The winter intensifies. So does sickness. I'm not feeling great, nor is Kahu but he gets worse. By the middle of the week he's got intense throat pain. And his tonsils have got white stuff covering them. It's gross. He has a phone consultation with the doctor and I pick up prescription penicillin. It's a high dose and he's got hope in his heart when he takes it. He negotiates extensions for his uni assessments.... extensions of the extensions. It's stressful.
Meanwhile I have another go at choosing curtain fabric- the samples to take home anyway. Sharyn and I go to the Ralph Hotere exhibition, Ātete, To Resist, at the Art Gallery. It blows me away. An artist I didn't know much about but whose name I have heard many times. Hotere was political and so involved with issues which defined us as a nation...Bastion Point, The Springbok tour, nuclear testing in the Pacific, the nuclear free movement, Aramoana with no smelter. Ralph has earned a place in our history as the archetypal activist, rebel, visual protester for the arguments that mattered. He stood up and was counted, his art a magnificent monument down the years.
It rains and rains and rains. At last the heavens water our thirsty earth. I drive to Little Hagley and gather leaves for my depleted compost bin under the aegis of Kai Tahu tipuna, those who were promised land to stay on when they came to Otautahi to trade. I feel sad for them and whakamā, shame, on behalf of my ancestors. The billboard archival photo of them is a reminder of Māori dispossession during colonisation. No monetary compensation could right the grief or restore the mana of these disenfranchised generations. This afternoon I sense they are a benevolent force and I trust I am honouring their memory by gathering resources from what feels like their whenua, land, to me.
English colleague, Kendra's dad, has an exhibition called Cluster. An awesome take on Covid which already seems like a dream. Only here. Why were we so lucky?
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