Art Work
Outside the margins of commerce.
Kia ora whānau, this will be my last offering for the next few months as I take stock of the year that has been and the year that is to come, while prioritising rest and family over the busy, festive season ahead. I wish you peace as you transition through what has been a year of dramatic change, which I suspect will lead to new challenges (and opportunities, I hope) for each of us. Thank you for the possibilities you have allowed into my life.
Aroha nui, Apra
"Don’t hold your pencil like a writer," the artist said, teaching me the overhand grip. Who even writes by hand these days? My fingers ache in this contortion. Muscles underused over years of tap-tapping into a screen that guesses what I mean, filling in blanks – offering suggestions to basic questions like, "Can we meet up next week?" No – I wanted to say. But didn't. So he says to me over this planned, unplanned coffee, "Practice straight lines from one point to the next. Make light strokes, but be direct. You'll waver at first, but trust the confidence in your wrist. Admire your errors, wipe them only if you must." We part ways, having satisfied the polite exchange between a public servant and a private consultant. I sketch daisies on his business card while meeting the last of my calendar's requirements. My colleague flicks slides, headlining deadlines for the coming year. She speaks so eloquently, like a poet, but has no clue of it. Neither do we, her collared audience, of the muscles we waste away playing office, shaping shadows inside our heads.