Comments on: Remembering Ralph Hotere http://www.listener.co.nz/culture/art/remembering-ralph-hotere/ Political, Cultural and Literary life of New Zealand Tue, 21 May 2013 17:45:49 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.4.1 By: TuiAllen http://www.listener.co.nz/culture/art/remembering-ralph-hotere/comment-page-1/#comment-1399 TuiAllen Thu, 11 Apr 2013 01:44:03 +0000 http://www.listener.co.nz/?p=89581#comment-1399 Writing my latest story, I find that Hotere is a character in it. He came into the story almost of his own volition it seemed. His name was only vaguely familiar to me while he was alive so I knew little about him. I'm ashamed to admit this. Once I sensed his presence in my story I Googled him of course and found he had just so recently died. (I'm obviously famous for ignoring current events.) Of course now that he is in my story, I need to get to know him well. The accounts above are of tremendous interest to me and very useful. They should be archived forever - I'm sure the Listener will see to this. As is the wonderful 1974 Sam Pillsbury documentary which allows me to look deep into Ralph's intense eyes while he is working. It is also a treasure for being a fascinating snapshot and a cunning perception of an era. I just love the juxtaposition of the chess game at the end and some details within that are priceless. Also how the stuffed shirts of the time, so frequently mis-pronounce Ralph's surname and how well Ralph himself wears the fashions of the era compared to how others do. Also to see Bill Manhire as a young fresh-faced baby - so beautiful! I believe this documentary is a national treasure. Imagine if such a documentary had been made of Vincent Van Gogh or Rembrandt or any of those artists from the past. How students would watch it over and over again as I am now watching the Pillsbury one of Ralph. It brings Hotere alive to me and to future generations indefinitely. I live in the wilds of the Waikato. Tonight I am going to a concert at the Founder's Theatre to watch my cousin play her French Horn, but I intend to arrive an hour early, hoping for some alone time with the mural beforehand. I've also just booked flights to Wellington on the 2nd May to visit Ralph's work in the museum there, specially his Black Painting XV, which is closest to the Hotere painting which is haunting my story. I'm also hoping to see the Black Phoenix, which I think is there too. Please don't tell me its not there any more. After reading all the above and watching the video several times, I felt I knew this man I had never met, well enough to write a fictional scene from his childhood. I wrote it yesterday and it shows Ralph as a little boy in primary school, having two artistic experiences in one day, which between them lay down some attitudes towards his own art that he carried throughout his life. This scene may never make it into my story but it was very important for me to write it all the same. Thanks to everyone above for helping to make this possible for me.<span class="safe-comments-report-link">Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().</span> Writing my latest story, I find that Hotere is a character in it. He came into the story almost of his own volition it seemed. His name was only vaguely familiar to me while he was alive so I knew little about him. I’m ashamed to admit this. Once I sensed his presence in my story I Googled him of course and found he had just so recently died. (I’m obviously famous for ignoring current events.)

Of course now that he is in my story, I need to get to know him well. The accounts above are of tremendous interest to me and very useful. They should be archived forever – I’m sure the Listener will see to this.

As is the wonderful 1974 Sam Pillsbury documentary which allows me to look deep into Ralph’s intense eyes while he is working. It is also a treasure for being a fascinating snapshot and a cunning perception of an era. I just love the juxtaposition of the chess game at the end and some details within that are priceless. Also how the stuffed shirts of the time, so frequently mis-pronounce Ralph’s surname and how well Ralph himself wears the fashions of the era compared to how others do. Also to see Bill Manhire as a young fresh-faced baby – so beautiful!

I believe this documentary is a national treasure. Imagine if such a documentary had been made of Vincent Van Gogh or Rembrandt or any of those artists from the past. How students would watch it over and over again as I am now watching the Pillsbury one of Ralph. It brings Hotere alive to me and to future generations indefinitely.

I live in the wilds of the Waikato. Tonight I am going to a concert at the Founder’s Theatre to watch my cousin play her French Horn, but I intend to arrive an hour early, hoping for some alone time with the mural beforehand.

I’ve also just booked flights to Wellington on the 2nd May to visit Ralph’s work in the museum there, specially his Black Painting XV, which is closest to the Hotere painting which is haunting my story. I’m also hoping to see the Black Phoenix, which I think is there too. Please don’t tell me its not there any more.
After reading all the above and watching the video several times, I felt I knew this man I had never met, well enough to write a fictional scene from his childhood. I wrote it yesterday and it shows Ralph as a little boy in primary school, having two artistic experiences in one day, which between them lay down some attitudes towards his own art that he carried throughout his life. This scene may never make it into my story but it was very important for me to write it all the same.
Thanks to everyone above for helping to make this possible for me.Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().

Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().]]> By: Guy Somerset http://www.listener.co.nz/culture/art/remembering-ralph-hotere/comment-page-1/#comment-1333 Guy Somerset Wed, 06 Mar 2013 22:47:51 +0000 http://www.listener.co.nz/?p=89581#comment-1333 We received this from Hilari Anderson: It is heart-warming to read the stories of others who have been enriched by contact with the work of Ralph Hotere. Thanks for the memory, Sam Neill. However, your recall of that day in December 1984 appears skewed. Ralph was in a motel in Hamilton when he watched on TV the Careys Bay shipyard on fire. He rang a mate to get him to salvage what he could, but by the time Ralph got back the shipping yard had already dumped most of the Poitrel and the planks that had been stacked alongside. Ralph already had a damaged knee from a golf game then he strained his back trying to retrieve a truck load of charred wood. That is why he needed help with the job. This is where ‘we’ stepped in that first day. Ralph gave instructions to measure 6 feet then 30 inches repeatedly. However, no Sam Neill brother showed up; I would have noticed. I did take a roll of photos to record the start of the project. However, Sam demanded all visual evidence, even the negatives, be ‘handed in’, although the camera had focused on the work rather than on an unbuttoned shirt. I obediently complied. For the next two days, I worked alone to reveal the grain of the scars, using power tools, sandpapers, oils. After the 52 rakau, there was the deck of the prow to work on. Then Ralph’s mate, Cornelius, helped transport the transformed Poitrel along the curvy Port Chalmers road and the army was called in to hoist the prow into the old Dunedin Art Gallery. Once Black Phoenix was installed in the gallery, Ralph added his brilliant signature with a blow-torch, fluently inscribing the proverb: Ka hinga atu he tetekura, ara mai he tetekura. Ralph also wrote the names of those who contributed to the project on the back of favourite rakau. Your name is there, Sam, but not your brother’s. Black Phoenix was later dismantled and weathered seasons at Ralph’s hill-top studio until his long-term friend and neighbour, Naomi Wilson, reworked the wood with aroha - into its present, glowing reincarnation. After its 1988 shipment to Shed 11 in Wellington for Three Installations with Para Matchitt and Selwyn Muru, Black Phoenix has boldly travelled to several ports before returning to the National Art Gallery. As for ’Pakeha idiots’? That’s not ‘us’. Ralph knew he did not have to be ‘present’ if he trusted intuitive hands-on help. He always touched base each day and showed appreciation for the collaborative steps made towards creating his inimitable vision of Black Phoenix.<span class="safe-comments-report-link">Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().</span> We received this from Hilari Anderson: It is heart-warming to read the stories of others who have been enriched by contact with the work of Ralph Hotere. Thanks for the memory, Sam Neill. However, your recall of that day in December 1984 appears skewed. Ralph was in a motel in Hamilton when he watched on TV the Careys Bay shipyard on fire. He rang a mate to get him to salvage what he could, but by the time Ralph got back the shipping yard had already dumped most of the Poitrel and the planks that had been stacked alongside. Ralph already had a damaged knee from a golf game then he strained his back trying to retrieve a truck load of charred wood. That is why he needed help with the job. This is where ‘we’ stepped in that first day. Ralph gave instructions to measure 6 feet then 30 inches repeatedly. However, no Sam Neill brother showed up; I would have noticed. I did take a roll of photos to record the start of the project. However, Sam demanded all visual evidence, even the negatives, be ‘handed in’, although the camera had focused on the work rather than on an unbuttoned shirt. I obediently complied. For the next two days, I worked alone to reveal the grain of the scars, using power tools, sandpapers, oils. After the 52 rakau, there was the deck of the prow to work on. Then Ralph’s mate, Cornelius, helped transport the transformed Poitrel along the curvy Port Chalmers road and the army was called in to hoist the prow into the old Dunedin Art Gallery. Once Black Phoenix was installed in the gallery, Ralph added his brilliant signature with a blow-torch, fluently inscribing the proverb: Ka hinga atu he tetekura, ara mai he tetekura. Ralph also wrote the names of those who contributed to the project on the back of favourite rakau. Your name is there, Sam, but not your brother’s. Black Phoenix was later dismantled and weathered seasons at Ralph’s hill-top studio until his long-term friend and neighbour, Naomi Wilson, reworked the wood with aroha – into its present, glowing reincarnation. After its 1988 shipment to Shed 11 in Wellington for Three Installations with Para Matchitt and Selwyn Muru, Black Phoenix has boldly travelled to several ports before returning to the National Art Gallery. As for ’Pakeha idiots’? That’s not ‘us’. Ralph knew he did not have to be ‘present’ if he trusted intuitive hands-on help. He always touched base each day and showed appreciation for the collaborative steps made towards creating his inimitable vision of Black Phoenix.Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().

Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().]]> By: MichaelSmythe http://www.listener.co.nz/culture/art/remembering-ralph-hotere/comment-page-1/#comment-1330 MichaelSmythe Sun, 03 Mar 2013 22:06:50 +0000 http://www.listener.co.nz/?p=89581#comment-1330 One of the many things that impressed me about Ralph Hotere was his mastery of materials. His black paint ranged from reflective to absorbing and he made white paint drip with wit. He elevated corrugated iron to a higher plane and planed paua to help us see it afresh. Number 8 wire came to life in his hands and his burnt timber redefined the artists’ relationship with charcoal. I once came across an exhibition of Dilana Rugs created by leading artists. One stood out. The wool was not dyed and there was no graphic image but its exploration of twist, texture and pile delivered an enormously enriching appreciation of a common material. It was Hotere making me re-think wool in the way that his early exhibited work had made me rethink the qualities of black paint. I give thanks for the many ways in which he has deepened my experience of being a New Zealander and a human being,<span class="safe-comments-report-link">Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().</span> One of the many things that impressed me about Ralph Hotere was his mastery of materials. His black paint ranged from reflective to absorbing and he made white paint drip with wit. He elevated corrugated iron to a higher plane and planed paua to help us see it afresh. Number 8 wire came to life in his hands and his burnt timber redefined the artists’ relationship with charcoal.

I once came across an exhibition of Dilana Rugs created by leading artists. One stood out. The wool was not dyed and there was no graphic image but its exploration of twist, texture and pile delivered an enormously enriching appreciation of a common material. It was Hotere making me re-think wool in the way that his early exhibited work had made me rethink the qualities of black paint. I give thanks for the many ways in which he has deepened my experience of being a New Zealander and a human being,Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().

Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().]]> By: Kapiti http://www.listener.co.nz/culture/art/remembering-ralph-hotere/comment-page-1/#comment-1327 Kapiti Tue, 26 Feb 2013 00:28:13 +0000 http://www.listener.co.nz/?p=89581#comment-1327 I only met him briefly, while I was working at the Dowse Art Musuem. Lovely lovely chap, and probably the benchmark for working artists. Some of his paintings needed a bit of fixing up as they had been knocked about over the twenty years since he had painted them. And so I would go and chat with him when I popped into the storeroom. I'll never forget him saying to me that he hated doing it. "I feel like a bloody forger", he said. And that's how I knew he was anything but.<span class="safe-comments-report-link">Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().</span> I only met him briefly, while I was working at the Dowse Art Musuem. Lovely lovely chap, and probably the benchmark for working artists. Some of his paintings needed a bit of fixing up as they had been knocked about over the twenty years since he had painted them. And so I would go and chat with him when I popped into the storeroom. I’ll never forget him saying to me that he hated doing it. “I feel like a bloody forger”, he said. And that’s how I knew he was anything but.Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().

Wrong usage of print_flagging_link().]]>