRangituhia Hollis
4 5
sound engagements became their foundation concept for the
exhibition. A mutual starting point from where their works
could develop. Put simply Kalisolaite will stand on top of the
building to welcome the audience in the Tongan language,
directing them inside. While in the gallery video documentation
of Jeremy’s physical/sound engagements on the exterior of the
building will be shown. Both artists’ performances are intended
to use sound to breach the seemingly impenetrable walls of
the building. While in previous works sound may have been a
by-product of both of their practices it has yet to have been the
focus. Rather ‘Uhila and Leatinu’u typically choose to take on
board strategies of resistance to inequities or differences – that
either absorb or redirect the energies of a public to whom they
are often outsiders. In practice they allow space for others to
come to terms with such divisions in their own time, without
ever stating these differences overtly. At the time that I write
this it is notable that neither of these artists has spoken in their
work. Jeremy and Kalisolaite are not without language, they are
both a part of a much wider discourse, one that places primacy
on the efficacy of the corporeal.
spatial resonance
It’s early morning at the end of 2012 when ‘Uhila, Leatinu’u
and I arrive at the Kenneth Myers Centre. The plan is to kill
two birds with one stone, we’ll watch both Jeremy film his
performances and Kalisolaite prepare for the performance
that he is to undertake on the opening night. We’re between
the Centre and a neighbouring building waiting at a closed
gate. For us to proceed further permissions have been sought.
University of Auckland security may be watching us through the
overhead cameras. They’re unseen in some centralised control
room elsewhere. We stand behind a University staff member
whose name I forget. The phone call she makes describes our
appearances and our purpose for being there. A number on
the gate is read out and the gate unlocked remotely. Then we
pass through. We are now all inside what Leatinu’u would refer
to as one of the hidden spaces that surround the building.
Both Leatinu’u and ‘Uhila have been here before, scouting the
building for potential sites of interest. This space is one that Ite Uhila
both artists’ performances are intended to use sound to breach the
seemingly impenetrable walls of the
building.
6 7
noise slows and ends. As Leatinu’u walks back out of shot the
performance is over. It seems to me as if the sculpture needed
to be reinvigorated in order to enhance one of the original
aspects intended in the work. When considered along with the
three other works in this series the works appear to be building
a language of engagement by testing the generative potential
of place. In these videos, each scene adds new performative
variations to a growing codec of spatial engagements.
Jeremy Leatinu’u’s The Welcome Project exhibited at Artspace
in 2010 and his East Street performance in 2011 both used written
language to convey meaning. The later of these works was a 12
hour endurance performance promoted by the Auckland Heritage
Festival in conjunction with We Should Practice. In this work
he wrote down – in chalk on the pavement – the details of the
past residents of East Street (off Karangahape Road). Inscribing
the date of their occupancy and the residents name in that
order. The work took place over the space of a Saturday night
and into the next morning. During the late night section of the
performance Jeremy often attracted the attention of drunken
passersby. Remaining silent throughout, kneeling and writing
– he was focused on the monotonous task of documenting
everyone. His lack of response to questions or insults was
enough provocation for some to react violently to what they no
doubt misread as a dismissive demeanour. Fortunately a constant
stream of supporters were present and able to intercede in
these instances. With fights being broken up around him Jeremy
continued on to complete the task. The Welcome Project 2010 in
itself was another seemingly innocuous work. The two screens
displayed related performances, the left screen was a video
of Jeremy holding a welcome sign to greet new arrivals to the
Auckland International Airport. The right screen was a video of
Jeremy at the bottom of the crater at One Tree Hill collecting and
placing volcanic rocks in such a way so as to again spell out the
word welcome. For English speakers his welcome statement is a
dichotomous expression, an invitation that states an inclusivity
while at the same time what ‘they’ or ‘we’ are being welcomed
into will forever remain exclusive and nondescript. Denying us
an entrant passage as this place is never defined, so subsequently
we can never enter.
Leatinu’u has selected. A 16 by 9 HD camera is set up to frame
the first of three works in Leatinu’u’s Spatial Resonance
series. The composition of the shoot is such that a large steel
sculpture by Dr Richard Shortland Cooper is arranged in the
frame to be slightly off centre. Originally Shortland Cooper
intended that the four steel sheets of the work would vibrate
as the wind passed through and subsequently create sound. It’s
a heavy seemingly immovable work, stolid and monumental. I
move close to listen to it. It may make sound, but I can’t hear
anything. Then I move back to view the screen. The camera is
fixed. The architecture and sculpture are also fixed. The camera
is activated and Leatinu’u begins his performance. He enters
from the right, moving toward the sculpture, taking a position
in front of it. My focus is to monitor the recording, I see the
work through the lens. After pausing for a short time he begins
to hit the work with open palms. His initial strikes appear
probing, testing the potential of the sculpture to make noise.
The slow attack of his initial blows cause a pleasing echoing
sound. However this is lost as the frequency increases and
the resonance begins to build in intensity. Gradually through
the ensuing cacophony a rhythm becomes apparent. Soon the
Jeremy Leatinu’u
remaining silent
throughout, kneeling and writing – he was focused
on the monotonous
task of documenting
everyone.
8 9
uiaki fono
I have two lenses. One is a Pacific lens and the other is European. You can rotate the lens so you can look from the inside or outside. My work is about the unheard voices of our community, of our people. It’s about being broad, not being constrained. – ‘Uhila
On Shortland Street Kalisolaite ‘Uhila climbs the exterior wall
of the Centre. Up ladders barely visible from the roadside he
emerges on the roof. From the opposite side of the road I see
him through the frame of a single lens. Still carrying a camera
I assess the scene with the highest resolution available to me.
Stepping back to look up and down the street what is becoming
clear is that the camera won’t be able to contain the entirety of
the spectacle. Think of the film Zidane: A 21st Century portrait where 17 cameras were trained on the football star. ‘Uhila’s
performance if it were to be documented similarly would
likewise carry with it the sense of being a study of action within
a limited context. Ignorant of ‘Uhila’s socio-spatial activations
that expand and contract beyond what this frame can capture.
‘Uhila’s focus is not fixed and cannot be anticipated in his own
words he his unconstrained. Now he is leaning over the edge of
the building. He peers over the edge and cups his hands to his
mouth. Here he is testing the space. A woman pushing a pram
passes below. Walking oblivious to the performer above who
is now leaning down, poised and watching her with his hands
still at his mouth. He doesn’t call out. He appears to be saving
the words for the performance. This passerby who entered
from outside the frame of the lens, emerged as if from nowhere,
creating an effect like that engendered when unsuspecting
moviegoers stand up in cinemas in front of telesync (TS) bootleg
recordings of films. The passerby has in relation to ‘Uhila
unintentionally signalled that the frame of containment that the
video lens defines is now broken.
I wanted to be up high, use the echo of the surroundings, and call people in using my Tongan language. This is the first performance where I will be using my voice. I’ll be calling out, using the energy from the echoes and my surroundings. – ‘Uhila
But what of capturing the sound? For ‘Uhila deciding to finally
break his silence has been a decision he has made carefully.
When he found that the Kenneth Myers Centre’s former
purpose was as a radio station, he realized that this could be
related to his Tongan culture. He relayed to me that he became
certain of how he would respond to the site after recalling a
conversation with his Mother who had told him that in her
day Tonga didn’t have daily radio or TV communication and
news passed by word of mouth. This caused him to focus on
one of the significant roles in Tongan culture, that of a Uiaki
fono. A Uiaki fono is a specific person in every village or town,
who is chosen to disseminate the word of high ranks such as
kings and nobles. ‘Uhila in describing this role relates it to its’
western counterpart that of the somewhat archaic Town Crier.
On top of the Centre ‘Uhila is difficult to ignore. I have a sense
that like a method actor he will immerse himself wholly in the
role of Uiaki fono. However at this stage my opinion is merely
conjecture. When this text is first read the performance will
now he is leaning
over the edge of the
building. he peers over
the edge and cups his
hands to his mouth.
10 11
already be over. So I can only speculate. I am left questioning.
He has been given the opportunity to speak, when it happens
– whose words will he pass on? And moreover I think of the
Dylan lyrics to ‘You’re gonna have to serve somebody’ and
wonder who it is that ‘Uhila will be serving? On the night of
the performance ‘Uhila as the Uiaki fono will call out loudly,
passing on a welcome that will direct his audience inside.
Seeing him preparing on the roof I am in two minds, it’s
impossible for me not to think of his past works where he’s
subordinated himself and now with his figure so dominant on
the horizon it seems as if he’s shifted social classes. Perhaps
he can do this at will. There is a change evident in this man
on the roof. I see him again as the man I first met some years
ago brimming with confidence, and painting with a machete at
AUT. Then he was making certain and assured gestures, cutting
monochromatic lines into the canvas and creating an artwork,
a tangible object and a commodity. In contrast when he was
performing homelessness or living with pigs as endurance
art he created temporal experiences for those around him.
The signs and placards he made as a homeless artist weren’t
kept and as far as I know he ate the pigs. These subordinate
performances showcased an artist confident enough to shift
his public standing so that through his actions he can reveal
what remains hidden within his audience to his audience. In
the show What do you mean we? 2012, as a homeless artist
living off the donations of visitors to Te Tuhi he was both
supported by some and hated by others. By simply being there,
his performance polarised elements of the community of Te
Tuhi and Pakuranga. His presence was enough to intensify
feelings of unease amongst those who felt confronted. While
his work with a machete in the medium of paint did add a
new Polynesian dimension to a largely western tradition. As
a homeless man, he was working in a medium that is far less
subject to the classifications of scholarly analysis that allow
for an understanding of its intricacies to be learnt. Rather they
have to be experienced. Simply by being present he was able
to trigger uneasy feelings in some, that is without provocation
or insult. Throughout the exhibition ‘Uhila carried a council
permit to show that he was allowed to be outside the gallery at
night. At the end of What do you mean we?, on the closing day
when his permit had expired, police officers arrived. They asked
for the permit and then proceeded to screw it up, telling him
to move along. So while it seems that some things may simply
return to how they were before, another truth is added to the
works’ layers. On the opening night of More than we know he
will perform again, and at this stage this is as much as I know,
I can only guess what will happen.
being there
Early in 2013 I assisted Jeremy as he carried out another series
of work. At this time the work is as yet untitled and yet to be
shown. The work concerns New Zealand’s four statues of Queen
Victoria. The statues are located in Auckland, Wellington,
Christchurch and Dunedin. Filmed in four parts the work
involves Leatinu’u sitting atop a ladder in front of each of these
statues and spending time with the Queen.
Whenever you see a ladder by a statue it could either mean that someone’s there to preserve it or to deface it. I’m doing neither. – Leatinu’u
The series shows that Leatinu’u acknowledges the statues as
symbols of the complex historical and political expressions
of British imperialism. Through the use of a ladder as both
prop and symbol, Leatinu’u generates a subtle shift in power
relations. While his position in relation to the ground does
become elevated, it never lifts above that of the Queen. There is
never a sense that his intention is to supersede her position in
a way that would take make him more dominant – If that could
ever be done? The work mimics the tradition of placing objects
on plinths to elevate the object and refocus our perception of
it away from the banal. The ladder performs the same function
as the plinth. Through a working class object Leatinu’u is
elevated so that we might watch and consider him as he himself
is perhaps also considering his own relationship to the Queen.
This is a layered meditation that operates in terms that seem
to pivot around the notion of class. Leatinu’u has transversed
these significant distances in order to sew the points on the
colonial map together.
as a homeless
artist living off the
donations of visitors
to te tuhi he was both
supported by some and
hated by others.
12 13
Here I would speak briefly of the expressions of power that are
all a part of colonial expansion. I would continue to talk about
roads cut through pa sites, dawn raids and a rampant enactment
of strategies of displacement. However I would speak from a
position of seeing the traces of this juggernaut, without ever
having directly felt its irrespective embrace. So I have issues
around who it would be to best engage in this discourse. But in
the absence of others to speak, I would conjure them up in a text.
Let’s make this a cold language we’re speaking – in order to talk
the properties of becoming colonised. Let’s take an imagined
journey through the streets of Martinborough. A journey that was
first highlighted in the work of Robert Yahnke’s Ta te whenua.
In that work an aerial photograph reveals that the town’s plan
was designed with the union jack as its’ counterpoint. I’ve never
been, so I must imagine that at this time there’s someone walking
toward that centre. And this is my point, I wonder if nearing that
point if you get the sense of that overlay? Does standing at the
convergence of those eight roads allow for some form of colonial
revelation? Could they or we experience the extent of imperial
vision in relation to the colonial project? This is where the
performance artist arrives as key, in order that we might through
observation and vicarious osmosis understand the complexity
of a problem with further clarity. These questions will never be
answered unless we go there, if we can. In this show both of these
artists have either stood or will stand where we can’t. Where we
don’t have access. They are doing what is needed in order to serve
our ever growing understanding of what place can become.Ite Uhila
does standing at the
convergence of those eight
roads allow for some form
of colonial revelation?
14 15
The Kenneth Myers Centre has been the setting of some of
the most pivotal moments in New Zealand’s performance
history. Designed as a series of soundproof studios, the
building was originally home to IYA, a government-owned
national radio station described at its opening as the “most
powerful [broadcasting station] in New Zealand or Australia”.1
The building has over time also housed a number of television
stations, and in 1960 it hosted New Zealand’s first official
television broadcast.2 The studios additionally provided
rehearsal and recording spaces for a number of local musicians
in the 1990s. Finally, in 2001, the building was refurbished by
The University of Auckland for use by the School of Creative and
Performing Arts, ensuring that the Centre’s legacy as a hub of
performance will continue into the future.
Yet the rich lineage of performance activity at this site is
known to relatively few beyond its current occupants. From
street level, the neo-Romanesque architecture gives little away,
although the steel radio transmitter on the roof and the re-cast
IYA entrance lamps at the entrance hint at its performance
heritage. What appears to be a single storey deceptively masks
three further storeys descending a steep slope. It is here,
beyond the public’s purview, that numerous performance
spaces — including dance studios, music classrooms, video edit
suites, sound studios and practice rooms — can be found.
Indeed, what we know of a historic building is often
influenced by the spatial features of the site. In her essay,
Kinds of place at bore place: Site-specific performance and
the rules of spatial behaviour, Fiona Wilkie discusses the
importance of various “spatial rules”. These rules, Wilkie writes,
performing on the border a series of site-specific responses
Ioana Gordon-Smith
Terry Faleono
16 17
prescribe “what can be done and seen in a place, and how
one might move about it”.3 Some rules are ‘built in’, such as
the physical structures and spatial layout of a building. These
permanent features can either facilitate or restrict the flow of
sound, visibility and movement from one space into another.
More than we know: performance is a series of site-
specific and site-based performances that explore how the
spatial features of the Kenneth Myers Centre shape transmission
from the site into the street, and by corollary what we know of
the building. Between 6–22 March 2013, various areas around
the building will be occupied by one of seven performances.
These works are intended to interrogate, expose and disrupt the
structures that can limit public awareness of the Kenneth Myers
Centre’s histories and functions.
The performers in this series have identified two
particular features of the site that are crucial in negotiating
the relationship between the site and the public. The first is
the architecture of the Kenneth Myers Centre itself. Its 56 cm,
double-layered brick walls and the triple-glazed glass have been
custom built to prevent passersby from both hearing sounds
coming from the building and from disrupting recording inside.
There are no views either in or out of the building either.The
few windows facing Shortland Street look out upon a concrete
wall, as if the building were encased within an architectural
shell.
The second spatial feature that performers have responded
to is the space that lies between the Kenneth Myers Centre and
the street. Each of the outdoor performances occupies a space
on this border, including the front entrance steps, the steps
that lead down the side of the building, and the roof. These
liminal spaces mediate the exchange between the interior of the
building and the public walking by.
A couple of works mimic the effects of the building’s
insulation. In her untitled performance, Darcell Apelu uses
modern audio equipment to amplify the sound of her breathing.
By turning the speaker inward and holding it tight against her
torso, Apelu stifles the output of sound with her body. Only
the quietest of noises seep out of the edges of her embrace.
Similarly, in Under my umbrella, dancers Terry Faleono and
Pera Afato employ an umbrella as a metaphor for the building’s
visual impenetrability.
Nastashia Simeona Apelu’s untitled performance offers
some idea of how the fortress-like building may appear to the
public. The echoing sonic boom created as the whip cracks
inevitably draws the public attention. During the photo shoot
for this catalogue, dwellers watched from their apartment
balconies, teenagers hollered from the nearby car park, and
many others crossed the road to watch from the safety of the
other side of the street. Yet, while attention grabbing, the whip-
Darcell Apelu
Untitled
these works are intended
to interrogate, expose and disrupt the structures
that can limit public
awareness of the kenneth
myers centre’s histories and
functions.
18
performance is visibly dangerous. Get too close and — snap!
— you may get hurt. Simeona Apelu’s performance thus creates
a periphery of danger that prevents any practical attempts to
enter the building. Her performance draws attention to the
space she occupies — the frontal steps that bridge the building
and the public footpath — as an intimidating threshold to cross.
With varying degrees of confrontation, each of these
three performances suggest a paucity of exchange between the
Kenneth Myers Centre and the street. Little sound or movement
emerges from the building, and so too do few people venture
into the studios. It’s important to note that many visitors do
enter the building in order to access the Gus Fisher Gallery
found on the top floor. The performance activities taking place
in the studios on the levels below, nevertheless, remain little
known. Paradoxically, by drawing attention to the presence of
a boundary, these three performances announce that there is
more to the building than meets the eye.
The remaining performances employ tactics of
displacement to disrupt the spatial barriers between the
Nastashia Simeona Apelu
building and the public. In their performance Niu Navigations, a
spoken poetry company, take sounds heard inside the Kenneth
Myers Centre to a public audience. Contemporary spoken
poetry — an art form that emerged in the 1980s in order to seek
a broader audience for poetry outside of academic institutions4
— provides a particularly apt medium for this purpose. From the
frontal steps, each of the five poets comprising Niu Navigations
perform a poem they have penned in response to Jeremy
Leatinu’u’s soundscape work, Spatial resonance. Currently on
display as a projected installation in the Gus Fisher Gallery of
the Centre, Spatial resonance documents Leatinu’u producing
sound in three spaces around the building: the courtyard, the
stairs leading down to the courtyard, and the undercarriage
hidden beneath the frontal steps. By referencing a soundscape
encountered inside the Centre, Niu Navigations echo, in
reverse, Leatinu’u’s act of bringing sound from outside to the
indoor environment of the gallery.
Movement is also resituated outdoors by way of a trio
of dances, performed by The University of Auckland’s dance
niu navigations
echo, in reverse,
leatinu’u’s act of
bringing sound from
outside to the indoor
environment of the
gallery.
Niu Navigations
20 21
students. Peace, Pak’n’saved and If I was a boy were each
originally conceived, practiced and assessed in the Kenneth
Myers Centre’s dance studio by choreographers Joshua Grace,
Seidah Tuaoi and Nita Latu respectively. They have been
adapted for a new stage on the frontal steps of the Kenneth
Myers Center, quite literally bringing dance from within the
building outside.
Providing displacement of a different nature is a medley
of contemporary and traditional Tongan dances, performed
by Auckland dance company Pukepuke ‘O Tonga and
choreographed by Sesilia Pusiaki. Staged on a Saturday evening
during extended hours, Pukepuke ‘O Tonga’s performance offers
the only work to take place inside the building. In contrast
to the other performers, Pusiaki aims to resituate the public
audience, rather than the performance. The piece begins in the
foyer — a familiar place for visitors to the Gus Fisher Gallery.
The dancers then lead the audience into a studio known to
students as the ‘black-box’ on the level below. Little known to
the public, this studio is where many local television shows,
The University
of Auckland’s
dance students.
including national telethons, were broadcast up until the 1990s.
Pusiaki uses the familiarity of the foyer, and the publicised
event, to draw the audience into the building and then into the
studio space.
In addition to drawing attention to the performance
activity associated with the Kenneth Myers Centre, the act of
moving a performances or an audience into an alien setting
prompts a renewed sensory engagement with the building
itself. For the outdoor performances in particular, displacement
is an act of trespass upon the expectations of those passing
by an otherwise familiar public space. The incongruous
and unsolicited spectacles are intended to shake up the
complacency, or even apathy, with which the public regards
the Kenneth Myers Centre. The outdoor performances are
staged at 5.00 pm each weekday, increasing the reach of the
performances as hoards of workers hurry home from work.
Theatre historian Christopher Balme has observed a
growing trend in Pacific theatre towards similar strategies
of displacement, whereby indigenous Pacific performance
Pukepuke ‘O Tonga
Sesilia Pusiaki
the dancers then lead
the audience into a studio
known to students as the ‘black-box’ on the
level below.
22 23
is placed within conventional European contexts.5 Balme
argues that this preserves potentially endangered cultural
knowledge while also achieving a multi-cultural situation.
Performance artist Kalisolaite ‘Uhila has previously called
this amalgamation of influences “poly-cultural”, playing on
the prefix ‘poly’ as meaning both ‘Polynesian’ as well as ‘more
than one’.6 A number of artists in this series demonstrate
this trend, preserving Pacific traditions within contemporary
Western environments. Pusiaki’s choreography, performed
in a traditional theatre-like setting for an Auckland audience,
includes esoteric dance forms particular to her Tongan village.
Similarly, Seidah Tuaoi’s performance hybridises Pacific and Hip
Hop dance styles.
Performing on the boundary — both cultural and physical
— provides ample opportunity to import elements from one
space into another. This is perhaps the most evident in Uiaki fono (town crier), which both publicly proclaims the building’s
history of sound and invites people to the building. From a
raised platform in front of the steel transmission tower on
the rooftop, Kalisolaite ‘Uhila projects the sound of Tongan
drumming. The resulting echo above the street is deliberately
reminiscent of the building’s previous function as a radio and
television broadcaster. However, whereas radio functions to
disseminate sound from one location to many others, Uhila’s
interest is in using sound as a welcoming call to draw people
towards the building.
‘Uhila combines drumming with chanting in Tongan in an
encore performance. Chanting in public is inherently social,
and has been traditionally used in Tonga, in the absence of
radio technology, to call people together in order to pass on
information.7 In his second performance, ‘Uhila is also joined by
Jeremy Leatinu’u, who re-enacts the soundscape work Spatial
Resonance, described above. This collaborative performance
transforms the spaces around the building quite literally into a
place of conversation as ‘Uhila and Leatinu’u employ drumming,
vocal calling and rhythms created using the building’s exterior
surfaces to respond to each other in turn.
Each of the seven performances emphasises the significance
of spatial factors in shaping our knowledge of the Kenneth
Myers Centre. The unyielding architecture remains a constant
feature that prevents sound from spilling into the street. The
role of the liminal space between the building and the street,
however, vacillates. It can act as a boundary or threshold, or
even a place of exchange, mitigating the building’s aural and
visual opacity. These performances enact the different functions
of the space between. They reveal that rather than having one
set “spatial rule”, the space between the building and the public
is a junction of constant negotiation. This series draws the
audience into the conversation. The resulting
echo above the street is deliberately
reminiscent of the building’s
previous function as a radio and
television broadcaster.
25
This publication and the associated exhibition and performances are supported by
Tautai exits to promote, support, and encourage artists with pacific heritage.
As a registered charitable trust Tautai operates on the understanding that the artists remain independent of Tautai and come together through their Tautai connection to participate in art events.
Tautai receives major public funding from Creative New Zealand and also receives significant funding from ASB Community Trust.
www.tautai.org
Published by Tautai Contemporary
Pacific Arts Trust, on the occasion of
More Than We Know
28 February – 24 March and the
More Than We Know: Performance
6 – 24 March at Gus Fisher Gallery,
74 Shortland Street, Auckland,
New Zealand.
Part of the 2013 Auckland Arts Festival
All images by Robert George
© Tautai Contemporary Pacific Arts
Trust, Rangituhia Hollis,
Ioana Gordon-Smith
ISBN 978-0-473-23666-3
Design: Jacinda Torrance
Printing: Soar Printing, Auckland
1 ‘New IYA: Powerful station’, Evening Post, Issue 20, 24 January 1935, p. 21.
2 ‘The Early Years’, http://tvnz.co.nz/content/823802, accessed 21 January 2013.
3 Fiona Wilkie, ‘Kinds of Place at Bore Place: Site-Specific Performance and the Rules of Spatial Behaviour’, New Theatre Quarterly, 18 (71), 2002: p. 244.
4 Susan B. A. Somers-Willett, The Cultural Politics of Slam Poetry: Race, Identity, and the Performance of Popular Verse in America, Michigan: University of Michigan Press, 2009, pp. 2-3.
5 Christopher Balme, Pacific Performances: Theatricality and Cross-Cultural Encounter in the South Seas, Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007, p. 216.
6 Kalisolaite ‘Uhila, ‘Sound makes the Mark – Mark makes the Sound’, 2010. http://visualartsgrads.aut.deploy.gravitate.co.nz/html/detail.php?id=1474, accessed 21 January 2013.
7 Kalisolaite ‘Uhila, personal correspondence, 11 January 2013
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