How do we nourish our artistic practice and each other?

M: I like sending you art links, forwarding articles & emails that I think you’ll wanna look at during the day, mostly cute animal clips, though. Doing the jobs you don’t like (cooking the rice). You make me zines at work from little bits and pieces from around the staff room, which I adore. You also bring me home design books & recipe books.

L: Eating lots of good food. Spending time together not making art. Sending each other millions of art, activism and cat videos.

What are the pros and cons of collaborating with your partner?

L: One pro of collaborating with your partner is you always know where she is. Ha! We each bring our strengths and experiences to the kōrero. We are each other’s cheerleaders. This is particularly important when energy wanes and deadlines loom. One con of collaborating with your partner is she always knows where you are. Ha!

M: It’s happily unpredictable. We jump to different stages in the creative process and work from the edges inwards. We have to negotiate each other’s point of view & differing visual languages. Working through fights/disagreements is important, too (things have got heated over choosing a shade of green before :/). So is saying goodbye to ideas that don’t fit both of us.

Creating art as resistance, cultural preservation, and as a living practice flowing from memory appears central to your collaborative practices. Is this intentional or accidental?

M: Making art together, the heart of it has to be something we both have shared experience with. If we’re not on the same page, it’s not meant for a collaboration. 

L: I don’t think we could make any other kind of work. I worked and volunteered as a human-rights advocate for over a decade in Fiji. I am also a member of The Veiqia Project, a Fijian female collective of artists, curators, writers and a tattooist who are inspired by the traditional Fijian female tattoo practice called veiqia. This feminist collective kaupapa easily transferred to my collaborative art practice with Molly.

What role do you see yourselves playing in connecting Tangata Whenua and Tangata Tiriti living in Te Moana-nui-a-Kiwa?

M: You did me, & I think Tangata Whenua, proud at your ceremony, replacing the kupu in your oath to reflect your stance as Tangata Tiriti. ~Swoon! We teach each other in small ways every day — we’re currently trying to get my Fijian language a bit more substantial than it is by swapping words. The times I’ve felt the most ~ihi have been when standing up for people when they’re not in the room. I’d love for our work to also do that.

L: We bring our lived experience as queer Indigenous artists to the talanoa. How could it not be influenced by this connection? We are activists and artists in equal measure. We have colonial histories that we are collectively responding to in real time. We could have a Fijian Māori pēpi. Or make more art pēpi together, to build an archive for sharing and continue the talanoa with our communities.

We often use plastic. Defend your choice NOW! How do you navigate the material choices you make ______^^?

L: We made a conscious decision to use easily accessible materials and objects sourced from our Ōtāhuhu $2 shops. I’m not sure we were considering selling our work, so we weren’t too concerned about ensuring that the material was of archival standard. The decision also allowed us to marry traditional methods and contemporary materials.

M: I like plastic; thinking about it being good or bad for the environment happened later. Poor honu/vonu :( (turtle). In terms of navigating material choices, I often reuse components taken from old artworks to make new ones. I only collect things that I’m happy to keep. I keep art materials on display in our space until it’s time to make: I have a stash of plastic flowers in our room, and a collection of giant cardboard that’s waiting on its time.

If you were attending an inclusive art school, what would you want for yourself and the other students/teachers _______^^

M: Hearty Moana-nui-a-Kiwa art history classes please! A diverse range of teachers who have enough time after work-life to make their own art. Options for short courses. Make learning accessible! Free co-op art supplies & a miscellaneous resource-sharing table. A pātaka with a small glass-door fridge. Ping-pong table. Trees.

L: Te Tiriti o Waitangi would be central in school policies and curriculum. More Māori and Pacific art history courses. A diverse cultural faculty that brings their insights and practices to the course. A smorgasbord of practising-artist guests to share their experience and practices. A dedicated gallery and community creative-spaces programme.

What are some ways you can preserve your creative practice w-o relying on museums or selling work?

M: If someone really likes an artwork you’ve made, and you can manage it financially, consider gifting that work to them. <3 When someone genuinely loves something you’ve made, they will look after it. Close friends have gifted us weaving & smaller pieces that make my heart happy every day. 

L: I’ve been an advocate of my late mentor Dr Teresia Teaiwa’s call to build your own archive and share it. I’ve been fortunate to be invited to contribute to essays and symposiums, discussing my various collective experiences.

What duty do you hope to carry in your practice as a collaborator?

M: I’m still learning how to best honour the collaborative process … I ask lots of questions and help new ideas grow, but sometimes I’m too rough with the criticism. I think I carry my own ways of working to the collab, when it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m bad at taking breaks. I want to work on something until it is done. I gotta let the new idea breathe! 

L: I hope to be a good collaborator and partner. That our work provides a safe space to gather around and share talanoa. I’m not too interested in being a role model. I’m much more taken by the idea of being drawn on as one (or two) way(s) of being and creating.

Can vulnerabilities be strengths? How?

M: Being apart from my whānau in Australia is an old mosi (hurt). My nan moved much later than everyone else to Ahitereiria & my small whānau got smaller. Her love was unconditional. She was an artist, the first I ever knew. She would make everything she could get her hands on, always with a project or five on the go. She supported my making from the start. Lulu was much loved by her. Her love keeps me here. We have her artwork on our walls. 

L: Absolutely. Vulnerabilities are one way to acknowledge your limits and to set boundaries. This is a creative advantage — then you or others can step in to share strengths and keep building from there.

Share from your personal manifesto. 

M: Okay, so I don’t have a manifesto yet. (It’s on one of my many to-do lists.)

Maybe something like “BURN THE SCHOOL DOWN!” — The Dark Horse

L: Something my late dad always ended his telephone conversations with: “Cover your chest. Eat your vegetables.”