Where did it all start for me as an artist? This beautiful place in my painting was my childhood bath. This creek ran 100 metres downhill from the front door of the old, weathered, modest house I grew up in. 

My dad who had prior marriages and children had so much child support to pay that little money was left for his last family, my brothers and me. We had no bath in the house I grew up in. Couldn’t afford one. Didn’t want one. I wanted to be in this gift of the land where the water caressed my skin, where the world and my spirit felt clean. Always.

I grew up in the New Zealand countryside in a tiny town called Whakatiwai. We were poor - but I didn’t know it then. Because the abundance, health, and generosity of the land surrounded and flowed into me. We were poor only in terms of money. I felt so rich. When you’ve felt that sort of wealth nothing compares. No amount of money can buy it.

Despite there being no fine porcelain, no polished taps, no lavish tiles echoing the sounds of running water, no man-made beauty, this bath was far more beautiful than anything the world’s top architects or designers could create, far more stunning than anything money could buy. More alive than anything human-made.

This is where it all began for me. In Kaitiakitanga. In a living relationship with the Taiao, the natural world.  When I stepped into this creek with my bar of sunlight soap, felt the water swirling around my body, warming my skin as the sun slid low, as I watched the changing colours of the sky reflecting in the water, the evening light turning my bath to liquid gold, I felt the seamless layers of connection in everything around me. The rivers, ocean, mountains, forests, birds, animals surrounding me, even the stars. We were not separate. We were all whanau, family.

I felt it as a child. The sacredness. Everything being a part of me. I realise now these were my first lessons in Kaitiakitanga. Not from teachers or books. Not from university lectures or speeches. The Taiao, my creek, the whenua gave freely. In return I learned respect and gratitude. I learned to love. I was not separate from the Taiao but held within it. I learned devotion.

With love and devotion came a fierce protectiveness. An ancient knowing of what was right. No-one had to teach me Kaitiakitanga. The whenua taught me. In the most natural way. I believe God and the whenua inspired and directed the moral compass inside me from a very early age. I felt fiercely protective of and devoted to the environment I loved.

The world was a small place back then. This wild and generous creek was my domain. From my bedroom I could see the wild coastline my creek flowed into. The Firth of Thames flowing into the vast Pacific Ocean. We lived on top of a hill with magnificent 360 degree views. In the mornings I would watch the world awaken with dawn colours singing through the sky. At dusk I would watch the first stars bloom over the Hunua Ranges. We watched twisters roll over the ocean as thunder and lightning raged all around us. My mother was a storm watcher passionately in love with the forces, the tempestuous moods of nature.

I felt the cooling waters of this beautiful creek flow over my skin every day, the warmth of the sun as I lay on the rocks, the peace that followed. I never felt alone. I felt connected. Still do. My mind and body are extraordinarily sensitive to the whenua, the land I’m standing on, no matter which country of the world I’m in. The sensitivity and connection are always there. It’s like every environment I enter flows in and out of me. Converses with me. Wraps its arms around me. I feel its joy and love. Sometimes its sorrow and pain.

I had amazing parents.  We didn’t have much but we had wholesome food, clothes, and multitudes of pets to play with, and immense freedom to run wild. On hot days after school, I’d rush to my creek with joyful abandon, jump in unafraid, fully clothed laughing. Every morning at 7.30am after breakfast, I’d sprint barefoot through dew-damp grass and ferns, 100 metres downhill to bathe, then return uphill to dress for school then sprint to catch the school bus to Kaiaua Primary School. I repeated this routine every evening at 5.30pm before dinner and bed.

I loved this place. It spoke to me with colour and light. Inspired me to paint and write. Where I grew up is now called Waharau Regional Park, home to musical creeks and jeweled forests, the Ngahere. It’s a place of magical beauty. I am so grateful my parents raised me there.

In the Maori language the word for land is whenua – the same word for placenta. This is not poetry this is reality. Traditional Maori culture believed the land nourishes and sustains us the same way the placenta nourishes the foetus. Kaitiakitanga means guardianship. Kaitiaki means to guard. We are stewards, guardians of the whenua, the placenta, the land that nurtures us.

The principles of Kaitiakitanga resonate internationally with many indigenous cultures who feel the heartbeat of the land, the devotion of care and kinship. I love the concept of seventh generation thinking of some Native American peoples, thinking of the 7 generations who came before you and the 7 generations who come after you before you act, and the concept of Sumak Kawsay the Andean philosophy which places respecting and caring for nature, as the key to a good life.

These cultures honour the land that nurtures them, recognise the whenua is alive, and we are part of a connected community with all life. When we honour the fertile soil, clean water, rich plant and animal life, thriving forests that nature provides, and recognise these are the elements that make a good life, not material wealth, we understand sumak kawsay, 7 generation thinking, and Kaitiakitanga. The covenant of respect.

Kaitiakitanga is a moral compass that teaches us to live as guardians not conquerors. It’s not just about sustainability it’s about healing. All of us. We all need to take the principles of Kaitiakitanga to heart. We all need to be guardians of our whenua. For me this is where my art began. 

I may not have grown up with much as a kid, but what I had, was a bath that eclipsed anything the worlds finest architects or designers could create. A bath so perfect because it was alive in ways no human could make or replicate. I remember what the land gave us when we had nothing. That’s what inspired me to become an artist.

I’ve travelled overseas to other countries to stay in elegant hotels with gorgeous baths and bathrooms. Sometimes I think of all the bathrooms I’ve been in. But none can compare with my creek. My childhood world.

I give God a quite prayer of gratitude, and thank my parents for raising me in such a humble beautiful sacred space. I thank the whenua my first teacher, who inspired me to become an artist. The whenua who taught me Kaitiakitanga, that sometimes the greatest beauty lies in not what we make – but in the places we belong to and love.