We’re collaborating with Creative New Zealand to bring you the ground-breaking Pacific Arts Legacy Project. Curated by Lana Lopesi as project Editor-in-Chief, it’s a foundational history of Pacific arts in Aotearoa as told from the perspective of the artists who were there.

The idea of working in the military was a fantasy of mine. Growing up, I looked at my father’s occupation as a navy diver as something I’d grow up and become. My little sisters grew up thinking they’d become an artist and a fashion designer. Funny how it all turned out, I’m the artist, my sister’s now in the navy and the youngest a sevens prodigy.

I would not be in this position today if it wasn’t because my mum was my mum. Art was something I knew I would be able to do. A route I knew my parents would accept and support. I wouldn’t say growing up with an artist for a mother had any effect on why I’m an artist. In the early stages Mum didn't intervene with what I was doing, she just let it all happen.

Being creative was something I never had to focus on. It would always just flow. Mum’s an artist, so since I was a child I've always had an idea of what good art is. I remember as a kid I could never get the picture in my head on paper so I grew against the idea of producing art. Year 9 I gave art another go and it finished that year. The first thing I did that I felt looked good was slammed as wrong and I was very confused. Being told what to do and having someone else's idea of good and bad art in your head sucked. How could there ever be a sense of right and wrong. From that point I knew art was going to be a shit subject. I hated painting.

School taught me how to hate using my brain. A fall-in-line meaningless environment. My math and English books were filled with unfinished work and heavily doodled pages. My Year 12 English practice exam page to page was covered with corner-to-corner heads. My teacher flamed me in front of the class for it. Once I got the paper back the lady who marked it had left encouraging comments on each page. She even found me at lunch to let me know about my talent, and maybe next time do a little bit of study. At that point I could tell the difference between a real teacher and someone who follows procedure.

A definite real teacher was my media studies teacher. He understood I was not going to do any paperwork and only create a film. It was handed in two weeks late. The day of the screening to the public. He wasn’t impressed. I had no idea if he was going to show it later that night. I went outside for morning tea to play handball in between the graphics block and the art block. I felt a hand on my shoulder while playing, I turn to see it’s my media teacher who says with a look I won’t forget:

I had impressed him again with another rough-edit comedy film. I thought I was in trouble but he ended the conversation laughing. The film was played at the screening. He could see I possessed some form of creativity and that was enough to be in his class.

Teacher parent interviews were not an exciting day. I had no confidence that any of my teachers were pleased. Going in for my media interview I was expecting the “if he applied himself” bullshit that I had gotten from the majority of the others. I left the interview happy, labelled a top student and my parents were able to see why I enjoyed being in his class, they were happy too. T

his is the only class I gained knowledge in that I still carry with me today. He’s the only teacher who, when I left, gave me a way to keep in contact with him. He told me that if I was to go anywhere with my art he would want to know. He appeared at the opening of my last solo show, the only person I was hoping that would come.

The first time I experienced creative flow was when my photography teacher emailed my mum saying I had produced nothing in six months and that I would most likely fail my photography boards. I had two weeks before the deadline. He seemed certain I wasn't going to pass. The following night my first board was done. “If you get higher marks than me, l’m going to be so mad.” A joke from the dark horse of the class. He got excellence, me merit.

A directionless path and hate for school fuelled my creativity. These were the early stages of feeling like I could become an artist.

I guess my creative ‘power’ I feel is that I can channel my inspirations. Reproducing. There's something about the pain created by violence and a twisted mind that speaks to me creatively. Something that's all happened to my ancestors.

A sense of problem solving also.

To me art is something you're in control of. Tevita Latu was the first person who helped me learn my own control over the process of producing work. Art was the first feeling of not because I have to but because I want to.

I look up to the way Tevita carries himself, an artist. His focus and commitment to his craft. He advised me, not told me, and always left it up to me. This was the complete opposite to my school experience. My highest level of education.

I started painting after meeting Basquiat. His style so distinctive other artists who are also inspired by him struggle to step out of looking as if it’s copying. I faced this problem. To me inspiration is sampling. It feels the same way. Taking a sound that really grasps a hold over you and turning it into your own. My exhibition at Grey Gallery in 2019, mother and I felt I had taken the step outside of the Basquiat box. Now I feel I'm creating my own songs.

Not doing what is expected of me. To have something to say. To have a stand against or for something. Is it wrong to want to stand against our own existence? Painting is my only disconnect from our reality. I feel like mankind has just been on a path of destruction. I don’t want to connect to anything of that sort. Yet that's all I can feel.

This piece is published in collaboration with Creative New Zealand as part of the Pacific Arts Legacy Project, an initiative under Creative New Zealand’s Pacific Arts Strategy.

Lana Lopesi is Editor-in-Chief of the project.

Series design by Shaun Naufahu, Alt group.

Header Photography: Pati Solomona Tyrell