Sculpture walk enhanced by sound
Wellington winter days are often some of our best. Still days that slant lilac and rust light across the sky with crispness hovering in the air. If we get pushed outside, we need to keep moving to stay warm.
It’s this that led me to the Sculpture In Sound experience by Sonicity (created by some of the same cool team that bring us the Verb writers’ festival). You download an app then walk to the locations of public sculptures and listen. I hadn’t anticipated that the soundscape would move with me: As the horizontal sunlight faded into shadow, the voices slurred into wind or birdsong.
I started up in the Botanic Garden (Paeka¯ ka¯ ) with Henry Moore’s Bronze Form. I have walked past it countless times but, considered beside the stark brownedleaved oaks and thriving bronze-barked ma¯ nuka, the view of this piece is especially interesting. As I neared, the sound design by Matthew Lambourn with vocals and gamelan by Budi Putra smoothly matched the metallic sheen of the sculpture with the resounding hum of metallic gongs. I felt transported momentarily to the warmth of Java and its viscous heat.
To maintain the warmth, wander down to the Begonia House to see a temporary sculpture E¯ rthe, created for the Lo¯ emis festival by Luke Scott, with Leda Farrow, out of discarded materials. Here you can write wishes on notes that will go up in flames on winter solstice.
I walked down past Parliament and saw the immense stone sculptures Kaiwhakatere by Brett Graham (Nga¯ ti Koroki Kahukura, Tainui) based on the tools of navigation. The bird as a guide of the navigator, the waka a symbol of a hopeful new beginning, and the tu¯ a¯ hu, built on arrival in a new land speaking of promises and challenges. I know this is part of the Wellington Sculpture Trust’s walk, so I was surprised it was bypassed for this sound experience.
On Lambton Quay stands a huge metal sculpture of Katherine Mansfield by Virginia King. The metal work is fierce, her words stamped into her dress. In my ears female actors intonate Mansfield’s words. My favourite part is when they say, with different inflection and emphasis over and over: ‘‘This is not a letter but my arms
around you for a brief moment.’’ This offers the softness that a metallic woman needs.
From here I head to Michel Tuffery’s Nga¯ Kina at the mouth of Kumutoto awa. The sounds are very immersive: We hear an anchor being pulled, the call of seabirds and crashing waves. The feeling of this soundscape is mournful, appropriate for a piped stream and a harbour that was once
teeming with healthy kina and pipi. Then it’s a brisk stroll along the waterfront to Albatross by Tanya Ashken. This sculpture has always represented for me the freedom to suggest form and I have always loved the pathway around it as it feels like it’s asking us to arch and curve like the sculpture. The audio experience here is Antarctic by science writer Rebecca Priestley: Crashing
ice, flapping flags, penguin calls and a story of life there. It works well, though misses an opportunity to lean into albatrosses and the significance of them for our mana whenua.The feathers show the peace and determination of the Parihaka prisoners in O¯ ta¯ kou where the albatross colony is and the birds were a sign of hope and endurance.
As I walked on I noticed we veered away from the story of Ngake and Wha¯ taitai, embedded in the City To Sea Bridge created by Paratene Matchitt (Te Wha¯ naua¯ -Apanui, Te Whakato¯ hea and Nga¯ ti Porou). I also passed the statue of Kupe, Hine-te-aparangi (also known as Kuramarotini) and Pekahourangi, the tohunga.
This statue was sculpted by Pa¯ keha¯ sculptor William Trethewey in 1939, which is hugely problematic in itself. I recommend going to the Whare Waka for an excellent tour telling this and many stories of the history of our city.
Around past Te Papa, Max Patte´ ’s bronze man Solace in the Wind is accompanied by whipping wind buffeting into our aural experience with beautiful poetry written by James Brown and Patte´ . This sculpture is prone to a lot of selfies as the keening form presents a story waiting to be told; it was apt to hear one.
The last sculpture on the walk is Queen Victoria by Alfred Drury between Cambridge and Kent terraces. I was nonplussed by its inclusion but as I neared it, I heard the amazing Tamatha Paul speaking about the importance of addressing our past, then my cousin Ruby Solly’s taonga puoro starts and her voice is calling the stories of our tı¯puna to life.
I want to hear my favourite Ma¯ ori artists speak about the art that excites us not just responding to the injustices, but it seems, exhaustingly, we still need to. ‘‘You said the women wouldn’t mark their faces under you,’’ says Ruby ‘‘but here we are.’’
The feathers show the peace and determination of the Parihaka prisoners.