Letter such as this come in a solid stream too of course so they have the potential to be a prob.
Still, in this case I am going to respond to this letter in detail, not sure why, just seem to be in the mood that’s all and at least the spelling is perfect and it’s polite and I can use it as an exemplar. So, if I can think of any useful angles on any of the questions I’ll post them.
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Your sincerely
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Often people who I have just met, meaning well, of course, ask me this question. There is usually a second or so pause on my behalf, and probably, a slightly stricken look on my face making the enquirer fire out a couple of quick prompts as if in a play, landscape? people? for example.
I always wish that I could give them a simple answer, to help us both bridge the divide that exists at that point. Coal Miners of the West Coast would be a good one. Lighthouses of New Zealand is another. Samoan Fa’afafine is also one that I would put in there, because these third gender Samoan, hold some genuine photographic interest for me. I want to go to Samoa soon.
It’s an opportunity; if I could speak Dalai Lama responses we would both be able to make progress towards our understanding of each other.
The photograph of the roots is to provide an example of how, if I was to describe literally what I photograph, might not be too helpful. In this case,‘I photograph tree roots’ does not illuminate too much. The real subject is behind this.
In this case the photo came about as a result of me babysitting my grand daughter in Auckland a few days ago. Rita, for that is her name, had a fever.
Here is another view of the river that was right below the Taheke Hotel where I lived.
Fights usually took place out on the grass in front of the hotel. The fights I remember were the ones involving my father. He would take out his top denture, put it on a shelf behind the bar for safe keeping, and then step outside to take part in a fist fight. I never saw him show fear and I never saw him defeated. He had fast hands and knew how to deliver a punch. It’s a complex science, involving balance, speed and timing.
I don’t know how often but he ran a boxing gym for local Maori. The gym was in the building
in the top left of this photo. Sadly, it has now gone.
My brother is on the left of the horse, hanging out with a friend. What the horse is thinking I’m not sure.
The gravel road just behind the horse is not someone’s driveway but the main road north. At this time Taheke was about 5 and a half hours north of Auckland, now it is 3 and a half.
I was always impressed by the gym and was encouraged to learn about boxing. I believe that even the limited experience I had of it taught me something. In boxing there is an emphasis on stoicism, even if you’re on the ropes and someone is thumping your head with their fists and you have a funny metallic taste in your mouth you have to keep thinking or else you’re toast. You have to hang in there waiting for the opportunity to strike back. Even though this sort of stoicism is not talked about much now, increasingly I feel that there’s something to be said for the quality.
Standing outside the Taheke Hotel, here I am with my mother, my father’s father, and my sister. I’m the slightly disturbed looking one in the front, the short one.
Pater, as I had to call my grandfather, was someone I saw on very few occasions in my life. I only have a couple of images of him in my mind. He died not very many years after this photo was taken, in Gisborne, at the age of 88.
I have impressions though. He was dressed in a fashion I was not exposed to much. I don’t remember him in anything else except a three piece suit. I remember how he was different, he was English, having emigrated here as a young man.
He was very strict and formal. Even the name, Pater, was formal. Strangest of all perhaps was that he liked to write poetry. Believe me, to meet a man who was proud of writing poetry was something of a mind bender for someone liked me who was being schooled in the cultural mores of the time. How a proper male should behave was clearly proscribed and strictly enforced. Homosexuals went to gaol.
Something else about him impressed me. He had an air of being somewhat educated. Apart from the priests, teachers, doctors, I didn’t know anyone like this. If fact I have no idea what his education was like, or if his poetry was worthy, none is extant.
Somehow he influenced me though. I’m not sure how, perhaps he opened a window on a different world.
This is my brother Bryan. It appears that our family mainly used horses as furniture but I assure you this wasn’t the case.
This photo has some clues in it. The concrete bridge in the background spans the Taheke River, like an invading army it allowed roads to take over from the centuries old river transport that had prevailed.
On the other side of the river was Waima, a Maori community, you can see two or three houses in the photo. Beyond the right of this photo was their marae, and I don’t know whether it was my imagination or not but I remember a couple of occasions when there was a tangi and I could hear women wailing, their voices carrying across the valley and the river.
Two of the Maori surnames that I remember from Waima were Panaho and Pehi. Here are 4 locals on a horse, a horse that still feels like eating fortunately. The river is in the background. Notice the mud on its legs.
I meant to tell you that sometimes I would see large mullet in the river, swimming over the shingly bottom.
The river was clear. Black fresh water mussels stuck out of the shingly bottom. Mysterious to me was being told that some Maori women at the time of giving birth would squat into ankle deep water and utilise the cleansing waters of the current. I hope that this is true because it’s an attractive idea.
Yet it had been for all human settlers, for centuries, a major highway. Roads, including bridges changed it’s significance within a few decades. The town of Taheke all but died. There was a two room school, a shop, the pub, a few private houses. There was however, in the surrounding hinterland a large population of Maori.
Here are four of them, they’ve been to my parent’s pub and are heading home, carrying on board a keg of beer. (Click on photo to enlarge).
The waka in this photo has been preserved now, on display in one of the Hokianga towns, Opononi, or Rawene I think it is. I’ve only recently found out about this and I’m overdue for a Hokianga trip so I haven’t seen it with my own eyes but I believe it to be true.
The character on the left is enjoying those wonderful slender willow tendrils. I still want to photograph them, especially trailing in the water when it is in flood. I’ve pursued the same look in seaweed, the way the swell moves it around and the leaves constantly rearrange themselves into positions that you just know will be mathematically perfect every time. It’s the sort of thing that gives me a thrill.
There was an abundance of whitebait in the river, 4 gallon tins with number 8 wire handles, filled to maximum. As the whitebait season is just opening now I thought that I would include a whitebait photograph that I took a couple of years ago. I went whitebaiting with a friend in Southland and when I saw these in the bottom of a bucket with the sun shining in, I put this picture together. I seem to like those triangles of light coming in from the side.
I liked a friend’s description “ the circle of life”.
