ROBIN SLOW
Storyteller through paint
Prolific Ma¯ ori artist Robin Slow is quiet and softly spoken. In his crammed studio in Ta¯ kaka, Golden Bay, rows and rows of paintings are stacked up against the walls, and there’s barely any space to move. There’s even more piled up in the garage, his wife Rose says.
The 73-year-old sits on a stool, curtains drawn, in front of a large canvas painted black, with paints, brushes and pencils meticulously organised in a tea trolley beside him.
It’s the beginning of a new artwork, which starts with a long piece of to¯ tara tree bark pasted into the centre, and covered in a shiny finish. Wispy silver pencil strokes surrounding it will soon become bold and intricate images painted to tell a story.
Seventeen years ago in high school, ‘‘Mr Slow’’ was my visual arts teacher.
I remember being furious as he taught at the front of the classroom, speaking in nearly a whisper. No amount of yelling ‘‘speak up!’’ would cause him to talk any louder.
It certainly kept the classroom quiet as we strained to listen. But what I do remember is that every snippet of information that came out of Mr Slow’s mouth was a quiet gem of wisdom, with a huge depth of artistic knowledge and passion.
‘‘I’m not very good at explaining things,’’ Slow says from his stool in the studio. ‘‘That’s why I paint.’’
The now-retired high school art teacher has become known nationally as one of our most prolific contemporary Ma¯ ori artists, completing thousands of works over his long and busy career.
Slow has done hundreds of sold-out solo and group exhibitions and, for more than 20 years, has worked with the wha¯ nau at Onetahua Marae, near Ta¯ kaka, producing murals, traditional instruments, weaving, ko¯ whaiwhai (motifs) and carving. He has also had the overall responsibility for the design and layout of the wharenui, Te Ao Marama.
He has also completed ko¯ whaiwhai, heke boards and artworks for significant locations and buildings around the region, including the Suter Gallery and Whakatu¯ building in Nelson, at To¯ taranui, Wainui, Te Waikoropupu¯ Springs, and in schools.
His works have travelled to many parts of the world in private and public collections, including to a museum in the Netherlands, after he produced an artwork for Queen Beatrix’s visit in 1992, and a large triptych in the company of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, who visited in 2018.
Slow has also completed illustrations for two Ministry of Education children’s books on the legends of taniwha Huriawa and Ngarara Huarau, of Golden Bay.
His art is steeped in rich Ma¯ ori symbology and mythology, interwoven with colonial narratives and the joining of two worlds, telling stories using intricate detail to depict places, objects and creatures from the natural environment; he’s a master completely devoted to his craft.
Slow says he’s deeply influenced by the area he’s ended up in; the people, histories and the natural resources and protection of them; everything that makes Mohua, Golden Bay.
He points to the gold leaf in one of his paintings, and then to a deep red-coloured paint. ‘‘The materials you use have a whakapapa of their own, and tell the story of the history; that’s why I used this gold leaf to symbolise the goldmining, when I painted about the area.
‘‘I also used the kokowai stone from the Parapara river there to make this paint, that’s the sacred red colour the ancestors used. There also used to a paint factory there once with that stone.’’
Learning to paint a tu¯ ı¯ feather is a story in itself, Slow says. He experimented with different media, finding that, if he used silver leaf and painted over the top with acrylic and then silica, it emulated the luminous sheen and changing colours of the bird with the changing light.
‘‘While I was experimenting, one day, the light hit [the painting], and it lifted this part forward and all the other colours went back. It was this play of light depending on the time the day,’’ he says. ‘‘Oh hell, I liked that. And so that begins telling a particular story, and visually another.’’
A collaboration with Brian Flintoff and Bob Bickerton resulted in the immersive and highly regarded exhibition Nga¯ Hau Nga¯ kau (Breath of Mine), which has made its way around the country over the past few years.
The exhibition features 32 of Slow’s paintings, kete and wha¯ riki; intricately carved taonga pu¯ oro by Flintoff, and music and soundscapes by Bickerton, made using traditional Ma¯ ori instruments, and featuring musicians Ariana Tikao, Holly Weir-Tikao and Solomon Rahui.
‘‘It’s been amazing. A little while ago we were looking at the pu¯ motomoto, a long flute instrument that the tohunga used to play and chant into the fontanelle of the unborn child,’’ he says. ‘‘The pu¯ motomoto used to be regarded as the doorway between the 11th and 12th heaven that the tu¯ ı¯ was the guardian of; that doorway took you to the highest of knowledge.’’
Like this exhibition, manu (birds) are always a huge feature of Slow’s art, being the original ta¯ ngata of our lands, he says.
The basis of any Ma¯ ori art is the interconnectedness of everything in life. ‘‘You can’t take anything in isolation, it’s a whole integration, you can’t pull out one thread. You give a kuia a piece of pounamu, but to them, it’s a living being; it’s seen as an art form, and they will weep over that.’’
Painting is the way Slow makes sense of the world. As he puts down images on canvas, stories and narratives appear, and their relationships with all things create meaning. ‘‘The narrative is not always clear and precise at the beginning, but as you go, you clarify things. That’s why my work has changed over time.’’
But there’s another deeply personal journey with Slow’s art. ‘‘My whakapapa is unknown, and it felt like I was always standing on the outside. So for me, it’s been about discovering this.’’
When Slow moved to Golden Bay in the early 80s, he says he found another wha¯ nau through the marae, as the local manawhenua came from ma¯ ta¯ waka, or many tribes.
A two-year teaching position at Golden Bay High School ended up lasting for 31 years until he retired in 2013 to focus on his art career. ‘‘I never plan anything. Everybody has these long-term goals and aims – me? No, no, no. It evolves, and what supported me actually is strange, but interwoven.’’
It all began at primary school in Wairau, Blenheim, where he was born, Slow says. ‘‘We would have these special days when an art teacher would come in. They had all their paints and everything out. We were so used to sitting in rows of chairs, but we moved all this and got right into it.’’
One of the visiting teachers told them a Ma¯ ori story about the beginning of carving. ‘‘Off we went and painted this whole story and I remember being so excited, taking it home and plastering it on the wall for ages. I had this very strong, powerful, inward response to that lesson.’’
It wasn’t until a year later that Slow realised the teacher was the renowned carver Cliff Whiting.
Slow later moved to Christchurch and worked as a commercial artist while completing a diploma of teaching with an art major. After time in that city, he, Rose and children Sandra and Tracey moved to Twizel. Slow taught new entrants there, before moving to secondary education. ‘‘Watching young children paint and create is magical’’, he says, and he’s constantly upset at the low quality and focus on art in primary schools now.
‘‘There’s a whole world with art they don’t touch on these days . . . what is stopping them having blocks of wood and nails and hammers and paint and [saying], ‘You create, and we will come into your world’, rather than saying ‘You come into my world and colour between the lines’.’’
Initially, incorporating Ma¯ ori art into the classroom at Golden Bay High faced resistance. ‘‘I was always trying to fit in some cultural aspects to deal with Ma¯ ori, kowhaiwhai and things like that. And I remember one board of governors [trustees] saying ‘what are you teaching that s… for?’ But I kept going, and kept going, and kept going.’’
I ask Slow how he managed to paint so much while teaching fulltime. ‘‘I just had to paint, it was part of my being. I had to get these stories down. I would be teaching by day and painting all night long, sometimes only having two or three hours sleep.
‘‘I can’t do that any more.’’
‘‘I just had to paint, it was part of my being. I had to get these stories down.’’