Ocean harnesses collective power of Pacific artists: Sinead Overbye reviews Red Wave, Blue Wave

Epeli Hau’ofa was one of the Pacific’s most revered academics, writers, poets, activists and philosophers. He is well known for writing the seminal text ‘Our Sea of Islands’ which was published in 1993.

In this text, Hau’ofa proposes that we look at the Pacific as not a set of small distinct island nations, but rather a huge region where the sea is as important a site as the islands themselves.

Hau’ofa writes: “There is a world of difference between viewing the Pacific as ‘islands in a far sea’ and as ‘a sea of islands’. The first emphasises dry surfaces in a vast ocean far from the centres of power … The second is a more holistic perspective in which things are seen in the totality of their relationships.”

Through this lens, the sea is acknowledged as an entity that connects, rather than divides, Pacific nations, and as such it is recognised as being a vitally important carrier of stories, whakapapa and sustenance.

The Red Wave Collective emerged in the late 1990s, creating art that aligned with Hau’ofa’s view of the Pacific as a ‘sea of islands’. This collective emphasised diversity and interconnectedness and pushed back against colonial views of the Pacific.

Red Wave, Blue Wave at Pātaka Art + Museum is the first time that the Red Wave Collective has exhibited in Aotearoa. This exhibition also brings together artists from the subsequent Blue Wave Collective established in 2022 by Larry Thomas, who helped curate this exhibition and teaches at the Oceania Centre of the University of the South Pacific (USP).

At Pātaka, the doors leading into the space are tinted half red and half blue. Stepping through the doors is somewhat like diving into the ocean, breaking its surface. The exhibition sits in its own special world. A soundscape by Calvin Rore adds to the atmosphere of the space.

A small sculpture from Ben Fong called Boso (1998) sits towards the entrance of the exhibition. This is Fong’s impression of Hau’ofa when they first met in 1997. This mihi to Hau’ofa seems an appropriate opening piece for the exhibition, especially considering that it was Hau’ofa who started the Oceania Centre at USP.

A table at the entrance is adorned with a bright work that reads ‘Fossil fuel free Pacific’, introducing that a huge focus of this show will be on the ocean, and the importance of protecting the Pacific from the devastating impacts of climate change.

In the work Na i Qoliqoli, Na i Vurevure – Sea of Life (2024) by Ledua Peni Tuicake, the vivid blues and bold linework captivate me. This painting depicts a human figure within the realm of the ocean – fish float around them, turtles swim beneath them, as the person journeys onward. The artist emphasises the crucial importance of the ocean as a source of life. The ocean surrounds the figure – they aren’t dominant over it, but are rather at one with it. As Tuicake writes, “We are connected to the sea and the sea is connected to us … The sea is our kin.”

This idea of kinship resonates throughout the entire exhibition. Sasiku’ae My Brother (2022) by Fred Butafa is a monochrome work that presents fragmented parts of fish, bird nets, human faces and distinctive shapes. The shark also proliferates in this work. Butafa writes that the shark is revered, a protector, guardian, prophesier and also ‘brother’, again highlighting kinship relationships between the artists and elements of the natural world.

Being so closely connected to nature means that the impacts of climate change and pollution on the wellbeing of Pacific peoples is considerable. This is alluded to in Josaia Waqabaca McNamara’s Facemask series – depicting masks riddled with newspaper clippings, drawings and scribbled words.

These masks are meant to symbolise the pollution of our minds that has manifested into the present global crises. McNamara uses the metaphor of the mask to assert that we are living behind masks, and under illusions about the realities of climate change.

Tagi (Cry) (2024) by Suzanne Turaganiwai depicts a tree of traditional knowledge from which tears are falling. The painting is dominated by blue colouring, as if it has been drenched in water. Below, people gather rubbish in their fishing nets instead of food. This represents the tears of Oceania people who are affected by marine pollution and climate change.

I’m reminded of how the ocean – an entity to be respected and revered, a series of highways that our Pacific and Māori ancestors voyaged on – is also in constant danger from human extraction and pollution.

Teresia Teaiwa, an i-Kiribati and African American poet, once asserted, ‘We sweat and cry saltwater, so we know that the ocean is really in our blood.’ These words are displayed on the walls of the exhibition, and reassert Pacific peoples’ deep connections to the natural world. They are indeed apt words to accompany this exhibition