Tēnei Ao Tūroa – This Enduring World

Natalie Robertson (Ngāti Porou, Clann Dhònnchaidh), Chris Corson-Scott, Mark Adams

Te Pātaka Toi Adam Art Gallery

Curated by Christina Barton and Hamish Coney

9 April 2022 – 26 June 2022

Reviewed for PhotoForum by Ish Doney

Mark Adams, *13.11.2000. Hinemihi. Clandon Park, Surrey, England. Ngā Tohunga: Wero Tāroi, Tene Waitere*

Landscape photography is often considered through the framework of picturesque, beautiful, or sublime. Within these categories, the specificity of the landscape depicted is less important than its ability to decorate a wall, provide pleasure, or provoke a sense of awe. However, the land itself, especially in Aotearoa, is far from politically neutral. Tēnei Ao Tūroa – This Enduring World brings together the work of Natalie Robertson (Ngāti Porou, Clann Dhònnchaidh), Chris Corson-Scott, and Mark Adams. For these New Zealand photographers, specific sites –their histories, people, and possible futures– are paramount to the meanings of the work.

Natalie Robertson, Te Puna o Te Ao Te Huinga and kahikatea trees, Tīkapa-a-Hinekōpeka I–III, 2018

Natalie Robertson, *Tera te haeata e takiri ana mai! Behold the first light of dawn!* (Waiapu Ngutu Awa triptych, 7th August 2020)

Stepping into Tēnei Ao Tūroa, one is met by three large, black-and-white photographs of a subterranean wellspring in Waiapu Valley. Te Puna o Te Ao Huinga and kahikatea trees, Tikapa-a-Hinekōpeka I-III is a triptych printed on polyester sheets, hung from the ceiling at such a scale the viewer relates to them as one might from within the landscape itself, gazing out between the trees. Opposite this imposing vista sit two aerial photographs of 1950s Waiapu taken by Whites Aviation. Mixing colour with back-and-white, and new with archival imagery, Natalie Robertson creates a highly detailed record of Waiapu. These views are neither picturesque, beautiful, nor sublime. While two works are washed in ‘red-tipped dawn’ light (1), these are not the sunrise-snap-happy shots of your garden-variety photographer. Rather, they centre mātauranga-a-iwi (tribal knowledge), recording a significant moment when the sun’s first light strikes the peak of Maunga Hikurangi–an event that takes place only twice a year.(2)

Natalie Robertson, *A Red-Tipped Dawn – Pōhautea* at Waiapu Ngutu Awa, (7th August 2020)

Robertson puts her camera in service of a cause that runs on a timeline she will not see the end of. The Waiapu catchment area is in the midst of an ecological disaster that sees massive amounts of sediment eroding into the river and washing out to sea every year due to deforestation. Through exhibition texts, Robertson uses oral accounts and waiata to paint a picture of Waiapu as it was before colonisation. The name of the work, Tātara E Maru Ana – The Sacred Rain Cape of Waiapu, is rooted in this history, as the rich forest blanketing the area was considered a safe haven where Ngāti Porou iwi could thrive. The loss of this raincape is particularly damaging to the iwi, which has developed the Waiapu Kōkā Hūhua 100 year plan, working with the Gisborne District Council and Ministry of Primary Industries to restore ecological stability.(3) As an artist, writer, and Ngāti Porou person, Robertson recognises the importance of documenting Waiapu as it currently exists, in order to record the progression of this plan and recognise the mahi involved in this revitalisation. As such, this iteration of the work is part of a much longer process. Every detail of Robertson’s approach is carefully considered, down to the materials of her craft; her choice to shoot on polyester sheet film is informed by the stability of the medium which, stored in the right conditions, will outlast the hundred year timeline.(4) The direct touch of light, preserved in silver halide, also enacts a physical connection with place, creating a taonga. (5) This is compelling work and rich in allusion. It encourages visitors to spend time with it, and much can be gained from reading Roberton’s own writing on the subject.

Chris Corson Scott, *Collapsing Kiln, Makareao Limeworks*, 2016

Down one flight of the Adam’s recycled-rubber stairs, sit Chris Corson-Scott’s large and sumptuous photographs of New Zealand’s industrial bones. (6) Corson-Scott has spent years exploring small towns and backcountry trails, hauling his large-format camera, tripod, and gear, and following stories to find ruined factories, mines, and other vestiges of colonial labour. The resulting images are visually arresting and, with the scale of the prints, could lead to an uncomplicated enjoyment of ‘ruin porn’. (7) However, there’s a lot more going on here and the politics at work are further highlighted by their relationship to Robertson’s imagery on the floor above. The ideas of the ‘hardworking settler’ and ‘kiwi ingenuity’ are pretty core to the version of New Zealand’s narrative that exalts the hardiness of the coloniser and overlooks the disastrous effects of colonialism. Corson-Scott’s imagery highlights some of the complexities of this narrative. The ruins depicted are monuments to the kind of labour that has shaped this country for less than two centuries: the back-breaking, lung-compromising hard work that was required to transform land into economic resource. It took a lot of work to destroy these environments, often carried about by labourers who lacked the finances and social mobility to do anything else. The fact these sites stand in varying states of disrepair doesn’t signal a return to nature or undoing of error, but rather job losses, the death of small towns, and continuing after-effects felt by the regions and mana whenua. The afterlives of these industries also require that we consider the ongoing environmental effects of currently booming sectors, such as digital infrastructure reliant on massive amounts of energy and the mining of precious resources like cobalt. (8)

Chris Corson Scott, *Winter Morning, Remains of the Coal Barge SS Lawrence, Mokihinui*, 2016

It’s interesting comparing Corson-Scott and Robertson’s work. Corson-Scott’s imagery is seductive; he has mastered his tools–light foremost among them–and creates photographs capable of provoking a sense of sublime. Robertson is also highly skilled, but leans away from visual gratification, presenting photographic documents in conjunction with intelligent, lyrical texts. Corson-Scott’s focus on industry in some ways provides insight into the causes of the Waiapu disaster Robertson documents: the colonist’s drive to profit from the land. The problems Corson-Scott grapples with–at once a decline in jobs and the environmental destruction that outlives the industries that once provided them–have no answer within his work. Tātara E Maru Ana, on the other hand, exists because of a sense of hope, undertaken to mark progress towards a better future. Both bodies of work are powerful in different ways and bringing them together highlights these strengths and the different worldviews behind them.

On the final floor we encounter another facet of colonisation through Hinemihi: Te Hokinga–The Return: that which takes taonga far from home, presenting them as souvenirs. Hinemihi o Te Ao Tawhito (9) is a whare whakairo (10) commissioned by Tūhourangi chief Āporo te Wharekāniwha and carved in 1881 by Wero Tāroi and Tene Waitere (both Ngāti Tarāwhai) to stand at Te Wairoa village, near the pink and white terraces. When Maunga Tarawera erupted in 1886, destroying the terraces, Hinemihi provided shelter to many, including Waitere and his family. Not long after, Hinemihi was taken from these shores by Governor-General Onslow, and has stood ever since in the grounds of Clandon House, a Palladian mansion in Sussex, England. Jim Schuster, Tene Waitere’s great-great-grandson, and others invested in Hinemihi’s wellbeing and connection to her mokopuna (11) have worked tirelessly caring for her and petitioning for repatriation, a return that is now underway.

Entering the exhibition, a wall of historical photographs of Hinemihi at Te Wairoa, other whare whakairo, and the terraces give an introduction to the work, providing a crucial image of Hinemihi upon her own land and positioning Mark Adams’ imagery within an often problematic tradition of non-Māori photographing Māori. (12) They also provide a tourist’s view of the area, a view crucial to the development of the picturesque as a concept. Beyond these images, we encounter carvings by Tāroi and Waitere alongside Adams’ photographs of Hinemihi at Clandon House, before the mansion was severely damaged by fire in 2015, and the empty site at Te Wairoa where she once stood. The idea of the picturesque has not only informed landscape painting and photography, but also the landscapes themselves, motivating landscape architects to include ‘follies and grottos’ in their garden designs. (13). It was for this purpose Hinemihi was brought to Clandon Park. (14) The picturesque not only aestheticises the land but also depoliticises it, stripping away context to depict visual and social harmony.(15) Adams’ photographs, the archival imagery, and carvings by Waitere and Tāroi brought together by curator Hamish Coney, work against the picturesque, re-politicising the image of Hinemihi within the English garden. (16) Here again we see the interplay of landscape and colonisation, this time as an absence at the site where Hinemihi once stood, and in the juxtaposition of the whare whakairo next to the towering mansion and manicured garden of Clandon Park. Adams is a highly respected photographer with an impressive CV, he uses his skills and the platform he has built to put Hinemihi centre stage.

These are three rich and nuanced bodies of work that explore facets of this land and how we inhabit it. This is a uniquely New Zealand exhibition of landscapes and in many ways provides insights into our violent histories and the issues we face moving forward as settler and indigenous peoples in a land and culture that continues to suffer from colonisation.

Ish Doney is an art writer, poet, and theorist working as an Imaging Technician in the culture and heritage sector.

Footnotes

(1) Natalie Robertson, A Red-Tipped Dawn – Pōhautea at Waiapu Ngutu Awa (7th August 2020), 2020 and Tera te haeata e takiri ana mai! Behold the first light of dawn! (Waiapu Ngutu Awa, triptych, 7th August 2020), 2020.

(2) See Natalie Robertson’s text from the exhibition catalogue for this show, and also an earlier version of the text: https://cdr.aut.ac.nz/title-unknown/

(3) You can read more about the disaster and recovery plan from Te Runanganui o Ngāti Porou https://ngatiporou.com/article/te-mana-o-te-wai-waiapu-freshwater-catchment-plan and the Ministry of Primary Industries https://www.mpi.govt.nz/funding-rural-support/environment-and-natural-resources/restoring-the-waiapu-catchment/

(4) See Natalie Robertson’s text from the exhibition catalogue for this show. The same cannot be said for digital files which at best are untested and at worst are routinely made inaccessible by technological obsolescence.

(5) For more on this process, see Natalie Robertson’s ‘The Eye of the Film’ chapter in Hei Taonga Mā Ngā Uri Whakatipu; Treasures for the Rising Generation (2021, Te Papa Press).

(6) Given the breadth of the project, these are brought together under the title Landscape Photographs 2013-2018.

(7) ‘Ruin porn’ is a term used for photography of ruins where urban decay and dilapidated buildings are displayed for their aesthetic appeal with little consideration for context. Chris Holdaway has critiqued this term in relation to Corson-Scott’s work in Dreaming in the Anthropocene (2017, Compound Press) and Evanescent Monuments (2018, Compound Press).

(8) See Chris Holdaway’s writing (referenced above) on Corson-Scott for a thorough consideration of the work as it relates to capitalism and climate change.

(9) Hinemihi of the Old World.

(10) Carved house.

(11) Hinemihi o Te Ao Tawhito is a taonga with her own wairua (spirit) and whakapapa (genealogy), connected to that of sixteenth century chieftainess Hinemihi of the Rotorua region. As such, she has she/her pronouns and mokopuna (descendants). See Hinemihi: Te Hokinga – The Return (2020, Rim Books), in particular the texts by Dr Keri-Anne Wikitera for more information. There is a gorgeous parallel here with Natalie Robertson’s work, as hidden behind the Te Puna o Te Ao Huinga and kahikatea trees, Tikapa-a-Hinekōpeka I-III triptych on the first floor of Tēnei Ao Tūroa is a text titled My Eyes Are Paua Shells written from the perspective of Rākairoa, a Ngāti Porou Tīpuna (ancestor) and whakairo (carving). This text is incredibly moving and, upon meeting Hinemihi, one has to wonder how she would articulate what her own paua eyes (once gold sovereigns) have seen.

(12) Damian Skinner discusses how Mark Adams positions himself in these exchanges, seeing himself as the photographer, and by extension Pākehā in general, as the exotic other and the indigenous subject as ordinary. See Skinner’s 2017 article for Garland Magazine https://garlandmag.com/article/taonga-and-photography/

(13) See J.A.P. Alexander, Perspectives on Place; Theory and Practice in Landscape Photography (2015, Bloomsbury Publishing).

(14) See Dean Sully and Alan Gallop’s chapter ‘Introducing Hinemihi’ in Decolonising Conversation; Caring for Maori [sic] Meeting Houses Outside New Zealand[ITALICS] (2007, Left Coast Press).

(15) J.A.P. Alexander.

(16) The work of this exhibition and accompanying publication are part of the larger movement to care for and partition the repatriation of Hinemihi. This is communal work undertaken by many over a long period of time.

This review was made possible by a grant from the Wallace Foundation