TE URU AUTE BLOG

Nikau and I in the studio, Tūranganui-a-Kiwa, photo courtesy of Seb Charles

Nikau teaching at Waiwhatawhata Marae, 2021

Te Kokomea, 2021

Nikau and I beating Aute with fine ngao (grooves), image courtesy of Seb Charles

Aute, image courtesy of Seb Charles

Aute, image courtesy of Seb Charles

A mixture of Aute in its retted and un-retted stages

Nikau and I painting on Aute with Ngārahu and Kōkōwai, image courtesy of Seb Charles

Motukaraka, image courtesy of Seb Charles

NĀ RONGOMAI KAPIRI-MĀRAMA HOSKINS
DURATION: February-May 2022
LOCATION: Te Uru Aute, with Nikau Hindin

As tuakana-teina from Ngāpuhi and Te Rarawa, artist Nikau Hindin (Ngai Tūpoto) and I came together for a four-month period (February-May 2022) to practice, research, expand and envision the artform of Māori Aute (paper mulberry, broussonetia papyrifera). This kaupapa Te Uru Aute was a full-time apprenticeship funded by Creative New Zealand and largely supported by Toi Ngāpuhi. 

Te Uru Aute loosely translates to the Aute grove. It references the rumaki reo at Newton Central Primary School in Tāmaki Makaurau - Te Uru Karaka, where Nikau and I both attended kura surrounded by siblings, cousins and wider whānau. Te Uru Karaka, not far from Te Karanga ā Hape, had once been a karaka grove. It provided an uru to which we learnt about kaupapa Māori, socio-political theory (appropriate for primary school-aged children) and critical histories concerning Aotearoa, Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa and beyond. It is also where we learnt to value toi Māori, understanding its power as an act of tino rangatiratanga.

Nikau who in the same vein named her Bachelor of Fine Arts (Hons.) at ELAM Te Uru Aute, gifted this name to our kaupapa with the intention to not only grow a flourishing grove of tupu Aute, but to begin to teach many adept Aute practitioners, thus developing the foundations of Aute making in Aotearoa for coming generations.

I was first introduced to Aute during the Toi Ngāpuhi Tai O Hī Tai O Hā Wānanga at Waiwhatawhata Marae, Omapere, Hokianga in March 2021 where Nikau was a mātanga toi. Nikau is one of the few artists working with Aute and while it is traditionally a collective practice, she had been working independently since 2018. Well in her stride, she was looking for sustainable ways to teach a new generation of Aute makers while maintaining the integrity and depth of the practice.

During the wānanga Nikau shared mātauranga needed to complete the first stage of working with the tupu; transforming the bast of Aute to cloth known in Hawai’i as mo’omo’o/mokomoko. Many of us taiohi were transfixed; feeling the fineness of the Aute between our fingers, thinking of Hina/Hine Marama in the negotiation of water necessary to progress the tupu into this phase. It was here, in Te Tai Tokerau and within an environment that fostered mauri in relation to expressing auahatanga, a hono with Nikau - already present with our whānau ties - was solidified through Aute.

This was embodied in the creation of the work Te Kokomea for the inaugural Tai O Hī Tai O Hā Exhibition (May, 2021), where Nikau offered her guidance in its adornment. Her support provided the pou needed to extend my practice to Aute, underpinning the work by the mātauranga that Nikau generously shared with me and that her own mentors shared with her.

The hononga between Nikau and I has since allowed us as tuakana-teina, to dream on the generative possibilities to research, practice, expand and envision the artform of Māori Aute into the future, resulting in the apprenticeship programme Te Uru Aute.

Together we identified four objectives to drive the kaupapa of Te Uru Aute; knowledge sharing with Aute making, crafting tools to build the capacity of a new generation of barkcloth makers, language creation around tools and stages of the Aute process in Te Reo Māori, and succession planning for the future of Aute. 
After months of facetime’s, organising, writing, preparing our Creative New Zealand proposal and living in slight disbelief that we had been successful, our time together began in Hokianga - 12 months after the initial wānanga at Waiwhatawhata. We started slowly, waking and reading my papa’s copy of He Pepeha, He Whakatauki No Taitokerau, swimming, walking around Arai-Te-Uru at low tide with Rewa, taking note of the colours of whenua around us, hydrating and beating tutu (dried Aute bast),  spending time with our hoa from Tai O Hī Tai O Hā and mātanga toi like Ruth Woodbury, Makareta Jhanke and the wahine of Te Rā Ringa Raupā. 

We sat with Te Warahi and Justice Hetaraka at Hihiaua along with their hāpori of ringa toi, ruminating on the force and balance of ahi. We travelled to Takahue, to our tuakana Bethany Edmunds, who lead us to Serafina’s Aute patch, where we harvested tupu which would sustain four months of learning. Near Taumarumaru, we lay our tupu into a freshwater stream on the beach and were met by a petite, beautiful tuna. The following morning, Nikau told me that I knew what to do, and so we started to cut, peel, scrape and pao Aute together.

A week or so and a second optimistic harvest later, we stopped in Tāmaki, gathering friends and other Kapa/Aute practitioners such as Hina Kneubuhl, her kōhine and Atarangi Anderson to continue processing kiko (bast) into mokomoko. I began to watch Nikau more precisely in her elegance, to watch Hina in just the same way. To touch Aute not so preciously - but in a way that implied familiarity, a budding friendship. I appreciated an even beat, a beat that kept the Aute’s integrity and shape, or hours of scraping that resulted in a prized, white cloth. I was determined to work, or attempt to work in the same ways.

Our period in the north finally lead us to Tūranga-Nui-a-Kiwa, where we would settle into a daily, domestic rhythm. We found our time to be measured in its velocity and intentional in process. We privileged relationships; with each other and those who supported us, with the maramataka, with taiao and of course, with Aute. There was time to observe, to watch a kūkupa at Mōrere eat nikau berries upside down, and later collect the huru it had left behind for future projects. Nikau continued to share the mātauranga that she had learnt from her own teachers, imparting a decade of lessons, observations, problem-solving and intuitiveness – all the while insisting that she herself, was still a student of Aute. 

We sat to wānanga in Feta’aki, Ngatu and natural pigments with Ebonie, Nisyola and Vitolio Fifita, along with their Laka and Chan-Salmanzadeh whānau. I learnt that to brush pigment on Feta’aki, is not to paint, but to write. That the nature of Ngatu is both humbling and forgiving. Through Nikau’s hononga to other wahine working with Aute, I too was included in this whānau of barkcloth makers, and warmly embraced. I saw myself as a small link in a vast network of connections stretching across Te Moana-Nui-a-Kiwa through this tupu. A tupu which we (our tūpuna) time and time again, valued and placed safely on our waka hourua, to travel beyond the horizon with. 

As the weeks continued, it was hard to imagine a day not being in relationship with Aute. Through repetition my ears became sensitive to the depth of the pao when beating, learning which patu would beat in harmony with its partnered kua/tuarā (anvil). Nikau pressed the importance of tools in the finesse of our cloth and so we sat with Eruera Brown in his whakairo studio, discussing the qualities of native hardwoods like rata, maire and pūriri. We noted the depth and breadth of ngao (grooves) on our patu, the complexities of a water-mark pattern and how they might be reproduced. Through the skill of hands, we carved enough patu and tuarā to sustain future wānanga, as well as creating a complete set of tools of my own, ensuring my capacity to work with Aute in the future.

Alongside this developing obsession with tools, we progressed into the retting and re-beating stage, where we would haumi Aute: increasing its integrity and size. Some days, we would roll our cloth out on the carpeted living room floor, beating together, unflinching at the smell of fermented Aute. This would often end up in Nikau pausing as I caught up with her, or occasionally beating in rhythmic tandem.

As the days shortened, the nights deepened and we edged closer to Puanga/Matariki, we began to whakarākei (paint) our Aute, seeing the tupu through to its final stage of life. Here we honoured the vast whakapapa of materials and relationships pertaining to Māori Aute, conscious of the resources and materials required in both its creation and adornment. Layering Wai-rākau, Kerewhenua, Kōkōwai and Ngārahu upon Aute in Nikau’s rectilinear formula, we painted with intention and care. Nikau – with her thoughtful eye, created each design to rest in harmony with the characteristics of each individual piece of Aute, honouring the tupu and its journey.

During the last weeks of Te Uru Aute in May 2022, we left Tūranga-nui-a-Kiwa and travelled north to Nikau’s marae Ngai Tupoto in Motukaraka for the Tai o Hī Tai o Hā Aute & Tārai Waka Master Class, held by Toi Ngāpuhi. Tools in hand, I was there to assist Nikau as she taught the retting and painting processes of working with Aute to my peers - returning home to Tai Tokerau and coming full circle.

While I am only just beginning to grasp the countless reflections and teachings of our time in Te Uru Aute, it is clear to me that thinking critically about the collective success and succession of a practice takes a willing and innovative mātanga toi such as Nikau. This foresight is attributed to her dedication to Māori Aute, as well as those who have mentored and supported her.

Whilst Aute continues to be re-remembered and re-awakened within iwi, hapū, hāpori and whānau Māori, we can only continue to work and share with integrity and depth, recalling and reinforcing connections to this tupu through time. Such a way of working with Aute, to quote kapa maker Hina Kneubuhl “…is one way we can decolonize time as ‘ōiwi/tangata whenua. It demands that we follow the natural time cycles around us, as the marama, whenua, plants and processes dictate how it goes. Their rhythms become ours as we submit ourselves to their guidance and wisdom. In today’s world, maintaining this practice feels to me like a true assertion of kū’oko’a/tino rangatiratanga. The (outcome) is a testament to the possibilities when we are given time and space.”

As I continue to sit and wānanga with Aute and how I might contribute to the life of this practice - I know this haerenga has only just begun, and will never be mine alone.

 He kura ka huna, he kura ka whāki.

Nikau often speaks about the power of a dream, referencing artist-historian Herb Kāne and his dream which ignited the construction of the waka Hokulea.  She herself is a vivid dreamer, sharing with me once that she dreamt of pukepoto as a child - before knowing what it was. In April 2021, closely following my first encounter with Aute, I had a vivid moemoeā where I pulled a reddish-pink rock out of the hot coals of an ahi. The rock was covered in white ash, and a large crack had developed in the heat of the flames. I turned to see Nikau sitting beside me and together, we pried the crack open with our hands. As the crack widened, we saw fine clay of all colours; kura red, vivid pinks, oranges, pukepoto blue and deep turquoise. Nikau handed me a paintbrush and we began. 

Read more about Rongomai HERE