Manaia

Manaia

A journey of discovery by Don Mardle

Toi Maori Tahi Course Code: Maor5030 Paper description: Assignment 1. Individual Work Student Name: Don Mardle Student Identification Number: 1000571 Due Date: September 20 Word Count: 1500 plus a few! You could just look at the pictures â˜ş

Wherever this assignment draws on the work of others, such sources are clearly acknowledged.

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Table of Contents Table of Contents ....................................................................................................... 3 Foreword .................................................................................................................... 4 Introduction ................................................................................................................ 5 The Origins of Manaia ................................................................................................ 7 Whakapapa of Manaia ............................................................................................ 7 The Three-fingered Hand ..................................................................................... 12 A Versatile Figure – Traditionally and Contemporarily .......................................... 13 Waka (canoes) ..................................................................................................... 18 Ta Moko................................................................................................................ 19 The Evolution of the Manaia Form ........................................................................... 20 Legislation ............................................................................................................ 27 Manaia as a Contemporary Art Form ....................................................................... 29 Maori cultural and intellectual property rights ....................................................... 31 Lyonel Grant: the Tokomaru waka, Ihenga and Ngakau Mahaki .......................... 32 Conclusion ............................................................................................................... 37 Reference List .......................................................................................................... 38

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Foreword As a non-Maori learner, I am both familiar and comfortable with delving into books, journals and the Internet to research material for assignments and in developing teaching resources, whether it be as a teacher or learner (is there really a distinction?). But is this the most appropriate vehicle for wananga style learning?

With no written language, traditional Maori knowledge was preserved and disseminated in oral traditions of karakia, waiata incantations and orations. And in a more tangible form, knowledge was stored in the various forms of toi Maori (Maori art).

In keeping with the oral traditions, therefore, I chose korero (conversation) as the basis for my research on the manaia element of toi whakairo (carving), and I have reproduced (by photograph) examples of traditional and contemporary uses of manaia in toi whakairo Where appropriate I have expanded upon this korero with further supporting material from text books and websites. In a wananga sense, text books on these subjects provide another form of korero, or at least a record of other conversations which have taken place, albeit, second hand conversations.

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Introduction Just as Maori did not have a name for themselves as a people (during early contact with Europeans tangata whenua used the word ‘maori’ – meaning human being, person or ordinary people ((Cited in Morrison, n.d.) and (Easton, 1995)), but rather identified as being part of iwi or hapu groupings, neither did they have a word for the European concept of art (Flintoff, 2004, p. 116). Art was, like so many things which Europeans like to define as entities in their own right, an integral part of a traditional Maori life all but inseparable from the natural and spiritual worlds they inhabited.

From the need by Europeans to discuss the world of the Maori in terms of European concepts, terms like toi Maori (Maori art) and mahi toi (arts and crafts) gained favour.

Within traditional toi Maori (maori art forms) is a design form representing the spiritual guardian, known as manaia. Manaias are the specific focus of this essay.

As a general rule, the carved form of a complete manaia is an amalgamation of three component parts: 1. A bird-like head with a beak and an eye •

It may also, but not necessarily, have a nostril, a tooth, a tongue

2. A body •

representing Tangaroa - god of the sea

•

The body is often a long, slim, serpentine form, but can also be fishlike, even ending in a stylised fishes tail

•

The body could also be part of another element, in which case it may not be serpentine

3. Human arms and/or legs representing mankind •

These may include a hand or hands, and feet. Hands and feet are often three-fingered, and there may be an indefinite number.

There are many interpretations the mania figure but it is beyond the knowledge of this author to separate the traditional meaning from the embellishments of some contemporary artists. Some artists attempt to give authenticity to their work (with various degrees of integrity) by ascribing a whakapapa, sometimes purely as a sales pitch for both a local and tourist market.

Some contemporary commentaries on manaia describe them as: 1. Messenger 5

a. “. . . the messenger between the earthly world of mortals and the domain of the spirits illustrating the strong links the Maori people have with spirituality and the spirit world. It is a holder of great spiritual energy and is a guardian against evil.” (Bone, n.d.) b. “the messenger between the earthly world of mortals and the domain of the spirits” (Art, 2009) 2. Guardian a. “. . . spiritual and mythical creature . . . regarded as a tribal guardian” (Ihug, n.d.) b. “. . . representing the balance between sky, earth and water. Te Manaia as the Guardian Angel, has a special role in the Maori world. It can be described as the unseen light surrounding each individual.

Every person on earth has a Guardian Angel.” (Jewellery, n.d.)

3. Celestial bodies a. “. . . it represents two of the most visible celestial bodies in the sky. The beak represents the half moon, while the circle or head represents Tama nui te Rā, the sun.” (O'Brien, n.d.)

NOTE: As with many aspects of Maori life, different tribal groups have differing traditional knowledge of manaias. This is an introductory essay which tells more about the beginning of a journey of discovery on the part of the non-Maori author, rather than being a comprehensive study of manaias from one tribal grouping.

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The Origins of Manaia After the koru pattern, manaia is perhaps the single most versatile design form in toi whakairo (the art of carving), and can be found in traditional and contemporary carved work throughout Maoridom. Manaias feature in carved buildings (whare whakairo) – in all elements including kowhaiwhai, waka (canoes), taonga puoro (musical instruments), ta moko (Maori tattoo), weapons (patu, taiaha), matau (fish hooks – image right from Te Papa), personal items like heru (hair combs), waka huia (treasure boxes), and pendants. As such, and perhaps with the exception of pendants, manaias are normally a subordinate form - particularly in major carved works like poupou (house posts).

As we will see in this work manaia are often, “. . . elusive entities to try to tie down because they are all things to all people, and subjective to the artist.” (Lyonel Grant, 2009).

Whakapapa of Manaia Maori cosmology does not readily provide us with a specific origin for manaia figures as their whakapapa is elusive and obscured in the mists of time. And like so many aspects of Maori life, differing whakapapa originates from different tribal groupings.

Renata (2009a), in relating the whakapapa of whakairo from the Ngati Porou (East Coast) perspective, has Ruatepupuke retrieving his son, Manuruhi, from Huiteananui, Tangaroa’s seabed whare with its magical talking poupou (house posts) and epa (front and rear posts cut to fit the slope of the roof). Tangaroa had turned Manuruhi into a tui because both he and his father, Ruatepupuke, had failed to pay Tangaroa the proper respect with regard to making, naming and using a magical fishhook. By turning Manuruhi into a tui Tangaroa had changed his high human status as tuakana (elder sibling), to that of taiana (younger sibling), and in so doing turning him into an animal form (Mokena Romio cited in Mead, 1984, p. 64).

Manuruhi, now in the form of a tui, was the tekoteko on Huiteananui (Tangaroa’s whare).

When Ruatepupuke found that his son had been turned into a tui, he set fire to Huitananui as an act of utu (revenge or payment) on his grandfather, but he first saved his son, the tekoteko, and also stole four unburned, but silent, poupou from the maho (porch). He took the poupou and the tekoteko back to his home on land 7

where the poupou became the model for all whakairo, and Manuruhi, in the form of the tekoteko, became the model for manaia figures.

This potentially explains the three component parts of the complete manaia form – the bird-like head from the tui, the serpentine body representing Tangaroa, and the human hands of Manuruhi himself. Manaia’s fit this description, they are portrayed with an open beak (mouth) – and often their form includes a tongue or a tooth, or both.

Although Renata describes the link between Manuruhi’s form as a tekoteko and manaia figures (2009a), Mead does not make this connection (Mead, 1984) Ethnologist and curator of the Dominion Museum early last century, Elsdon Best, relates a different whakapapa for whakairo from Ngati Tuhoe traditions (1986, pp.

775-777). Things are somewhat reversed, with Ruatepupuke having a magnificently carved whare, but Tangaroa’s whare is merely painted. So realistic is the whakairo in Ruatepupke’s whare that his grandfather, Tangaroa, saluted the tekoteko as he entered, saying “tena koe”, and then even walked up to the tautiaki (post supporting the lower end of the bargeboard) to hongi, believing it to be a real person. Ashamed by the deceit, for his own whare was only painted, Tangaroa stole Ruatepupuke’s pet tui and took it back with him. The stories of Ngati Porou and Tuhoe then merge, but the Tuhoe account is only to do with the scattering of the sea creatures, and not the origin of whakairo - and makes no mention of a link to manaia.

In Romio’s 1890 Ngati Porou text (cited in Mead, 1984, p. 66) Romio attests that the carvings brought back by Ruatepupuke ended up in Tologa Bay (East Coast) in the whare Rawheoro, built by Hingangaroa.

This story is taken up in korero (conversation) between this author and Rob Ruha (2009). Ruha relates a later connection between Hingangaroa and the manaia form, as related in an ancient waiata, but proffers that there may also be an earlier connection.

About 800 years ago Hingangaroa started a carving school and school of learning.

This became one of the greatest schools of its time. Hingangaroa married Iranui and had a son Taua, who in turn had a son, Apanui. The story is recorded in an ancient genealogical chant (below).

When Apanui was sent to Te Rawheoro to learn carving, he was given two things – the taowaru (net-like) pattern and the manaia pattern.

The manaia form then spread from Apanui tribal groupings.

Here is the part of the chant which refers to this part of the story (Ruha, 2009) 8

Ka riro te whakautu Te Ngaio-tu-ki-Rarotonga Ka riro te manaia, ka riro te taowaru Ka taka i raro na ki a Apanui e

Then the payment was sent And it was the cloak Te Ngaio-tu-ki-Rarotonga The manaia and taowaru patterns were exchanged They were handed down to Apanui

Incidentally, this waiata Ruha recited (2009) traces Hingangaroa’s whakapapa back to the Ruatupupuke and the Ngati Porou origins of whakairo.

Ruha also says: I’ve always known manaias to be bird figures and to also have connections to the sea as well. And whales and adaptations of the manaia figures – more elongated beaks to represent the sperm whales and the right whales and how their mouths look.

In his book Taonga Puoro, musician, instrument maker and carver, Brian Flintoff (2004, pp. 118-119), discusses the derivation of manaia figures from the bisection of the “face and body” of the tiki or human figure: . . . schematically it comprises the two elements of ira, spirit and body. When we isolate either half, the mouth has a characteristic beak-like shape with one eye and nostril in the head, and a body that takes on a sinuous look. This ‘half body’ form is the manaia.”

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Ruha (2009) describes this bisecting of the tiki or head as ngutu-taha (or ngutu-tahi), which means ‘one lip’. He says when it is used as a background ‘filler’ in Ngati Porou carving, it is used in this ngutu-tahi form because it is “. . . easy to fill in the gaps”.

The section of the Maori of New Zealand website (MNZ, 2009) which features manaias discusses this concept a bit more fully and adds a somewhat ironic historic element – historic, that is, from the view point of European analysis of the manaia form.

“A study of Maori carving quickly brings out two outstanding features. The first is that, apart from the naturalistic figure, every type of full-faced figure has a manaia to match. The second feature is that the head of the manaia can, in each case, be recognised as half of the head of the appropriate matching figure divided down the middle of the face. This obvious fact does not appear to have been noted in a scientific paper until Archey drew attention to it in 1933.”

Tohunga whakairo rakau (master carver), Lyonel Grant (2009), tells a story of the manaia form from Te Arawa mythology: The story begins with an altercation between one of the principle ancestors of the Te Arawa people, Ngatoroirangi, and a man called Manaia - although Manaia was not of Te Arawa descent. Ngatoroirangi got into his waka and was followed out to sea by Manaia. Although some distance ahead, Ngatoroirangi called up a storm and Manaia was drowned. When Manaia’s body was eventually washed up on shore it had taken on a distorted and convoluted form. Some say that in the Te Arawa tradition, this is the basis of the “very animated, convoluted, distorted, serpentine” form – “a reference to Ngatoroirangi’s victory over Manaia”.

Yet other interpretations of the origins of manaia are a linguistic ones. In a korero with William Ward (2009), he pointed out that the word manaia is derived from the two words mana and ia. The Maori Art website (Cyberwhare, n.d.) supports this assertion saying manaia is “. . . derived from the word mana (authority, influence, jurisdiction, and prestige). Manaia can mean to contain mana, or to cause something to have mana”. When this idea was put to Ruha (2009) he said that although he had not heard of that interpretation that it was “a definite probability” The online Maori dictionary begins a lengthy description of mana with the following:

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1. (noun) prestige, authority, control, power, influence, status, spiritual power, charisma - mana is a supernatural force in a person, place or object. Mana goes hand in hand with tapu, one affecting the other.(TeWhanake, n.d.)

Ia is a pronoun used equally as he and she, him or her - it is without intrinsic gender, so therefore can be applied to anyone.

Manaias are often positioned to the side of the main figure (image right – kuwaha pataka – doorway for a storehouse). So if we are to apply the linguistic meaning of manaia to the composition – mana and ia – we can accept the role of manaias as support for the main element, or upholding the mana of the ancestor who is the subject of the carving.

So linguistically, this interpretation of the origin of the word manaia is certainly plausible.

A further potential linguistic origin for manaia is suggested on the ‘Maori of New Zealand’ website (MNZ, 2009). The word manaia appears in various forms in other Pacific Island languages – fa-amanaia in Somoan, and fakamanaia in Nuiean. In both languages it means to embellish or decorate. “As the main use of the manaia [in Maori art] is to embellish the principal figures, it seems very likely that the name simply means "embellishment" or "decoration"”.

Grant says that as time passes “. . . the explanations [as to the origins/meaning of manaia] have become more and more colourful . . . with different interpretations, and different people flexing their literary muscle.”

Before leaving this discussion on the elusive origins of manaias, it should be noted that some ethnologists have proposed that manaia are similar to figures from Melanesia, Papua New Guinea, and even India, so suggest a potential link to significantly more ancient associations with geographically distant and culturally disparate groups. As we have already seen, there is evidence for a linguistic link to Samoa and Niue. As case in point some ethnologists make an effort to link the common occurrence of pairs of manaia facing wheka (human figures) – beak to ears - to bird-like forms associated with the Indian god, Vishnu. The Indian bird-like figures represent good and evil, so it is easy to surmise that this may be the case in what is structurally a similar Maori carving composition.

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The Three­fingered Hand Like other elements in whakairo, manaia are often depicted with a three fingered hand, with the occasional addition of a thumb. There are many interpretations of this tikanga (custom), but three fingers are by no means universal. For example, in the Tologa Bay region, there are a number of whare whakairo carved during the mid 1800s in which the poupou all have five fingered hands (Ruha, 2009).

There are accounts of the three fingers representing each the three baskets of knowledge which Tane retrieved from the twelfth heaven. Each finger would then ‘speak’ of one of the three baskets – kete tuauri (basket of peace, goodness, and love), kete tuatea (basket of prayer, incantations, and ritual), and kete aronui (basket of terrestrial knowledge - war, agriculture, wood, stone, and earth work) - so long as we can interpret the language.

Another explanation is that the three fingers represent birth, life and death.

A post-European explanation, that has favour in some arenas is that the three fingers represent the holy trinity of the Christian bible – father, son and Holy Ghost.

Manaia Image from http://www.shopenzed.com/traditional-maori-bone-manaia-guardian-pendantxidp208440.html

Ngati Porou have an explanation that goes back to Apanui, whom we heard earlier was given the taawaru pattern and the manaia pattern when he learned the art of carving at Te Rawheoro many generations ago.

In order to attend Te Rawheoro and learn whakairo from the great masters of the time, a fee had to be paid. Entry was commonly a fine piece of pounamu, finely woven garments, or, as recited in the ancient waiata, a special cloak.

Apanui had a grandson, who was also called Apanui. He arrived at te Rawheoro to learn whakairo, but he had nothing with which to pay the fee. His debt was instead paid with his fingers. Apanui’s full name is Apanui Ringmutu – Apanui whose fingers were chopped off. (Ruha, 2009)

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A Versatile Figure – Traditionally and Contemporarily “All things to all people” (Lyonel Grant, 2009) “The manaia is a most versatile creature of the greatest use to carvers, as it can be distorted or mutilated, almost at will, to fit any space which needs to be filled.” (MNZ, 2009) Individual exponents of whakairo manipulate manaias to suit whatever spaces need to be filled ((Flintoff, 2004), (MNZ, 2009), (Lyonel Grant, 2009), (Renata, 2009a), (Ruha, 2009)). The Auckland Museum ‘tutorial’ indicates that this is a traditional use of manaia (Museum, n.d., p. 6). As we have already seen, Ngati Porou-style whakairo commonly use manaia in the ngutu-tahi (one lip) form - because of the ease with which it can be manipulated to “fill in the gaps” (Ruha, 2009). Renata (2009a) similarly talks of manaia as being used as “ . . . relief patterns, in between spaces . . .”, and “. . . intricate patterns in between the dominant figures of the carvings . . .”. Grant agrees saying manaias as predominantly “subordinate figures” (L Grant & Skinner, 2007), but as we’ll see later, this is not always the case.

In the following korero, Grant gives us an insight into a master carver’s reflection as he develops his composition - specifically the relationship between the main figure and manaia as the ‘ground’ and main figure blend together.

Where the ground and figure mix, the design runs over the obvious positive figure. But to create relief you have ground and figure – you push the ground away to let the figure stand in the composition. But sometimes ground and figure are blurred and you can’t tell where a piece of surface design starts – “oh that’s a head of a manaia” – it is actually intrinsic in the surface pattern.

That’s the beauty of the composition - where, if you’re inventive, you could say “there’s four manaia” and people wouldn’t be able to see where they were. Because if you are really inventive in how you layout your design you can portray whatever you want with that language and that’s the trick using the language – the visual language of carving to illustrate things.

As alluded to by Grant, manaias can be notoriously elusive.

Not only can manaias be elusive as entire zoomorphic forms (head, body, arms/legs), but they have been traditionally and contemporarily used as detached parts. The Maori of New Zealand website says manaia may be present simply as an “eye and a mouth, with or without a nose, tongue, or teeth; it may be a head and one arm, with or without hand; it may have two arms and no body, one arm, one leg, and a body, or the full complement of body and extremities.” (MNZ, 2009). The traditional use of detached parts of manaias is also evidenced in Auckland Museum publications (n.d., p. 6).

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Flintoff uses parts of manaia in the whakairo he uses on his taonga puoro (musical instruments) – often manaia faces - as on this puurerehua (bull roarer) he has called Rongopai (gospel) (2004, pp. 118-119).

The rows of manaia faces represent “. . . the people singing their messages of peace.”

Compositionally, the purerehua is a relatively small object, so it is understandable why Flintoff may choose to use only the manaia head, but Grant (2009) chooses not to take this option, preferring to keep manaia intact.

I tend not to go that way. I tend to try and use the full measure of the figure – there’ll be a head somewhere, there’ll be a neck, there’ll be a body, there’ll be legs, or whatever. I tend not to use just elements of it.

The flexibility of the manaia form extends beyond physical manipulation to fit available space. Ruha complements the physical with a philosophical perspective. Manaia “can be fitted into almost any figure, any story, any history.” He says that as a guardian figure, and a supernatural being, it has a mysticism that enables not only flexibility in shape, but also flexibility in the way it can be used in a pattern: You can see it in fingers, . . . shoulders, . . . tongue, penis [image right]. . . , anywhere. Because it’s so flexible it fits in anywhere. And because it has that mysticism that surrounds it, it also has that ability to be able to be put anywhere.

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This is also discussed in the Maori of New Zealand website “Manaia may be used to form the hands or fingers of large figures, or sometimes even the arms or feet.”

In this pare (lintel) now housed at the British Museum, manaias form the wrists of each of the three main figures

Ruha (2009) expands on this abstraction saying that “Spiritual beings can take on any forms they want to – even things that are not naturally in our habitat. That’s an old Maori philosophy.” So when it comes to manaias, the same thinking can be applied – the manaia form can take on whatever shape an artist wants.

You basically have creative liberties to do with the head what you want to, to do with the eyes what you want to – to reflect that spiritual-kind of connection.

Part of it is understanding all the different bits . . . understand that that’s a kuru, and you understand the history behind the kuru - what that signifies, the haihai lines, what those signify, the beak and what that signifies. Then it’s taking all those understandings of the different parts and then meshing them together to create your story. So stories can be created through understanding all those different parts . . . in different combinations you can make up . . . different stories.

Ruha concludes saying “There is no one way or one interpretation of what it [manaia] might mean.”

Flintoff (2004, p. 118) also discusses this philosophical aspect saying manaias can be used to represent “some object or even concept, or to acknowledge a special attribute . . .”. As we’ve seen earlier, Flintoff not only uses the whole manaia form, but also uses parts of manaias. For example he links manaia faces along the body of a flute to represent “the passing down of the twin traditions of words and tunes”, and as discussed earlier, he has used a similar pattern on a purerehua (bull roarer) to represent “people singing their messages of peace”. In his book, Taonga Puoro, he 15

has the following image of a whale tooth nguru (short flute) carved as a whale with “manaia spirit faces” carved into the flukes of the whale tail “to acknowledge the great strength the tail has been given”. By way of further example, he also includes an image of a pendant with two manaia faces forming the upper part of a butterfly’s wings “acknowledging the gift of flight.” (p. 121).

Along these same lines, Grant (2009) talks of a metaphorical use of manaias ; “For example the eight hearts of Te Arawa . . . could be portrayed as eight manaias.”

Grant gives a more detailed explanation – this time using manaias as a metaphor for nga hau e wha (the four winds) in a composition.

The nga hau e wha (the four winds) could be portrayed as four manaias. If that’s their reference in a given piece of work, then the way they are incorporated is up to the artist to determine. So you might have a central figure dominant in the composition whose name is tawhare matea, who is the god of the elements (let’s say, for want of a better expression). And then you have these four subordinate images somehow intertwined, and they might very well be only in design form, or they might be in classical manaia pose, or they might cuts of a certain kind. . . . But for all intents and purposes, for that composition, for that artist, they are four winds, represented as manaia.

“Although these uses of manaia allow the artist to tell a story in an excitingly unique way, the narrative must be known before the work can be understood . . .” (Flintoff, 2004) This is precisely what Mead, refers to when discussing Romio’s version of the of the origin of carving (Mead, 1984, p. 65), in linking the silent poupou Ruatepupuke stole back to the magical talking poupou of Tangaroa’s whare, Huiteananui. Mead talks of “the suggestion of movement in the figures, and the suggestion of speech or of talk”.

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. . . good creators could make their poupou “talk” in a different way, in a silent language that could be understood by those observant people who understood the artistic code of communication. It could be said that the moment in the myth when Ruatepupuke looked up and saw his son Manuruhi trying desperately to speak to him is remembered in all the carvings that show an open mouth “struggling to speak.”

This portrayal of the open mouth is also a feature of Renata’s oral recitation (2009b) on the form of the mouths of poupou in Unitec’s whare whakairo – Ngakau Makaki, in which he talked of the exaggerated size of the mouth relating to the knowledge that the poupou held. That knowledge is brought to life through korero (narrative or discourse), and indeed this is how knowledge was traditionally passed from generation to generation.

This could also give rise to their role as a messenger. Manaias are often depicted facing the ears of the main figure of a carving as shown in this image of a pare (lintel) at the Auckland Museum. Perhaps these manaia are “talking” to the main object of the carving. In this pre-European example, the manaias form the thumbs of the hands of the main figures.

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Waka (canoes) Manaias are common features on waka as shown in these photographs. The link between manaias with the sea is obvious through Tangaroa – god of the sea, and the Ngati Porou whakapapa with Manuruhi. Manaias also have that spiritual guardian aspect to them too.

This taurapa (canoe sternpost) is from a waka taua (war canoe) and dates from the 1500s. It now resides at Te Papa. Being pre-European, it was carved with great skill using stone tools.

Te Papa has the following detail which explains the relationship between the manaia and the rest of the taurapa (TePapa, n.d.-b).

The taurapa carvings represent the story of Tane (god of forests and birds) ascending the twelve heavens to obtain the three baskets of knowledge - kete tuauri (basket of peace, goodness, and love), kete tuatea (basket of prayer, incantations, and ritual), and kete aronui (basket of war, agriculture, wood, stone, and earth work) - in order to learn the secrets of life. On the way, his elder brother Whiro (evil) tries, unsuccessfully, to disrupt Tane's journey. The most prevalent image on the taurapa is the manaia, or avian-like creature seen grappling with the two vertical rib forms representing the creative principles of life. The manaia is biting down on the tops of the two ribs, which represent iraatua (the gods) and ira-tangata (humankind). The manaia is therefore symbolically battling the opposing notions of war and peace. The surrounding spiral system is called pitau meaning perforated spiral carving.

This image shows manaia on the central Panel of a waka Prow – possibly from the Hokianga (British Museum) http://www.tribalarts.com/feature/maori/1.html

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This image shows the prow of a contemporary waka carved by Lyonel Grant depicting the Te Arawa ancestors Whata and Manaia represented as manaias (Lyonel Grant, n.d.). This waka is discussed in more detail later.

Ta Moko The manaia form is clearly popular and hugely versatile. Preliminary research suggests that it has been used in ta moko, but the author has not yet done any definitive research on this application.

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The Evolution of the Manaia Form This object retrieved from a swamp in Kaitaia, and now housed at the Auckland museum, is thought to depict an early form of manaia (one each side). Nineteenth century ethnographers believed that is was carved on these shores (Phillipps, 2002), while others think it may have arrived with early migrants from Melanesia.

Although manaia can be designed from a front view, the classic “manaia pose” as Grant calls it, is a profile as depicted in these images of artefacts at the Auckland museum.

Manaia crafted into pendants date back hundreds of years, but are relatively rare compared to the more common he tiki.

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Here is an example of a rare pre-European pounamu (NZ greenstone) pekapeka (pendant “named after the small native New Zealand bat”) from Te Papa. It depicts two manaias fused into one (TePapa, n.d.-a)

It is a relatively simple design, partly due to the obvious difficulty working on such a small object (without the aid of magnification), and this is of course compounded by the inherent difficulties working pounamu with stone tools.

This is an even earlier example of a manaia pendant, from the Te Papa collection, which dates back to c1500. The detail is even more subtle than the previous one, but the eye and beak can be clearly visible due to the backlighting.

With the arrival of Europeans on these shores, came a great deal of change throughout the world of the Maori – and this included many Maori art forms. Maori are a very pragmatic people, so when Europeans arrived, they quickly saw advantages in adopting aspects of European technologies. Much has been written about the thirst for muskets and other European arms, but in terms of whakairo, steel 21

tools were sought after. Although the finish is comparable between pounamu and steel tools, steel quickly became the preferred option.

Maori also quickly assimilated Christianity into their daily lives, and churches of various sorts sprung up around the country in the early decades of Maori-European contact. The European missionaries saw advantages in allowing a Maori feel to the church interiors didn’t want churches adorned with carvings which represented ancestral figures, or animalistic forms, like manaia, and other representations of traditional Maori cosmology.

With Christianity well established, in 1849 work began on the Manutuke church. Auckland’s Deidre Brown, Maori art and architectural historian tells the story of the cryptic inclusion of manaias in this church (Brown, 2009).

The feature that was to distinguish the Manutuke church from its rival in Otaki, was the inclusion of carved panel around the interior, including 60 wall panels, and three ridgepole supports. However Williams [Anglican Archdeacon and resident Church Missionary Society missionary] thought the whakairo raakau were evidence of ancestor worship and insisted that carvers abandon the depiction of full-frontal tiki ancestors in their panels. One of the carvers, Te Waka Kurei, negotiated a compromise with the missionary, whereby ‘neither man, beast nor creeping thing’, in Williams words, would be depicted in a new set of whakairo rakau for the church. Williams may have believed that the resultant manaia carvings, which can be interpreted as beaked figure, no longer represented pre-Christian spirituality. However, he was mistaken, since the manaia is the profile view of a tiki figure. Williams was delighted with the new whakairo rakau and wrote ‘the character of native carving remains, but there is nothing to be objected to in the device . . . we shall have a more elaborate piece of workmanship than has been attempted by the natives before. Painted panels for the Manutuku church also contained manaia figures. Instead of using repeating kowhaiwhai patterns, the Rongowhakaata craftsmen had invented a completely new type of figurative painting, now known as ‘pitau-a-manaia’.

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In this analysis of the Manutuke pitau-a-manaia kowhaiwhai image the eye (pitau – unfolding spiral), snout and mouth are highlighted as is one arm and a five fingered hand, along with the hip (pitau), leg and three toed foot below. There is another hand directly above the snout and a second leg/arm with five-fingered hand/foot in front of the highlighted leg.

Toward the top of the kowhaiwhai, is a fourth distinct fivefingered hand, and what appear to be a wrist and an arm. And this time the pitau (unfolding spiral) appears to represent a shoulder. These ‘parts’ may be features of the main manaia, or they may be manaias in their own right, which was traditionally, and is a now contemporarily, a common practice ((MNZ, 2009), (Museum, n.d.), (Flintoff, 2004)).

Interestingly, pitau-a-manaia kowhaiwhai appears about the same time on the maihi (facing boards on the gable of a house) of Te Poho-o-Rawiri - a house erected at Kaiti, near Gisborne, about 1849. A record of the this design is in the form of a sketch (image below) by Albert Godber made between 1939 and 1947, and is held in the Alexander Turnbull library.

Parallels can perhaps be drawn between this story and that of the grotesques gargoyles (water spouts) and chimeras (other grotesque figures) – carved by medieval stone masons that adorn hundreds of cathedrals and other buildings throughout Europe.

In both cases the religious zealots would view both the stonemasons of Europe, and the native Maori of this new country, as pagan and animistic.

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Some explanations for the inclusion of these ancient and bizarre zoomorphic architectural elements on cathedrals of Europe, talk of “a reminder to parishioners of the perils of evil” and features which will make pagans feel “welcome” and “at home”. Some commentators say that they provide “a juxtaposition or balance of ugliness against the beauty inside the building (a very medieval concept which we find hard to understand these days)” (Gargoyles, 2002). But there are other possible, and quite popular, explanations. Some say they are “carved out of mischief”, and “as retribution for not paying the stone carver” – afterall, the stonemasons were paid labour, and probably, more often-than-not, also pagans.

It is this latter explanation that draws parallels with the manaia kowhaiwhai of the Manutuke church – not any implicit retribution or mischief as such, but rather a basic obstinance, and a determination not to fully acquiesce to the missionary colonisers.

And as an interesting footnote, just as the carved poupou of traditional whare whakairo holds the ancestral knowledge of the tribal group, in medieval Europe, the cathedral itself was referred to as the "sermon in stone" which could be "read" by an “illiterate population” (Westerhoff & Stevens, 1994).

Traditionally, manaia are subservient to the main figure in whakairo, but contemporary artist, like Grant, have used them as the main element too. But this is by no means exclusively a contemporary evolution. This image of the porch of Te Rauru meeting house in Whakarewarewa shows a pou pou dedicated to manaia.

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During the late 1800s and early 1900s Rotorua was a popular tourist destination – just as it is now.

Tourist wanted to see geothermal activity and experience Maori village life. Maori carvers were commissioned to “produce works for the burgeoning tourist industry” to cater for private collectors and government officials (TePapa, n.d.c). The ever popular manaia figure began to appear on objects which had not existed prior to European contact, as carvers transferred their skills from traditional expressions of their craft in whare whakairo, waka, etc, to popular and saleable items.

This chair (c1904), now at Te Papa, is an example of beautifully executed work in a non-traditional medium, which features manaia figures.

Another beautiful artwork from this period is this 1899 commissioned work featuring manaias as background figures. It was created by Ngāti Tarāwhai master carver, Tene Waitere. The commission was “to illustrate tattoo patterns for Augustus Hamilton (1854-1913), the director of the Colonial Museum, for his book 'The art workmanship of the Māori race in New Zealand” (Waitere, 1899).

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Also from this era, and also the work of Tene Waitere, is this highly carved entranceway to Nuku Te Apiapa Whakarewarewa. This photograph shows quite traditional whakairo on the lintel and facings, including classical manaias left and right of the lintel. However, the door itself depicts a highly evolved manaia with a classical manaia head, but a near-human body.

It is interesting to note that the lintel and facings, but not the door itself, appear to be the same as that shown in the picture on the right. This photograph, from the same period, features Maggie Papakura – a popular Rotorua guide of the period, academic, and author of the posthumously-published book, ‘Makareti: The old time Maori’.

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Legislation Christianity certainly had a big impact on many aspects of Maori life – but at least Maori were relatively free to choose their faith, and in fact a number of groups adapted Christianity to accommodate their own beliefs – the Ratana movement, for example.

When it came to politics, however, despite the guarantees of te Tiriti o Waitangi, there was no such freedom to choose. The Tohunga Suppression Act, 1907, had a dramatic and detrimental effect on all aspects of Maori culture right up until it was repealed by the 1962 Maori Welfare Act. But Dr Maui Pomare’s objective in supporting the Act was “about preserving the wellbeing of his people; it was about public health" by curbing the dubious practices of “charlatan tohungas” who, according to his wife Miria, he believed were “responsible for the continued deaths of Maori people” (Winder, 2003). The “charlatan tohungas” Pomare referred to were some of those performing as traditional healers. In a 1903 report to parliament Pomare wrote of “a great many Moaris dying from tohungaism” (Cited in Durie, 2003, p. 40) Then in his 1904 annual report to parliament, Pomare wrote: I cannot be emphatic enough in condemning these tohunga for I have seen the result of their work. In one pa alone, 17 of what might have been considered the hope and pride of the tribe were, I consider, cruelly murdered by the wanton practices of a tohunga in whom many natives have faith; I do not think a single one of the 17 children who were sacrificed need have died for they were only ill with measles (Cited in Winder, 2003).

The Act was understandably unpopular with many Maori, though to Pomare it was entirely justified on health grounds. However, the Act was used by the Government for other reasons – both political and to aid in the suppression of cultural practices ((Durie, 2003) and (Simon & Tuhiwai-Smith, 2001)). But Durie warns that “the motives of yesterday are not always best comprehended through the supposedly enlightened eyes of today” (2003, p. 40) Tohunga other than ‘healers’ and ‘priests’ were also caught up in this suppression.

On the website ‘Maori of New Zealand’ a tohunga is describes as “. . . a 'specialist' (e.g., a woodcarver was a tohunga whakairo rakau) . . . Part of a tohunga's expertise lay in his knowledge of the rituals connected with his craft, and so each tohunga was to some degree also a priest.” (MNZ, 2009).

The knowledge and practice of tohunga ta moko (Maori tattoo experts), for example, was impacted by the Act. As Ellis explains in her book Tattooing the World: Pacific designs in print and skin (2008, p. 16), moko is a “final possession” that lasts and one which cannot be “confiscated”. It is a “testament to one’s place in the world 27

defined by intact genealogies . . .” Although already declining in the latter part of the nineteenth century (Kassem, 2003), the practice of moko was banned by the Tohunga Suppression Act, as the Act targets those tohunga who practice the art. So after 1907 the Act made it illegal to wear moko, and in Ellis’s words “proclaims the bearers allegiance to an outlawed way of life”.

“With the talk of the Maori as a dying race, moko was confined only to the faces of elderly Maori women who lived in remote areas, and the last recorded moko was on a woman in 1953.” It wasn’t until the 1970s and 80s that ta moko underwent a renaissance (Kassem, 2003), setting the way for its popularity today.

So it is implicit that the all-encompassing impact of the Tohunga Suppression Act on all tohunga will have also had an impact on such iconic Maori forms as manaia.

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Manaia as a Contemporary Art Form Contemporary means ‘of the present time’ (Dictionary.com, n.d), so this chapter continues the evolution of the manaia form, but in the context of the author’s lifetime.

Perhaps the greatest evolution in the manaia form, certainly the most prolific, is in the field of contemporary jewellery.

A search for manaia on the search engine, Google, will bring up hundreds of jewellery items, and yet in traditional times, as discussed earlier, manaia pendant forms were relatively rare, especially relative to the more common hei tiki (neck pendants).

Grant uses the term “jewellery fodder” to describe what has become a proliferation of manaia forms used by contemporary Maori jewellery craftspeople.

It is easy to see how this form has become popular in the context of a demand for uniquely New Zealand design. Manaias have a great deal of timeless ‘design’ appeal and it is easy to market their associations - with spiritual guardianship, and mana, etc. Grant provides a potential explanation as to why manaia may have become “jewellery fodder”. Within this context Grant has a pragmatic view relating purely to the versatility of the form from a design aspect. “When compositionally you don’t have a lot to play with they are the easiest to adapt for a given application.” The availability of electric rotational tools like dremels has seen the manaia form take on a new dimension of detail (image right from http://boneart.co.nz/bonemanaia1.htm). Even more exquisite detail has already been seen in Flintoff’s taonga puoro.

But contemporary manaia are not the sole estate of jewellery manufacturers. Manaia have evolved in other areas as well. This image by David Carson-Parker (circa 1962) shows an interesting evolution of manaia on the raparapa (fingers on a bargeboard) of a whare.

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It shows an evolution of a traditional spiral forming the head with a ‘modern’ abstract depiction of the eye and tongue, and a realistic neck, shoulder and arm (CarsonParker, 1962).

Manaia is also the subject of two dimension work. This 1964 triptych in acrylic and painted on hardboard is called Rangitoto. This large painting (2030 x 2250) features a number of abstract manaia forms.

And a year later, in 1965, Theo Schoon painted this much smaller piece which is focused entirely on manaias. He called the work ‘Manaia Mania 1’ (Schoon, 1965)

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The question arises what whakapapa can be assigned to these works? What authenticity can the artists bring to their work when incorporating these Moari elements?

Maori cultural and intellectual property rights Before finishing with manaia in our own wharenui, mention should be made of the ongoing influences of the political environment. Manaias and many other Maori art forms and taonga have for many years found their way into the corporate world as logos, elements for advertising, and other commercial activities.

Debate rages about Maori cultural and intellectual property rights. Maori are not alone with these concerns as similar issues are being aired by indigenous peoples throughout the world.

Our governments try to deal with these issues through legislation like the Trade Marks Bill, but it is a vexed issue. Here is a brief quote which sums up some of the arguments (Fairfax, n.d.).

It is a dilemma facing many New Zealand corporates and designers: how best to go about incorporating Maori words and imagery into their branding?

Behind the increasing focus on Maori intellectual property is a desire for Maori to control their heritage. At one end of opinion, you have Maori simply wanting their names and designs to be used in an appropriate way that respects their own customary law, tikanga Maori. At the extreme end, Maori activists want tino rangatiratanga (self-determination) in respect of conservation, the use of natural resources and other taonga (valued treasures and customs).

They basically object to them being used at all. It is about control, but also about making sure financial benefits that flow from commercial use of that heritage go to Maori.

New Zealand and international businesses are beginning to see the added value and opportunities a distinctive Maori identity can offer them within the international market, says Russell McVeagh lawyer Titus Rahiri.

“As this interest grows, tribes need to retain control over, regulate and protect their cultural heritage rights,” he says. “Maori don’t want to stifle the legitimate use [of Maori words and symbols] or cause them to be underutilised,” Rahiri says, but Maori taonga is often treated as if it exists in the public domain for anyone’s use.

Other efforts that try to deal with Maori cultural and intellectual property rights include the work done on the Patents Bill, the work of the Royal Commission on Genetic Modification, and the Wai 262 Treaty of Waitangi Claim. (Wai can be viewed at http://www.med.govt.nz/templates/Page____1207.aspx#P17_3421).

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Lyonel Grant: the Tokomaru waka, Ihenga and Ngakau Mahaki Contemporary master carver and multimedia artist, Lyonel Grant, recounts the normal use of manaias in tandem with larger more prominent figures (2009), and describes them usually as subordinate forms (L Grant & Skinner, 2007), yet when he carved the Tokomaru waka (canoe) and his last two whare whakairo, Ihenga and the Unitec house, Ngakau Mahaki (to be humble), he has used manaia as major elements.

In the waka, he depicted the person Manaia as a manaia, along with Whata – both ‘infamous’ personalities in Te Arawa tradition (Lyonel Grant, 2009).

In Ihenga he again features Whata and Manaia from Te Arawa, but this time as a poupou in its own right. The poupou is based on a toanga he had made earlier for his daughter, which he expanded upon and made more complex (L Grant & Skinner, 2007). Grant speaks of the Te Arawa debate as to which of these two was the captain of the waka, and which was the rangatira, so in both the waka and the Ihenga poupou, Grant dealt with this doubt by depicting Whata and Manaia as two interlocking manaia figures sharing the same body.

In his co-authored book about Ihenga, Grant says “I wanted to use a manaia figure as the principle figure because usually they are subordinate.” (L Grant & Skinner, 2007, p. 111) As we have seen in an earlier section of this essay, depicting manaia as the dominant figure, although unusual, is not an altogether contemporary idea However, when it came to carving Ngakau Mahaki – the Unitec house, Grant took an already abstract form and made it even more abstract in his manaia DNA helix.

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Symbolically the DNA helix represents all life. The manaia head clearly apparent, and the helix functions perfectly as a ‘serpentine’ body, but what appears to be another part of a manaia at the bottom, is in fact a foot. Grant doesn’t like using parts of the manaia form as we have already seen, so this detail expresses some of that mystery of which Ruha spoke (2009). In the personal communication with Grant about this poupou, he said Compositionally, you can say, “well there’s an eye, so that must be a head, and you see a mouth so that must be . . .” – but in that case it’s a foot. And it’s meant to deceive and it’s meant to perplex the viewer.

In the image above a more traditional application of manaia can be seen in the boards top and bottom and either side of the DNA helix. Grant uses traditional forms throughout the house as well, but he has by no means allowed the helix to be the most contemporary manaia form.

Grant speaks of the subtle manaia relief he has used in the paepae – the threshold/seat which runs along outside: . . . every now and then there are hands that come up onto the seat [image right]. Those manaia are portrayed just using subtle relief techniques using the pattern as the major vehicle to portray the manaia.

Another poupou which, upon questioning, Grant admits to being manaia-esque is the Kohuiarau poupou inside the house.

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It is based on a series of work I did in stone carved a series of figures based around the waha-ika - the hook shaped hand weapon, and basically blowing up certain elements of the weapon and creating model sculptor forms by that intense scrutiny of that particular part of the weapon. Then they started to morph a bit into figures in their own right – these stone figures that I did. That is an adaptation of one of the stone figures I did – you can say that is a manaia too – it’s in profile. Kohuiarau - the movement - had it’s own flag which had the bird – so it alludes to that bird form/manaia.

In the mahau (porch) is the Maori Party poupou in which Grant has used moko (lizards) to represent the first five elected MPs for the Maori party – three of these moko are shown in the image below.

Grant has put manaia heads on these moko, but in a full frontal perspective, rather than the typical profiled ngutu-taha (one lip) perspective.

The raparapa (fingers of the bargeboards) also feature large manaia figures (image right) – perhaps again there to support the mana of the house.

Parts of the mahau have very traditional whakairo and manaia feature prominently. The manaias used in relief of the paepae have already been mentioned, as have other infill manaia patterns.

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But there are several sets of interlinked classical manaias which adorn the mahau as shown in the photograph to the left.

The pare (lintel) for the window is also of a traditional, rather than contemporary design, with manaias typically being the outermost figures – a feature of many pare going back hundreds of years.

And before going back inside, there are moko-like manaias in another poupou as background to the main moko element. Like the Maori party manaias, these manaias are depicted in full frontal form.

Grant has also evolved manaia for kowhaiwhai on one set of heke (rafters) in the house, using a very obvious graphical form “infused into the design”.

And lastly there is the manaia street map which makes the most use of manaias in Ngakau Mahaki. As Grant blew up the Wises road map to begin forming the streetscape he became enchanted by the roundabouts and cul de sacs and “all sorts of things which mimiced distorted crazy figures”. It occurred to him that “. . . maybe 35

they [manaias] are in the road forms and people just didn’t realise that they are there.”

So Grant started to take a bit of creative licence: . . that dead end street makes an arm – the mainstay of New North Road makes the body, and so the head would appear somewhere about here! So I put it in. And then I got the idea of morphing out of the street maps into all figures, but figures are in a road configuration.

Although happy with the way it evolved, Grant would have liked more time to “play” with it, and see where it took him. However, with so many creative ideas, and the fact that the streetscape is pretty much site-specific, he doubts he will get around to developing it any further.

Ngakau Mahaki (to be humble)

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Conclusion It is fitting to have finished this essay discussing the manaia of Ngakau Mahaki, as it was through an early association with the carving of these poupou that I began this journey more than six years ago.

Manaia are clearly an omnipresent form in virtually any toi whakairo, often elusive, masterfully entwined in other forms, providing support and mana for the main elements, but always there.

Manaia’s have come to us brought down through time, and have achieved huge popularity as a modern expression of Maoridom in the form of jewellery and two dimensional art. But questions about the whakapapa, and therefore the authenticity of the form itself, must be asked.

The Maori of New Zealand website contends that: The very fact that only the name has come down to us from the ancient carvers seems to imply that there was nothing extraordinary about the manaia and that it was just another example of the primary element in carving the human figure. (MNZ, 2009) I beg to differ - the manaia is an extraordinary and entrancing form.

I leave the last words to Lyonel Grant - tohunga whakairo rakau - master carver, and creator of many wonderful manaias.

When you do go into the museum and you see the work – and you go “how come it is so inspired? How come it takes my breath away? How do you get to that rarefied atmosphere?” And maybe part of it is getting buried in projects like that and then having to fight your way out of it. And maybe at the end of it all, just maybe you start to create works that do have that wow factor.

But it’s a long hard road to hoe, I can tell you that! (Lyonel Grant, 2009)

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