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ps

they went.

they hung out.

they coming home.


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me.

“Resistance” is in my blood … just ask my Mama ;) … and as I look over my unique heritage, I’m not really surprised at all.

Theres the Irish and Scottish colonisation’s, that resulted in their Response and continued Resistance. A few of those ancestors were sent to these ‘colonies’, and tahdah, our line changed. They weren’t perfect humans by any means, in fact there’s a couple who were down right assholes, but I’ll leave that for another post. But their Resistance to the invasion of their countries, was second to none. I admire the fuck out of that part of their narrative.

Then there’s the Jewish blood; the English blood; the French Canadian blood … and of course … the tangata whenua – Maori blood.

Learning about my tipuna and the layers of my Indigenous culture, has given Me a tonne of strength; it’s answered a heap of questions for Me; it’s made Me realise that I already know, deep down, what I need … Who I am … where I want to be. It’s given Me layers upon layers of beautiful healing.

And I am made up of multiple layers of Resistance and Response.

That Resistance has been voiced regarding colonisation and the social justice issues We continue to face as tangata whenua, through my art; and more recently that has extended to responding to, and re-framing sexual violence.

This love of justice … fairness … questioning … reframing … is what gives Me that fire in my belly. It’s probably what has helped to keep Me alive at times and I am grateful for it.  I’d rather have it, than have nothing at all <3

“Thou Shalt Not Concede”


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exhibition [2018]

the collection:

“intersectional violence”


 

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abstract art [fuck off]

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abstract art [tipuna says]

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abstract art [whitewash series]

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un.fucking.myself.

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

Strange old times … shits good … but shits strange. Good, strange lol.

My art has always been a bit of a love hate relationship … but I think thats because it’s my emotion … and it’s about the only way I know how to do emotion.

I can bullet point emotion … and possibly even explain it from a cognitive point.

But I don’t feely feelings.

And up until recently I thought that was ‘wrong’; because the ‘quo’ will tell us that we should be less compartmentalised and all balanced and whole and shit.

And … then I figured out that that is some bullshit.

Don’t know whether it’s more colonial bullshit or just bullshit made up by some wanker who thought they were right.

How do I know its bullshit?

Because none of Us is the same. Not even slightly. We all process experiences differently … even hear differently lol … thinking of the latest Yanny versus Laurel debate haha.

None of us Do the same … doesn’t it then go figure that we are going to do emotion differently?

Well it does to Me now … and I’m Ok with it.

My art is my ‘feeling’, and embracing that has made Me appreciate my process more, instead of dreading it.

:)


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unfuck. thyself.

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

Another … WTF is that moment lol …

It’s part of a new painting … just a part … a macro of a part … hows that for fucking with yah … and the mindfulness thingy … well … that came out of a conversation i had with my youngest girl recently … whose on the verge of ‘falling in love’ again, or so she reckons lol.

She had asked Me, Yes Me, was there a right way to let go of love.

Gulp.

I much preferred it when she asked simple questions like ‘who was in NZ first’, or ‘how the fuck are you supposed to shove that up there … (referring to a tampon)’ … LOL.

But feelings … emotions … the dirty L word … ewww … I am a No-Go when it comes to that shizz.

But not one to pussy out … *eye ball roll* … I told her I’d have a think and get back to her … *another eye ball roll*

So I thought about it.

I thought about all those that I had fucked.

The one person I could say I had ever made consensual ‘love’ too.

All those that I had shut out.

All those that had pledged devotion and I promptly shat upon.

All those that I had wanted but hadn’t wanted Me.

All those that I had used.

All those that had used Me.

All those I’d come close to loving but was too fucking scared too say so.

‘Twas a sobering recollection. Groan …

And then I messaged her back and advised her of the following, with, of course, a *note to daughter* attached which said:

“I have absolutely No idea how to do love except where you girls are concerned; which leads me to believe there is No right or wrong way to do it or to let it go.”

And thusly – I advised her to fall in love as much as she could  … as deeply as she could … for as long as she could … enjoying every little bit of it for what it was in that moment … and then when she’d had enough … to let it go just as readily as she had picked it up. That life was to short to regret not looking, loving, enjoying and moving on.

What does all that have to do with the photograph?

Sometimes we don’t take notice of, let alone enjoy, the macro view cos we’re to focussed on wanting to see the bigger picture … what it ‘might be’, potential and all that bullshit … instead of just enjoying the view you have for the time you have it <3

I love my girl.

<3


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photography .27

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photography .14

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the painting #feels

What I discovered today, was this shit, like the rain … also soothes shit, way faster than anything else can (except the sedatives! … gotta love the sedatives!) …

So I did the do, and enjoyed the hell out of it …

I’ve never used ink before and it turns out ink on house paint makes this marvellous mess. Btw … I re-purposed the ink from an old printer I dismembered ;)


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abstract art : the Need to paint.

thats the feels today … and paint I did … threw that paint onto canvas till I felt better ;) … 1st of 2018 and I reckon theres gonna be A.Lot of this sort of shit happening … good lord I’ma gonna have to get creative with the paint sourcing ;)

All I can say, is it was a good mess and I needed it.


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exhibition art [2017] ~ “rarohenga”

Rarohenga

Underworld, nether-world –

the place where

the spirits of

the dead

go.


#abstract #art #painting #rarohenga #underworld #resistance #selfdetermination #kpm©


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exhibition art [2017] ~ “ruaūmoko”

Ruaūmoko

Spirit energy of

volcanoes –

volcanic activity.


 

ruaūmoko

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exhibition art [2017] ~ “tāwhirirangi”

Tāwhirirangi ~

Spirit energy

of

sweeping rains.


 

#abstractart #painting #exhibition #aotearoa #selfdetermination #kpm©


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“mauri” [2017]

Mauri

mauri:

the essence

or life force

of anything

everything that is

created

has mauri

the birds

the trees

the ocean

the fish

the rocks

the mountains

all contain

mauri

our unborn

have mauri

at the smack of conception

they have mauri

that mauri

enables life

and growth

and relation

and communion

it exudes

and floats

and gushes

and flows

its mauri

mauri continues

long after

it is breathed

and inhaled

exhaled

and moaned

its mauri

te mauri

came

te mauri

left

returned to where

he was sent from

loved without being seen

touched without being felt

blessed

and gone

to the arms of the

tipuna

I

Love

You


 

#abstract #art #painting #culture #lifeforce #exhibition_art #mauri #cosmoslogy #maori #tangatawhenua #aotearoa #selfdetermination #kpm ©


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“resistance & response” [2017]

art has a way of

expressing.

what can’t be.

like a child’s.

description.

art can describe

what may otherwise be;

unmanageable.

to explain;

unfathomable,

to understand;

too uncomfortable,

for the polite;

to raw for breakfast.

table.

talk.

but art can capture

the emotion of a scene,

when nothing

else can.

*These are macro shots of a series of 3 paintings I created, that were part of the “TOO MUCH TRUTH – Women’s Global Resistance to Sexploitation” Exhibition.

The Exhibition finishes this Sunday. I’ll post full shots of these pieces, and their descriptions then.*


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for her, them, me. [2016]

All my life, well 41 years of it anyway, I’ve had to defend myself. Unfortunately, the form of defense that I have employed has usually, also been to my detriment. In that, I have hidden, run, anesthetized, gone silent…held my breath…to maintain my survival.

And this is the aftermath and ongoing cruelty of infant or child sexual assault, for its victim. It’s no longer some pervert cunt whose trying to get into your tiny panties…its the continuous hiding from the possibility of impending assault. It’s Us; still trying to defend ourselves from those prying fingers.

But those fingers don’t exist in the here and now anymore. Just in the senses…in the dreams…in the reminders…in the head…in the heart…and they are more than enough to terrify an avid horror film buff.

And as I wake this morning, to the realization that I have been my own worst number 2 enemy…as number 1 is lost somewhere in the open world…I wonder; am I going to defend myself differently? What does that differently look like?

I think it would look like what I do for; have done for my kids. It would look scary and fierce. It would be quiet, but firm…unyielding. It would defend and die for the life of…the growth of…the success of. It wouldn’t take any shit and wouldn’t take No for an excuse or an answer.

So if that is my new truth…that I; the person who hid, survived but died inside every day…if I; am truly worth fighting for…then today must be the day that happens.

I have listened and remained silent to the uneducated and unlearned and uncompassionate taunts of “get over it all ready … stop using it as an excuse … that was years ago … you’re so unaffectionate … you’re not better, your worse … you need to forgive … you need to move on”. And my defense, or best defense, has been an argument. Has been a plea, really.

To listen, to understand…let me educate you so that you will understand. Let me beg, plead and cry so that you will understand. Let me share my horrors with you so that you will understand.

Not realizing, they don’t want to understand…they just want me to be different. Not such an unwelcome truth.

So, for her, and me…I’ll keep talking the unwelcome truth…the mundane horrors…not just to educate; but to defend my position; my truth; my battle; my scars; my reality; my healing; my moving on and growing up.

I’ll also speak for all of those that didn’t make it out of that little dark room with prying fingers and filthy deeds. ALL those little people who never got the chance to get out, grow up, get a job and a family. For all those little people, just like me…who grew into big people, and have rocked in the corner, for far to fucking long.


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