FLUX No. 11 Nostalgia

I Remember When... Pineapple Outfields: History of Baseball in Hawai‘i Kuha‘o Zane, A Future Rooted in the Past #hiNostalgia: The Sweet Lie

NOSTALGIA

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I Remembe R When … | 34

Five stories trace nostalgic moments in time that shaped just a little bit of who each author is today. The authors remember spearfishing in Ho‘omaluhia, camping near beaches, wearing mu‘umu‘u, plantation history and the boogeyman.

P I nea PP le Outf I elds | 44

Despite a history of American storytelling in which baseball is an analogy to life itself, the story of baseball in Hawai‘i may be the story of America at her best in the Pacific. By Sonny Ganaden, with photography by John Hook.

a f utu R e R OOted I n the Past | 50

For Kuha‘o Zane, it’s what’s behind him that’s shaping what’s head. A feature by Jeff Mull on the marketing and design director of Sig Zane Designs with images by John Hook and Brad Ballesteros.

#h InOstalg I a: t he sW eet lI e | 56

Nostalgia, unlike memory, is an artistic medium not unlike painting, television or baking. But today, with rapidly increasing advances in technology, the nostalgia that we lead ourselves to believe is becoming increasingly obsolete. An examination on nostalgia by David A.M. Goldberg.

Class IC b eauty | 60

Nothing is more beautiful than what is classic. On location in Mānoa Valley. Photographed by senior contributing photographer John Hook. Styled by A+A.

Classic beauty never goes out of style. A fashion editorial in Mānoa shot by John Hook, styled by A+A.

In a sleepy town on Moloka‘i, despite the closure of most of the businesses around him, one kite maker continues to soar.

edI tOR’s lette R masthead

lette R s tO the edI tOR CO nt RI butOR s

W hat the flu X?! | 16

‘Ike k U‘ O kO ‘A H AwAIIAN New SPAP er I NITIATIV e

lOC al m OCO | 18 YO -YO C HA m PION , A L ex G A r CIA

FLU x FIL e S : a R t | 20

B IG wIND kIT e S

FLU x FIL e S : a R t | 24

T H eF U zz

(non) te C hn O lO gy | 26 A NALOG S UNSHIN e r e CO r D er S

h OW tO | 28

mA ke A P INHOL e C A mer A

sele C ts | 68

T H e mOD er N PANIOLO

C OC k TAIL rOUNDUP | 70

I n the KI tC hen | 72 J ASON IwAN e, kALAPAwAI C AF e & De LI

t R aV el | 78 k e NYA

V I ew FIND er | 80

a n I nte R nat IO nal

t R aV el blO g

BY TINA GRANDINETTI

For one year, Tina Grandinetti is embarking on a trip around the world. Live vicariously through Grandinetti as she works on an organic farm in Southern France and on the Mediterranean Coast, volunteers in an artist community outside of Rome, works with a rural empowerment organization in Senegal and a Palestinian refugee camp in Israel. By January 2013, she will be in Nepal, and if she has any money left over will journey to Southeast Asia. Jealous much?

#WOR ldI n flu X

Perhaps the most enjoyable part of putting together this issue was the finding, the digging into tattered cardboard boxes and sifting through hundreds of childhood photos.

The wrinkled Ziploc bags, labeled hastily with titles like “family – give away,” “judo camp” or “high school gang,” hold decades-worth of memories and capture moments likely to have been forgotten. Smiling faces frozen in time at a wedding, a graduation, a Christmas party, Disneyland. Sad faces too: the tears after a season-ending soccer game, the pout after being left out at a childhood sleepover.

This, our Nostalgia issue, is not meant to be a sappy recollection of the good ol’ days but an exercise in remembering. To remember to make it a point to reminisce, to sit down and spend a few quiet moments with an old timer, parent or grandparent – or our own thoughts – and hear about the time they walked 20 miles, barefoot, to get to work; when a dozen eggs cost two quarters and a drive-in movie was less than a dollar; when kids swam in pools created by rain and neighborhood doors were all left unlocked; a day with the family spent at the park, picnicking and running relay races.

It’s obvious, but it must be said: The reason it’s important to remember is so we don’t forget. Sure, the past is not meant to be lived in, but it certainly can inform our future.

Enjoy.

Lisa Yamada Publisher/Editor

JOHN HOOk

I’m nostalgic for:

Boredom

Escape

Wolverine

Cardboard

Snow

Dirt

MJ

Mom

Dad

Sister

Lawyer by trade, printmaker and writer by hobby, Sonny Ganaden brings forth unique commentary about Hawai‘i, intermingling local social and cultural issues with political commentary. He’s been published in the Honolulu Star-Advertiser, Hawaii Bar Journal and Honolulu Magazine and currently is a writer for the 2012 Native Hawaiian Justice Task Force Report. He traces Hawai‘i’s love for America’s favorite pastime in “Pineapple Outfields.”

I’m nostalgic for (looking back from 2067):

When corporations couldn’t read minds

The pyramid-building craze of Summer 2033 Solomon Enos’ global multimedia empire Underground holographic remixes of Facebook timelines

African-American culture

Time travel

Free range, organic wombs

An unedited subconscious Donuts

David Goldberg is a writer, teacher and cultural critic based in Hawai‘i. He recognizes the powerful influences of history and memory, but as a futurist, takes pains to distinguish the wisdom of the past from the trap of getting caught up in what we imagine it to be, especially so in “#hiNostalgia: The Sweet Lie.”

I’m nostalgic for:

Snowmen

Mom’s corned beef hash Fireflies

Playing catch with dad Slumber parties

Our old convertible 110 film Army men toys Street Fighter II Guri guri from Maui

John Hook, our senior contributing photographer, is a man of many talents, lending his written wit to this issue for “I Remember When …” a series of columns by notable Hawai‘i-born writers. When he’s not capturing photo gold for FLUX, Hook captures magical moments with L’amour Photography and Dave Miyamoto & Company.

SONNY GANADeN

DAVID GOLDBerG

FLUx HAwAII

Lisa Yamada eDITOr / PUBLISHer

Ara Laylo CreATIVe DIreCTOr

Jason Cutinella BUSINeSS

DeVeLOPmeNT

CONTrIBUTOrS

Analog Sunshine recorders

ragnar Carlson

Beau Flemister

erika Forberg

Sonny Ganaden

David Goldberg

Anna Harmon

John Hook

Chris kam

Trisha Lagaso Goldberg

Jeff mull

Paula rath

Blaise Sato

kristine wada

Tiffanie wen

Jared Yamanuha

COPY eDITOrS

Anna Harmon

Andrew Scott

AD DeSIGNer

Joel Gaspar

COVer PHOTO

John Hook

SeNIOr

CONTrIBUTING PHOTOGrAPHer

John Hook

ImAGeS

Analog Sunshine recorders

Brad Ballesteros

Brigitte D’Annibale

Geoff mau

CreATIVe

ryan Jacobie Salon

Timeless Classic

Beauty

STYLIST A+A

mULTImeDIA

Director of Digital marketing

michael Pooley

weB DeVeLOPer

matthew mcVickar

ADVerTISING

Scott Hager

DIreCTOr OF mArkeTING & ADVerTISING scott@FLUxhawaii.com

erika Forberg

ACCOUNT exeCUTIVe erika@FLUxhawaii.com

FLUX Hawaii, P.O. Box 30927, Honolulu, HI 96820. Contents of FLUX Hawaii are protected by copyright and may not be reproduced without the expressed written consent of the publisher. FLUX Hawaii accepts no responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts and/or photographs and assumes no liability for products or services advertised herein. FLUX Hawaii reserves the right to edit, rewrite, refuse or reuse material, is not responsible for errors and omissions and may feature same on fluxhawaii.com, as well as other mediums for any and all purposes.

FLUX Hawaii is a quarterly lifestyle publication.

We W e Lcome A nd vALue your F eedb Ack. Send letter S to the editor via email to li S a@fluxhawaii.com or mail to flux h awaii, P.o. Box 30927, h onolulu, hi 96820.

Dear Ms. Tsugumi,

Despite what you assumed about our intention, our goal was not to shock or disturb but rather to highlight a deepseated practice in Hawai‘i and to bring understanding about the value and necessity of hunting feral pigs. According to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, “Destruction of habitat by pigs, goats, and other introduced ungulates has had devastating impacts on all native habitats in Hawai‘i. Feral pigs have had direct impacts on native forest birds by destroying understory vegetation, spreading alien weeds, and creating mosquito breeding areas from their rooting and wallowing in wet forests.” Ultimately, these invasive species need to be controlled, and there are hunters in place to make sure that happens. To presume the cover “glorified” violence to animals is just plain wrong. The goal for FLUX has always been to provide an insider look into the culture of Hawai‘i, and to do so respectfully and in truth. Sometimes what turns up may be construed as “shocking,” but for better or for worse, these are the issues that make our islands one of the most unique places to be in the world.

I thought Sonny Ganaden’s article, “Justice Reinvestment, Justice Reimagined,” on the prison systems was outstanding. There is a lot the mainland can learn from Hawaiian culture; good data and common sense are a formidable combo. Referring to getting through a giant set is an excellent analogy to the change that needs to happen in our justice system. There is so much that can get done these days that isn’t location bound, and I think Hawai‘i is prime to be a core of innovation. Keep up the good work.

Troy Hilton Burien, WA

Dear Editor,

This is an informal note to say, “thank you for sending me FLUX.” I just got through reading your spring edition – I enjoyed the variety of stories – like Hawai‘i, a mixture of many things. I liked your photos. They were superb. Again, a mixture, from your goat to the piggy, before the lovely ladies going to tea. Thank you again. Will pass the magazine to friends.

May Oshiro

WHAT THE FLUX ?!

‘Ike Kū‘oko‘a – Liberating Knowledge Hawaiian Newspaper Initiative

From 1834–1948, more than 100 Hawaiian language newspapers were printed, resulting in more than 125,000 pages documenting Hawaiian culture, news and entertainment. The newspapers became an intentional repository of knowledge and opinion, documenting Hawai‘i’s history from kingdom to constitutional monarchy to republic to territory. Yet only 2 percent of that repository has been integrated into our English-speaking world today, making our history books, and what we think we know about Hawaiian history, incomplet e.

A young person could learn to read and write the pī‘āpā (alphabet) in 18 hours.

Create a searchable database of Hawaiian language text in order to rearticulate and reconnect 200 – 300 years of Hawaiian history with its people.

GOAL: 1834–1948

Diacriticals, created in the 1960s, don’t appear in Hawaiian newspapers because Hawaiians didn’t need them.

ē ī ō ū

KAHAKŌ INDICATES LENGTH OF VOWEL

EDITIONS WERE DEVELOPED, TOTALING MORE THAN 125,000 PAGES.

125,000 total pages = 1.5 MILLION PAGES OF TYPESCRIPT TEXT

1 page of Hawaiian newspaper = 10–14 pages of typescript

1 page of Star Advertiser = ~3 pages of typescript MORE THAN 100 HAWAIIAN LANGUAGE NEWSPAPER

75,000 pages found and digitized

15,000 transcribed by Ho‘olaupa‘i over 10 years

60,000 pages left to transcribe

**Of the 60,000 pages left to transcribe, the ‘Ike Kū‘oko‘a project has completed nearly 25 percent.

‘okina is an actual letter

A HISTOrY OF LITerACY

“Mine

shall be a nation of literacy.”

– King Kamehameha III, who sanctioned the establishment of Hawai‘i’s first institution of higher learning, Lahainaluna Seminary, in 1831. Lahainaluna would eventually create Hawai‘i’s first newspaper, Kalama Hawaii.

Diacriticals can change the meaning of words.

Queen Ka‘ahumanu declared an edict that all people shall be educated. As a result, universal literacy among the Hawaiian people was established in just a generation and a half, making the rate of literacy among the Hawaiian people higher than most educated modern countries.

“They [Hawaiians] were going through a time when a person dying is like a whole library burning down, so being able to use the written word and being able to publish that and make it distributed among the whole nation made that material permanent, in a way that memory never did.” – Puakea Nogelmeier, on the impact of going from an oral history to a written one.

EXAMPLE Pā‘ū à draped skirt Pa‘ū à moist Pa‘u à soot Pau à finished

From November 28, 2011 to July 31, 2012, Awaiaulu, an organization dedicated to developing resources to bridge Hawaiian knowledge from the past to the present, embarked on a project to rearticulate a body of knowledge that has laid dormant for decades. Phase I of the project, transcription, will be completed on July 31, 2012, after which phase II, rearticulation, will commence. To see how you can help, visit awaiaulu.org

LOCAL mOCO: YO-YO CHAmP

Alex Garcia, YoYoFactory808

TEXT BY LISA YAMADA | IMAGE BY JOHN HOOK

If you were to ask most anyone over the age of 13, “How do you make a yo-yo player look cool?”, more than likely you’d get the response: “Take away his yo-yo.”

Alex Garcia would beg to differ. In 1995, after just three months of yo-yo play, Garcia entered a statewide yo-yo contest – and won. Just one year later, he forever changed the way yo-yo is played when he won the first national freestyle yo-yo contest, in which the yo-yo performance is synchronized to music. He won again in 1998, and since then, has become one of the most recognizable yo-yo players in the world and been credited with introducing Japan to modern-day yo-yoing. He’s even been dubbed the godfather of Japanese yo-yoing.

“We were treated like celebrities,” says Garcia of his time spent touring Japan. “We were 13 years old and had our own bodyguards. Thousands of kids would show up to toy shows to see us, and we got to do things most kids couldn’t, like play Nintendo 64 before it even came out.”

Garcia first picked up a yo-yo in 6th grade. “I was super popular, and I thought I could treat people however I wanted to treat them,” he says. “But it was bad, and I ended up losing all of my friends. I needed something to fill that void instead of being sad at home all by myself.” That’s when he saw a kid at school playing with a yo-yo.

The first yo-yo Garcia bought was from Kmart, “and it just went up and down, didn’t even sleep or anything like that.”

Soon he convinced his parents to purchase an upgrade, a Yomega Brain. “There would be times I would practice like eight hours a day. I remember taking the yo-yo out of the package, and then after I was done playing with it, rolling it back really nicely and putting it back in the package and closing it up. That was how much I loved it.”

Every day afterschool, Garcia would catch the bus from Salt Lake to Ala Moana and hang out at High Performance Kites. The store is no longer at the mall, but at the

time, it was the place to shop for yo-yos. He became sponsored by High Performance Kites and began touring in Japan, essentially becoming the poster child for yo-yo from Hawai‘i to Japan.

Then in 1999, at 16, as abrupt as his rise to fame, Garcia quit. “I just wanted to be a normal teenager and didn’t want to have to deal with yo-yos and the pressures of competition and endorsements.”

It wasn’t until Garcia saw a YouTube video in 2011 of a friend’s yo-yo performance that he started thinking about yo-yos again. It had been over a decade since he had picked one up, and he didn’t even know what kind of yo-yo to get. He contacted a friend at YoYoFactory, a yo-yo distributor based in Arizona, who promptly sent Garcia a box with more than $1,000 worth of yo-yos.

Though the yo-yo is not as prevalent in Hawai‘i as it was in the ’90s, Garcia says it’s bigger than ever worldwide. “Back then, I think it was just a fad. Now it’s changing, it’s an actual subculture. You can travel anywhere in the world, and there’s going to be a yo-yo community there.” He experienced this firsthand after a recent trip back to Japan for the 2012 nationals, where he was invited to perform a demonstration. “There were players – national champions, world champions – who had pictures of me when I was 13 that they wanted me to sign. They’re like, ‘Because of you, I started yo-yoing.’”

Here in Hawai‘i, Garcia is inspiring a whole new generation. Every Friday, he and a few world-class yo-yo players hold free yoyo classes at Ward Warehouse. Already, there are 100 new students crazy about yo-yo that weren’t a few months ago.

For Garcia, that’s precisely the beauty of yo-yoing. “The best thing about yo-yo now is the culture, the people. Everybody who has yo-yo on the brain is going to be like, ‘Oh you play yo-yo? Cool, let’s go hang out.’ It doesn’t matter who you are or where you are from.”

Alex Garcia, a two-time, national yoyo champion is known as the godfather of Japanese yo-yoing. Shown at Ward Warehouse, where he holds free yo-yo classes every Friday.

For 30 years, Jonathan Socher has been selling and making kites from his kite shop on Moloka‘i, even after the restaurants and plantation homes around him were boarded up.

SoarinG on moloKa‘i

Big Wind Kites

“Everybody that comes into the store will look up almost immediately and see all the kites on the ceiling,” says Jonathan Socher, who started making kites on Moloka‘i in 1980. “I won’t say everyone, but there’s a good number of people who will flash back to their childhood and say, ‘Wow, my dad and I made a kite when I was 8 years old and we put so much string on it. We never did get it back.’”

The kite maker himself is 73, with a white beard and a voice only slightly more brisk than you’d expect from his picture on the Big Wind Kite Factory website, in which he’s a smiling figure holding a parasol and wearing, as he calls it, “a silly hat” from his travels to Thailand. Behind him in the photo, his wife Daphne, smiling as well, looks out from the doorway of the shop, the rainbow-colored tail of a windsock blowing in front of her. “Here we are, at the end of the world, on the slowest island,” says Socher, “and we’ve been doing this for 30 years now.”

He and Daphne met at an ashram in India in 1971, traveled the world, briefly lived in Los

Angeles, then moved to Maunaloa on Moloka‘i in 1976. “A friend of mine was living in town when we decided to move. There was a pineapple plantation house for rent for $95 a month. So we moved out, sight unseen.” To get by after the move, they tried dozens of different crafts, ideas, wholesale products. “Then we ran across someone with a kite shop in Waikīkī, and we said, ‘Why not try selling kites on the beach in front of the Sheraton?’”

Socher goes on, “I hadn’t flown a kite for maybe 10 or 15 years, since I was in India or Afghanistan. I used to fly kites a lot there back in the ’70s.” But they gave it a go, using Daphne’s designs for decoration, colorful Nylon to catch the eye, and trial and error: “Make a kite,” he says. “Then see if it flies.”

At the time, Maunaloa was home to a small tourism boom, complete with a Sheraton hotel that has since shut down and a pineapple plantation that was starting to flee the scene (as he puts it, “to places with slave labor and cheap land and water”).

But it turns out that selling kites on the

beach, and now from their store, has kept them going even after the restaurants, gas stations and other plantation homes were boarded up. Now, tourists travel 20 miles to check out the town and shop. Today, the couple’s plantation rental from 1976 is the location of the Big Wind Kite Factory and Plantation Gallery, which Jonathan estimates sees about 40 or 50 tourists every day.

“We also have an aeronautical testing facility next door where people have free trials for their kites. It’s spelled P-A-R-K.” (This is one of his many industry-related jokes, along with “I don’t mean to string you along.”) Here, children from the town also come to learn to make kites and test their creations.

Jonathan was asked soon after setting up shop to come to the elementary school and teach the kids how to make kites by a local teacher who walked in to the room adorned with brightly colored kites. “I realized that was the script,” he said. “You can’t open a kite shop and say, ‘Screw the kids.’”

Sometimes, people’s memories aren’t so positive when they see the kite collection, recollecting lost kites or failed, windless days. So, for both the kids and visitors, Jonathan says, “We make sure that first kite always flies.”

Big Wind Kites is located at 120 Mauna Loa Highway, west of Moloka‘i Airport. For more information, visit bigwindkites.com.

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Wrapping everyday surroundings in colorful crochet sculptures, Granny2, ArchiPURLago and Hanasaurusrex (not pictured) are bringing a whole new meaning to the idea of “bombing.”

a tiGht-Knit crew

TheFuzz

When I caught word that a crew recently bombed Spalding House, I envisioned monolithic blockbusters plastered on the tennis court walls. I pictured tattooed writers wielding Montana and Ironlak cans and buckets of buff, spray paint fumes spiraling in the sky before raining down to blanket the grass with infinitesimal specks of color. I never thought bombing could be anything other than the traditional tools of the trade. After all, graffiti is graffiti, right? Wrong.

The crew in question is TheFuzz, whose members all rock monikers in the same manner of graffiti tradition. Its members – Granny2, Hanasaurusrex and ArchiPURLago – use yarn, not paint, to create their public works. I meet the crew at Spalding House to discuss the group’s origin and its project on the museum grounds.

“We all have art backgrounds, but from different angles,” ArchiPURLago tells me as we tour the lawn and discuss the various pieces on display. ArchiPURLago’s background was rooted in scientific illustration; Granny2 worked as an archeologist; Hanasaurusrex joins the mix as a graphic designer. Although their backgrounds seem diverse, they share a passion for knitting and crocheting. They all met, it turns out, at a group called Aloha Knitters.

We walk the periphery of the museum, and they point out their individual projects. Hanasaurusrex’s piece, a sprawling sunset cre-

ated by sliding sweaters on tree trunks, began as a way of bringing focus to a part of the garden that, by and large, goes unseen or unappreciated. “I was talking to Aaron Padilla [curator of education at Spalding House] about doing something on these trees,” she says, “and he said it would be cool if there were a horizontal line going across.” The idea of a sunset spanning across the garden stuck with her, and, after much work and the help of her husband (a math major), she figured out a way to showcase a radiant sunset across the most underappreciated part of the museum.

Granny2’s main piece, an intensely crocheted piece on a thick branch of a tree, bristles with details. “The concept and the basic patterns were mine,” she informs me, “but I did get a lot of volunteers to actually crochet the pieces that would go on.”

ArchiPURLago’s piece, too, involved encasing a large monkeypod tree branch. “We had scaffolding under the monkeypod branch with volunteers from Aloha Knitters assisting,” she says. When the scaffolding failed to reach the uppermost part of the tree, one volunteer mitigated the situation by throwing on climbing gear to knit the final part. “I don’t think we can thank the volunteers enough. We wouldn’t have been able to do the installation without them,” says Granny2.

Needless to say, this exhibition acted as a catalyst for the trio to take their art to the next level. “We were talking about wanting to give

yarnbombing more of a presence in Hawai‘i, and this museum project really pushed us into picking a group name and making it official,” says Hanasaurusrex.

Still, the group acknowledges the barrier that exists between the crafts and contemporary art, and whether or not this type of work is fitting for a museum. But sometimes, Granny2 says with a smile, “Stirring up controversy can be a good thing.”

One piece that captures my attention is an altered Satoru Abe sculpture, which, to be honest, I had never noticed in the past. Sitting quietly in the corner of the garden, “The Tree,” made by the Hawai‘i modern master in 1978, is adorned with little sleeves on the sculpture’s leaves in various pop colors, courtesy of TheFuzz. The piece bridges the gap between one generation of artists and the next, subtly connecting the dots in the history of Hawai‘i art in a way that’s playful and witty and conceptually interesting. ArchiPURLago explains, “This piece was keeping in our theme of time, and changes over time, and, with the museum having gone through its own change with the merge, we were trying to reflect upon what’s old and now looking forward to what’s new.”

To keep up with TheFuzz, visit thefuzzhawaii.blogspot.com.

Polaroids from Analog Sunshine

Recorders’ bingo scavenger hunt. See details of the game on page 30 and submit for your chance to win.

(non)TeCHNOLOGY

Low-fi Light Writing with Analog Sunshine Recorders

TEXT BY ANNA HARMON IMAGES COURTESY OF ANALOG SUNSHINE RECORDERS

Not long ago, three local boys spent the day cruising around O‘ahu in a van. Not a unique story, but what onlookers didn’t know was that they had installed a scanner camera, a “Frankenstein of digital and film” made of a flatbed scanner and old camera bellows, and were shooting images along the way. The resulting images are enchanting: grainy and haunting, with scanner lines and ghostly images imprinted in black and white.

The boys are better known as Chris Rohrer, Ikaika Akana and Bronson Shimabukuro, film enthusiasts, creative adventurers, and the founders of the open photography collective Analog Sunshine Recorders. ASR is currently composed of about 30 members, a fluctuating community all about slowing down and celebrating the beauty in capturing mistakes, the physicality of lo-fi, sustaining the analog movement, and being involved with the community along the way.

“It’s cool because a lot of people that participate wouldn’t necessarily consider themselves photographers, so we kind of show them what to do, and after that, they just go out on their own,” says Rohrer. “A lot of times, that’s when the miracles happen.”

Like on one particularly bright Hawai‘i day in June, when the Analog Sunshine Recorders gathered at Imageworks in Kaimukī for a Polaroid scavenger hunt. They teamed up and picked up a packet that included a Polaroid camera, Impossible film, a map and a bingo card. “We were trying to make a portrait of the city,” says Rohrer. After circling the island, the groups came back with dozens of submissions: a saturated beachgoer surfing on a slipper, a washed-out carnival ride, an overexposed roof of a house.

It’s still to be determined where these images will be shown. ASR has shown their work at a few places around town, such as The Manifest and Salt Kitchen & Tasting Bar, yet it’s hard for the group to track down venues they haven’t yet exhibited in to feature their collective images. Here, no photo is labeled individually, only a list of participants displayed to the side. And while the final result, the film discovery, is a big part of the process, it’s the in-between that seems to count the most for the trio.

Says Shimabukuro, “What we do allows everybody to slow down and live. Kind of take stock of what they’re thinking about, how they’re seeing the world.”

So why the “Sunshine” in the group’s name? “With film, most of the simple photographic processes rely on sunshine as light,” says Rohrer. “So the word ‘sunshine’ symbolizes the simplified process.” Or, as Shimabukuro chimes in, “Writing with light.”

Mon to Sat, 2 - 7pm

Mon to Thu, 11pm - 2am

how to: Make a DIY pinhole camera

TEXT AND DIAGRAM BY

BRONSON SHIMABUKURO, ANALOG SUNSHINE RECORDERS

WHAT YOu’ll NEEd:

#10 needle

Oatmeal can

Black spray paint

Soda can

Black permanent marker

Scissors

Black tape

1] Spray inside of oatmeal can black. Let paint dry.

2] Cut 1” x 1” square from the center of the oatmeal can.

3] Cut a 1-3/4” x 1-3/4” square from the center of the tin can.

4] Use a black marker to color the tin can cutout. Color both sides.

5] Use a #10 needle to puncture a small hole in the tin can cutout.

6] Cut 4 pieces of black tape.

7] Place tin can cutout (aperture plate) over hole on oatmeal can.

8] Tape aperture plate onto oatmeal can.

9] Go into a dark room (photo paper is light sensitive!).

10] Insert photo paper inside oatmeal can towards the back of the can and behind the aperture plate. Be sure to face photo paper emulsion side out.

11] Cover aperture plate with tape until ready to shoot photo.

12] replace lid on oatmeal can and you are ready to shoot!

13] Decorate your camera. we always decorate ours.

14] For processing instructions and great shooting tips, visit analogsunshinerecorders.com.

Who doesn’t think back fondly on scavenger hunts, bingo games, and shaking that Polaroid picture? Join in on the fun of Analog Sunshine Recorder’s Polaroid Scavenger Hunt and help us create an analog portrait of the islands.

HOW TO PlAY:

1. Pick five subjects in a row (BINGO!) from the ASr bingo card.

2. Adventure out, camera in hand. make that, film camera – analog is what makes this magic.

3. Snap shots of your five subjects.

4. Pick your favorites! 5. Submit to FLUx and win (details below).

CAMERA SPECS:

Polaroids and film cameras of all types (please, no digital cameras or iPhones!)

I NEEd A CAMERA:

Imageworks in kaimuki rents Polaroid and other film cameras. Or buy a kodak one-time-use disposable camera at any drug store near you. Shirokiya sells Fujifilm Instax cameras and film.

WHO STIll CARRIES FIlM:

Longs, walmart, Imageworks (which also has Impossible film for the Polaroids)

WHO STIll dEVElOPS FIlM:

Hawaii Pacific Photo, Longs, Costco

WHERE TO SuBMIT YOuR PHOTOS:

FLUx Hawaii, P.O. Box 30927 or email to: contact@ fluxhawaii.com. (Photos will not be returned.)

WHAT YOu CAN WIN:

Bingo Scavenger Photo Contest

THe SweeT BUzz OF HONeY

Hawai‘i is one of the top producers of honeybee queens in the world, estimated to sell about 400,000 queens to the mainland, Canada and beyond every year. Each queen sells for around $17 to $25, making her one of the state’s most valuable exports, rivaling macadamia nuts and Kona coffee. Because the queen bee is the only bee that can lay eggs, they are brought into colonies to sustain growth. And with two-thirds of the world’s crops relying on bees for pollination, it’s important to realize how vital honeybees are to our ecosystem. From apples to avocadoes, carrots to cashews, honeybees are a critical element in our food supply.

And if you are looking for locally grown, bee-pollinated items, look no further than Whole Foods Market, where you can find Ho Farms’ cucumbers and string beans next to local cantaloupes, watermelons, zucchini, lychee and citrus fruits, and coffee from Waialua, Rusty’s, Coffees of Hawaii, Kona Rose and more.

Whole Foods Market also carries a unique selection of local honeys from Manoa Honey Company and Big Island Bees. Honey produced in the pristine climate of Hawai‘i is unlike that made anywhere else in the world. From a light amber honey with a sweet floral flavor to a full-bodied, creamy honey that is rich and buttery, locally produced honey is just one more thing that makes Hawai‘i so sweet.

Find locally-grown, bee-pollinated produce and honey at Whole Foods Kahala (4211 Waialae Ave.) and Whole Foods Kailua (629 Kailua Rd.).

Lanterns: a camping

best friend

i remember when...

G a S lantern S and Sleeping Under the Stars

It’s the smell of limu-lined shores at Kamaole Beach Park on Maui; it’s the sand blowing into your food via the tradewinds at Bellows; it’s the excitement as a kid knowing you will have a flashlight and no bedtime. It’s waiting for someone to get the fire started; it’s the smell of mosquito punks; it’s the sounds of crabs scratching to get out of a bucket and bells on fishing poles; it’s gas lanterns and making shadow puppets in your tent – this is camping.

I loved camping when I was a kid. Every summer my family would take a break from our comfort zone – a twocar garage, house with a swimming pool, groceries from the commissary – and head to Maui to visit my relatives and set up camp on the beach. I remember my older cousins taking me crab hunting at night, my haole dad playing chess and pepito with his Filipino in-laws, my mom managing to make three meals a day without electricity. I remember my uncles sitting in one spot for hours surrounded by Budweiser cans, staring out into the ocean waiting for fish to bite; I remember my strange uncle that I wasn’t suppose to hang out with (yeah, the one with the drinking problem). I remember hearing pretty decent guitar songs from the uncle wearing a woven lauhala hat and no shirt. I remember a lot of dogs being there, not on leashes but on ropes, tied to trucks or trees. I remember the smell of what used to be a campfire, started with wood and kept burning with paper/rubbish/charcoal/ random things us kids threw in there (leaves, crabs, etc.). I remember not having to take a bath for two days. These are all good memories.

Now that I am a father, and my daughter has reached the age of being curious about the world, I am trying my hardest to get back into the routine of camping. I want her to know how awesome it is to be away from the television for the weekend. I want her to remember the first time she was up past her bedtime, the outdoors, and sleeping under the stars. I want her to know what real s’mores taste like and that they are a lot better than their flavored Pop-Tarts impostor. I want her to have happy memories. Camping still hasn’t changed much for me. All you need is a tent, a friend, a family, some sand-resistant food, a drunk uncle (maybe) and a spot outdoors.

TEXT AND IMAGES BY JOHN HOOK

Whoever catches the biggest crab is obviously the most adventurous and most likely to succeed in life. The rest of you are either designated bucket holders or flashlight spotters.

Waking up outdoors and smelling

is possibly one of the best sensations in the

Pillow: check. Tent: check. No checklist: check.

Graham cracker, chocolate, marshmallow, fire. As a kid, this is the first time you believe anything is possible.

Warmth, stories, roasting, crackling – necessity.

bacon

world.

Yellowstone has bears. We bring Uncle Ikaika. I’m curious to see how my daughter will remember this in her camping memories.

i remember when...

looKout BoY

TEXT BY BEAU FLEMISTER

i waS never reallY into fiShinG, never cauGht the BuG.

Just seemed like a whole lot of standing around to me. I was a child of the ’90s, a kid on the go. I was more into climbing trees or clothes-pinning playing cards to the spokes of my bike to make it sound like a growling Harley. My dad tried, though. He’d always recount the way he caught it. How, at the age of 3, his father sat him down in front of a bathtub filled with water, fishing pole in hand, while occasionally hollering from the other room, “Get anything yet?” Nope. How his father came in pretending to check the line to see if the breadcrumb hadn’t been chomped yet. How his father had covertly slipped in a couple goldfish he’d bought from the pet store earlier and told my dad to try again. And moments later, my dad was hooked. He tried to get me hooked, too. When I was 8, we went on a fishing trip to Alaska with his coworker, who was a half-blooded Eskimo. He took us to some rivers swarming with pike, trout, salmon and grayling, fish practically fighting for a spot on that hook. I probably caught over 50 fish in two weeks – and still didn’t get it. A year later we hopped over to the Big Island. We drove with my cousins toward South Point through the endless black fields of pāhoehoe and ‘a‘ā. We posted up in a secluded cove, set up the hibachi, pitched the tents, and laid out all the gear. He gave me a Hawaiian sling, fins, mask and snorkel and figured this

style of angling had to be a bit more stimulating. So I followed him into the blue with a cocked three-prong spear that made my forearm ache and let ’er rip at every peeking eel and hapless triggerfish. I think the only thing I hit (unknowingly) was our state fish. When it came down to it, I remember having the most fun making my name and other messages in white coral stones over the hills and banks of surrounding black lava. Huge words that I’d imagine the passengers in a passing interisland flight seeing from above. Messages like, HELP ME, I’M TRAPPED FISHING WITH MY DAD. As far as spearfishing went, it still just seemed to me like a bunch of swimming around.

So what does a father do with a son that can’t fish? You use him as a lookout. Ho‘omaluhia Botanical Garden is a state nature reserve in Kāne‘ohe, next door to the town I grew up in, Kailua. My dad and dog and I would go there sometimes. It’s totally protected — I don’t think pets are allowed — but back then it was pretty minimal security. The place also had phenomenal prawns. How my dad knew there was any good fishing in the park, I’ll never know. Perhaps he didn’t and just brought in gear on a hunch. Regardless, we’d pack a mask and snorkel, some dive gloves, a hand net, and a three-prong spear that unscrewed in three pieces into a bookbag and stroll into the park with our dog.

The place is gorgeous, a slice of Eden, fragrant and bursting with rare and endangered flora. We’d take a trail deep into the park, pass the infinite shades of green, and continue alongside a stream until it emptied into a pond. The pond was quiet and dark, shaded by arcing trees that grew over the water as a canopy. I was to stay and take watch just a little downstream. To hang out by the “Swimming Prohibited, Warning: Lepto-

spirosis” sign and whistle if a ranger was in sight. And my dad, he’d jump in the pond and scoop up various meals-worth of freshwater prawns by hand or by net. Real classy stuff – about a step above stealing carp from a hotel fountain. I even saw him get a catfish out of there. Watched him explode from the pond, dripping and grinning, holding up the fish in one hand like ta-dah! He flopped it on the pond’s bank and the thing burped up a half-eaten guava fruit. And then he’d jump back in, still determined, and I’d go back to standing around. Now and then he’d holler, “Still clear?”, the sound warped and muffled through the rubber snorkel. I’d give him the thumbs up from across the pond and our black lab would look at the both of us curiously like, what the heck?

No one ever caught us. I hardly even spotted anyone around. Instead, my dad probably tired of how easy the hunt was, or saw that I still wasn’t impressed, or just finally saw one of the red and white lepto signs. And as far as any suspicion about our devious activities in the park, I remember on the way out how the ranger would always give us a shaka with a funny look on his face, most likely wondering how the hell my dad got so damn wet. Giving up on making me a fisherman, the following spring he got me into little league baseball – his own second-favorite hobby as a child. Like any warm-blooded child of the ’90s, The Sandlot was my favorite film, so I complied wholeheartedly. But when it came down to it, in actuality, the game was also a lot of standing around.

Beau Flemister is a managing editor at Surfing magazine. An avid travel, Beau has traveled to more than 50 countries around the world

the BooGeYman

TEXT BY RAGNAR CARLSON

“You Better watch out, haole BoY. You Know who’S mY uncle? who-Y who-Y. he GoinG Get You.”

I don’t remember what I’d done. How could I have been dumb enough to do anything to cross Alberta? She was, if not the bully, for sure the bull of the fourth grade. I was the new kid, fresh off the boat from the Windward side. But somehow, I’d gotten on the wrong side of her, and as I scurried away from the bus stop at Kalaniana‘ole and Kuli‘ou‘ou roads, those were her parting words. “Who-y Who-y going get you.”

Alberta was much bigger than I was, or than anyone else in our grade, and lifetimes tougher. I did not want to imagine what an uncle of hers might look like. Especially one with a name straight out of ghost story nightmares. Most of my friends in Kāne‘ohe had been haole, so I didn’t really get the whole you-know-who’s-my-cousin thing. I was pretty freaked out.

That evening, I mentioned it to my mother. “Alberta at school says Who-y Who-y is her uncle.”

“The murderer?”

Thus began my immersion into the world of the boogeyman, at least as he existed at the playgrounds and bus stops of east O‘ahu at the end of the 1970s. For us, the boogeyman’s name was Huihui, and he was a murderer.

And he was everywhere. I would soon learn that Alberta was far from Huihui’s only relative at ‘Āina Haina Elementary – any playground disagreement could well devolve into an invocation of his wrath. The list of dastardly deeds associated with Huihui was as long as a child’s imagination, and just about everyone had a version. One kid said he drove

around in a black car looking for people who owed him money and slit their throats. One night at a sleepover, a Japanese kid named TJ told us that Huihui had informants everywhere and if you spoke his name, they’d report back to him and Huihui would come after you. I remember in particular a claim that Huihui was the boss of all cockfighting, and if he wanted to get you, he would sic his meanest chicken on you; I guess to peck and claw you to death.

Even my friend Karl, whose parents were University of Hawai‘i professors from Norway, could recite blood-soaked chapters from the murderous career of Huihui. How he had shot someone at Ala Moana in broad daylight and just walked away. How he had policemen working for him. How he would dispose of victims by dropping them, bleeding, into the ocean at night to let sharks finish the job.

Sure, after a while it became like a campfire ghost story, the fun kind of scary. But still scary, though. It didn’t help that the evening news and morning papers were providing chapters of their own from the true life of our boogeyman.

To this day, the reach and power of Hawai‘i’s underworld criminal networks remains unclear, or at least impossible to prove, but in terms of public profile and headline-grabbing acts of violence, the 1970s were gangland’s high-water mark. The decade opened with the shooting of State Senator Larry Kuriyama in the carport of his home, and the years that followed were filled with tales of informants buried alive, judges admitting to payoffs, and a general atmosphere of bribery, intimidation and murder. Rumors and at times explicit associations brought some of Hawai‘i’s most notorious figures into contact with the highest levels of state government, including the Burns/Ariyoshi political machine. Right at the center of the action was Henry Huihui.

Huihui was one of the highest-profile crime figures of the ’70s, a deputy of underworld figure Nappy Pulawa, who rose in power and prominence when the boss went to prison. Huihui was involved in gambling, cockfighting, prostitution and a variety of

other rackets. He was charged in a 1978 murder case involving two men forced to dig their own graves, a case that fell apart when the witness against Huihui changed his testimony at the last moment. In 1984, he would become a protected federal witness in exchange for reduced sentences in a string of cases, including a series of murders. Law enforcement types and reporters of the era believe Huihui was responsible, directly or otherwise, for dozens more. As part of his deal, Huihui was said to have implicated many top local officials in involvement with organized crime. The details of those accusations have never been made public.

How the legend of Huihui came to terrorize the children of ‘Āina Haina, Niu Valley and Kuli‘ou‘ou also remains something of a mystery. Over the years I’ve mentioned his name to friends around my age and received mostly blank looks. Some of them remember Huihui from news reports; most don’t. None recall him as the Kaiser Soze of their elementary schools. Maybe he really was Alberta’s uncle, and that other kid’s, and the other one’s. Kuli‘ou‘ou is a valley with many stories to tell.

After his deal with prosecutors in 1984, the news references about Huihui suddenly went quiet. A few years ago, an online search seemed to point to a person by that name working as a janitor in Nevada. That reference appears to have vanished, and Henry Huihui’s whereabouts today are impossible to discern.

Not that I tried very hard to find him.

Ragnar Carlson is a writer and editor whose work has appeared in the Honolulu Advertiser, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Believer, and other publications in Hawai‘i and California. He is a former editor of Honolulu Weekly and lives with his family around the corner from his childhood home in Kuli‘ou‘ou, just a few steps from the bus stop.

Many

is

times, memory

tied to what you’re wearing. Paula Rath shown here in a mu‘umu‘u for her 1972 North Shore wedding.

i remember when...

mu‘umu‘u daYS

TEXT BY PAULA RATH

manY of mY fondeSt memorieS are inextricaBlY tied to what i waS wearinG at the time

The first dress I really loved, as a tiny toddler, was a hand-smocked Swiss cotton lovingly made for me by my godmother, Marion Murphy, of Murphy's Bar and Grill fame. Then came the matching mother-daughter red and cream teacup print dresses we wore when I was 5; I was so proud to be matching my beautiful mother. And, oh, the turquoise and white polka dot dress I wore throughout the year I spent traveling the world at age 20. (Most young Americans traveling in London, Athens, New Delhi, Bangkok and Istanbul in the late ’60s were hippies, and I was determined not to look like one of them.)

As I look back on what I’ve worn, and having spent most of my life in Honolulu, many of my most cherished memories have one sartorial thread in common: a mu‘umu‘u. I recall spending hours after school with my nana at her little Punahou Cliffs cottage, learning to sew so I could make the mu‘u of my dreams. I wore it to the airport to greet Punahou’s first foreign student from Norway. We raised $7,000 through bake sales and such to bring him here, quite a lot of money in those days.

Graduation from Punahou is remembered by a lovely white cotton pique mu‘u, with a high neck and princess seams. A few months after graduation, several of my classmates and I wore these mu‘u to serve kaukau at my parents’ 25th anniversary lū‘au.

Soon after, I bought a lovely mu‘u at Liberty House to take to Goucher College in Towson, Maryland, “just in case.” It saved me when I was asked to dance a hula in Goucher’s foreign student talent show. No, they didn’t seem to get that Hawai‘i was a state.

When I was married on the lawn of my parents’ North Shore beach home in 1972, I wore a lovely, fitted, floral-print cotton pique mu‘u with pakalana down to my knees. So fresh and flattering! That mu‘u lasted longer than the marriage, I’m afraid.

Years later, when I needed to earn some extra money for a swing and rocker for my infant son, Duncan, I got a part-time job dancing hula at J.C. Penney in Beaver, Pennsylvania. Needing a mu‘u, I made my own out of aloha print fabric my mother sent from Hale‘iwa.

For my second (and far happier) marriage in 1988, I wore a pink silk suit and pillbox hat for the wedding at Punahou Chapel. As I walked down the aisle on my father’s arm, I could tell unequivocally that my groom did not like my suit. I let my stomach flutter for only a second, deciding there was really nothing I could do about it. As soon as we arrived at Halekulani for the reception, however, I changed into an eyelet Princess Ka‘iulani mu‘u to dance “Pua Hone” for my beloved Jerry. His eyes lit up and happy tears began to stream down his face. He still lights up every time I wear a mu‘u.

There are a few naughty mu‘u moments in my past as well. When I was little, about 4 or 5, Mother tells me I used to “forget” to wear panties under my mu‘u to parties I didn’t want to attend. We would get halfway there and I would announce we had to go home to get them. Though I reportedly tried this tactic time and time again, I guess it only worked once; after the first episode my parents made

me suffer sans undergarments.

I have always loved mu‘u and will never understand why they have been allowed to disappear from many island women’s wardrobes. “Out of style,” some say. But how can they be out of style when they are, arguably, our state dress? After all, the mu‘u is to woman what the aloha shirt is to man – and the aloha shirt is hotter than ever all over the globe. I continue to hope every woman in Hawai‘i will own at least one mu‘u.

I recently appeared on an Australian morning TV show that was filming in Waikīkī with a former Miss Hawai‘i, and she was wearing one of the hip new Princess Ka‘iulani mu‘u. Everyone, including the Aussie TV anchors, asked her where she bought it. Out of fashion? I think not.

There’s another thing about mu‘us: Men love ’em. I never get as many compliments from men as I do when I’ve donned a mu‘u. Strangers stop me on the street to tell me how pretty I look in it. So why on earth do women say to me: “A mu‘u? Oh, no. I would never wear that.” When I ask my husband what he would like me to wear on a date night, he invariably replies, “A mu‘umu‘u.”

I will always have a closet full of mu’u, and they will always hold bountiful memories for me.

Paula Rath has been an international journalist since 1968. A writer for The Honolulu Advertiser until its closure in 2010, Rath is regarded as Hawai‘i’s premiere fashion and fitness journalist. Keep up with the latest in fashion and health at paularath.com.

i remember when...

Plantation daYS Gone BY

TEXT BY TRISHA LAGASO GOLDBERG

the Year waS 1987 – the Summer Before mY Senior Year in hiGh School i had Gotten mY firSt real JoB worKinG at dave’S ice cream in waimalu

It was the perfect gig for a workforce newbie. Dave’s was air conditioned and just down the hill from our house.

The job required little skill or brainpower and offered an unlimited supply of ice cream. It was the summer of making minimum wage, breaking up with my first boyfriend (ok, maybe it was my second), scarfing down chocolate malts, lip syncing Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” and staying up until dawn sewing crazy outfits and talking on the phone.

Rewind to 1954. Hawai‘i had yet to achieve statehood. That year, my father, Alfredo Lagaso, turned 17 and my mother, Natividad Torres, sweet 16. Each lived in a plantation housing camp for workers of the Puna Sugar Mill in ‘Ōla‘a, today referred to as Kea‘au, on Hawai‘i Island. Dad grew up in what was referred to as Camp 3 (one of 5) in Pāhoa and mom in the so-called 9 1/2 Mile Camp in ‘Ōla‘a, named for the distance between the camp location and the town of Hilo.

I didn’t know these things about my parents while growing up. In fact, I only learned the details of their histories when we sat down to talk story recently. What was it like to be a teenager in Hawai‘i, when the sugar cane

industry dominated the physical, cultural and economic landscape? Was the quality of life better then? Did they long for those days gone by? To hear my dad talk about it, you’d think that Pāhoa back then was the land of milk and honey. “We had fresh air, open skies, open land and wild fruits to go and harvest,” says Dad, “and back then you could trust everyone.”

Mom chimes in, “Life was simple then. I remember the beautiful cane fields, the silver tassels of the cane stalks blooming in winter, and in the distance, snowcapped Mauna Kea. This was our view as we walked half a mile down the road to school each day.”

There’s an intensity and tenderness in their recollections that I’ve never seen before. I ask if they miss the plantation days. Their responses are mixed, hesitant. Although my dad has fond memories of the past, he stops short of saying he’d like to return there. “It’s easy to be trapped by nostalgia by staying back and not furthering yourself,” dad says. “A lot of my classmates stayed back and continued to work on the plantation, but I sought to escape the plantation life in search of better opportunities.”

When my dad was 12, he realized he came from a family of have-nots. “All of my Japanese classmates came from families whose parents owned land or independent cane fields, grew sugar cane, vegetables and fruits,” he recalls. “They had flushing toilets. They had all of those things. At the time, I worked for 25 cents an hour as a yard boy, and then at age 14, I started working summers in the cane

fields in order to make money to buy school clothes and equipment. Since my father was the only one working to support our family with seven children, I had to find a job.”

Meanwhile, throughout her high school years, my mom worked in Hilo as a live-in nanny and cook for a haole family named the Mists. On weekends she sold homemade cancanen (a sweet Filipino mochi dessert) doorto-door and did the laundry for six single men in the camp. During the summer, she joined the rest of her family to pick coffee beans on the hot hillsides of Kona. Mom never saw her wages. Her earnings went straight to the family till.

So, this was life back in the day.

After hearing my parents’ varied accounts of plantation life, my experience “working” at Dave’s Ice Cream seems almost comical in comparison.

To be 17 again? No thanks. I am humbled by my parents’ individual and collective hardships. Their steadfastness and sacrifice – and those of my grandparents who migrated here from the Philippines – have paved the way for the life I am privileged to have today.

Trisha Lagaso Goldberg is an artist and arts worker who was born and raised on the Leeward side of Oahu. Educated at the San Francisco Art Institute and San Francisco State University, she works as a project manager of commissioned works of art at the Hawai‘i State Foundation on Culture and the Arts and as an independent arts curator and consultant.

Natividad Torres, 12, participating in the Maypole dance at Ola‘a Elementary and Intermediate School, 1950.

Opposite: Torres family, taken at the Ola‘a Village photo shop in 1955.

Baseball, America’s favorite pastime, predates every other non-Hawaiian organized team sport and remains ingrained in our cultural lexicon to this day.

PineaPPle outfield

TEXT BY SONNY GANADEN | IMAGES BY JOHN HOOK

Baseball has been played in Hawai‘i since the game was invented over 150 years ago. It predates every other non-Hawaiian organized team sport and, in a highly physical local culture, it remains the most competitive sport for youth, linking fathers with sons (and increasingly, daughters) in a game without time and in an arc going back to the beginning of Hawai‘i residents’ tenuous relationship with America’s cultural legacies. Despite a history of American storytelling in which baseball is an analogy to all of life itself, the story of baseball in Hawai‘i may be the story of America at her best in the Pacific.

ElYSIAN FIEldS OF CANE

A few miles inland of the shores of Honolulu harbor, the road rises up the Pali to the Nu‘uanu cemetery. In the low clouds of the old neighborhood burial grounds, one headstone differentiates itself, its base littered with red-dirt skidded baseballs. There lies Alexander Joy Cartwright, the man who invented American baseball more than 150 years ago. In 1845, he and some friends founded the Knickerbocker Baseball Club in Hoboken, New Jersey. At a park they named Elysian Fields, these city boys played a game they made up just across the river from busy Manhattan. During summer afternoons, the Knickerbockers formalized the new game’s rules, differentiating it from the English games of rounders and cricket. Cartwright thought up many of the rules in order to maximize fun: nine players to a team, three flat bases on an asymmetrical diamond, and three strikes you’re out.

In 1849, Cartwright set out to California for the gold rush but ended up in Honolulu with his family. He served as the burgeoning town’s fire chief from 1850-1863, then as an advisor to King Kalākaua and Queen Emma, and spent the rest of his days teaching friends the game until his death just prior to annexation. In a quirk of history, Hawai‘i was host to some of the first games of American base-

ball played anywhere. Far from home, in an era when a trip to Hawai‘i was a permanent decision, Cartwright brought what essayist and professor Gerald Early has called “one of the three most beautiful things, alongside jazz and the Constitution, that Americans have created.”

THREE NIKKEI STRIKES

The roots of local baseball were further laid in the sugar fields, specifically in the experience of the Japanese diaspora as it grappled with America’s less beautiful cultural aspects. In 1909, Japanese laborers were fed up with the racially discriminatory wage system that the Hawaiian Sugar Planters’ Association had enacted to divide and control the labor pool. The first Great Strike began in May of that year, the beginning of baseball season. When several hundred Japanese gathered at the ‘Aiea plantation to demand an end to race-based pay, the strike spread like a relay thrown across a dry cane outfield. Two days after the ‘Aiea work stop, it spread to Waipahu, then on to the plantations at Waialua, Kahuku, Wai‘anae, ‘Ewa and Waimanalo.

When planters attempted to break the strike, the Japanese refused to return to the fields through the summer. The HSPA labor committee told the organization’s trustees that “it may be too soon to say that the Jap is to be supplanted … but it is certainly in order to clip his wings,” and to give “encouragement to a new class … to keep the more belligerent element in its proper place.”

The next year, the HSPA turned to other nations to fill labor needs and urged plantation managers to quell the spirit of discontent with sports, especially baseball. “A baseball ground well laid out and grassed, could be afforded by every plantation, and to encourage this sport, which every nationality of laborers is keen for, prizes could be offered to winning teams,” it stated. Music, and even the occasional movie, was also supported. Such a “welfare program,” explained the vice

president of H. Hackfeld & Company in a confidential correspondence, would offer “magnificent results … not only in holding the laborer on the plantation, but in preventing strikes.” He added, “Leaving out of consideration the humanitarian side of any such welfare work, we believe it would be to the financial benefit of the plantation to cultivate a spirit of contentment among the laborers.”

In 1919, a manager of an O‘ahu plantation wrote to HSPA, “Every Sunday we have baseball games between the Filipino laborers and our young Japanese and Portuguese boys in which our timekeepers and some of our overseers join. … In looking around at the almost universal unrest amongst labor and thinking into the absence of it upon these Islands, we feel that an unremitting endeavor should be made to keep our laborers contented and happy.” But local laborers were not happy. They struck again in 1920 and 1946. By then, baseball was the most vibrant sport in the territory, a centerpiece of working-class life in the fields.

Baseball’s primary lesson, besides teamwork and organizing, is the great American myth of success: that old coach’s adage that talent will only get a ballplayer so far and greatness comes with diligence and practice, as measured in the statistical aggregate of one’s career; that a player can make up for inadequacies in natural ability through daring, striving and labor; that it is how one plays the game that is important and that the home team is bound to the same rules as the visitor; that umpires are impartial. This was not the reality of the fields in the first half of the 20th century. After spending Sunday afternoons experiencing the rough equality in America’s pastime, laborers could not return to work in its absence.

Local Japanese men created the Americans of Japanese Ancestry league to determine which island’s players were the best in 1930. Champions have been crowned every year since then, with a break from 1942-1947 for the war. Mō‘ili‘ili won the first title. Wai‘alae won this year. A hundred years after its formation, AJA games are some of the most exciting and competitive played in the state. According to organizers, the league is “dedicated to those who sacrificed in the face of prejudice, discrimination and adversity, which we will never know or can even imagine, so that we can have the opportunities we take for granted now. Giri (duty and obligation) to honor the values of our heritage and perpetuate our culture by continuing the legacy

and tradition of AJA baseball, handed down from our fathers, from their fathers and their fathers before them.”

AJA players continue to uphold this tradition. In 1996, a local haole who was a former University of Hawai‘i pitcher and AllAmerican wanted to keep playing in Hawai‘i after college and attempted to play AJA ball. The entire league, all 10 teams, unanimously voted to deny his admission.

THE PINEAPPlE OuTFIEld

As in the continental United States, prior to television, non-professional baseball in Hawai‘i bound communities to each other. William Mae, who grew up in Laupāhoehoe in the ’40s and ’50s, remembered his time playing in the Hāmākua league. “You see, that’s how serious baseball was in those days,” Mae said in a 2007 interview with Hawaii Sports Page. “The Hāmākua baseball league had rivalries from Pepe‘ekeo town to Honoka‘a town. Each plantation town had their own league, and after the season, an all-star team was selected from each plantation department. … Then an all-star team from the all-star teams were selected to challenge other plantation all-star teams from the State.”

Maui-native Louis Baldovi, a cane worker in his youth in the 1930s, remembered a game when Haiku played Makawao on their field: “I popped a high fly ball that bounced beyond the left fielder and into the rows of pineapple. I crossed home plate before the outfielders could find the ball. The opposing team argued that my hit was a ground-rule double. But earlier, we met with the guys and said, ‘If it’s lost in the pineapple outfield, it’s a home run. To this day, we called that the ‘pineapple home run.’”

MINK dIAMONdS, THE ROAd TO WIllIAMSPORT

In Waipahu, near where laborers played the first organized ball games, the Patsy T. Mink Central O‘ahu Regional Park was opened in 2005. In the 269-acre park, 12 baseball diamonds radiate in undulating fields of dry, khaki grass.

Variations of baseball are played at every level of youth in Hawai‘i. The 9-to-12year-old Majors Division is amongst the most competitive, with teams vying to play in the Little League World Series in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. The sport’s popularity around

the world requires an ascension process that is immensely complex. In Hawai‘i, division little leagues name their own champions and send all-star teams to compete against each other for the chance to make it to the state championships. All-star players are picked by votes from players and coaches. The winner of the state championship competes for a regional berth, which would send them to Williamsport, where the World Series has been held since 1947. In the last decade, teams from Hawai‘i have competed against and beaten many of their counterparts from around the globe.

The best teams from Hawai‘i tend to come from places where plantations once thrived. Teams from Hilo and Wailuku are perennial contenders. In 2005, the ‘Ewa Beach team won the Little League World Series, beating Curacao in a riveting game televised on ESPN. Waipi‘o won the series in 2008 and made it to Williamsport again in 2010 with new players. That team lost in their first day in the double-elimination setup and spent the rest of their time facing immediate elimination. After 25 grueling days on the road, they become the U.S. champions. Waipi‘o met Japan in the finals, but the team’s journey to attain another world championship ended after a heartbreaking defeat. When the real-world sacrifices of the little leaguers’ families hit the nightly news, First Hawaiian Bank created a fund that received donations from around the state. The beleaguered parents, coaches and players came home to a parade down Kalākaua Boulevard in Waikīkī, statewide heroes in a state without professional sports.

Hawai‘i Little League District 7 consists of teams from O‘ahu’s ‘Ewa plain, Westside and North Shore. The day I went to watch a game at the Patsy T. Mink regional park was the District 7 playoffs between Pearl City and Waipi‘o, the winner of which would meet Nānākuli in the next round on the way to states. Without the slightest hint of doubt, parents and coaches called the game “the road to Williamsport.”

On the mound was 11-year-old, lefthanded pitcher Nohealani Hee, her ponytail whipping behind her as she hurled fastballs past the Waipi‘o hitters. Her best friend Darian Obara was catching. Being voted amongst the best ballplayers in Pearl City, their names were screen-printed on the backs of purple shirts worn by half the crowd. The corre-

In the last decade, little league teams from Hawai‘i have competed against and beaten many of their counterparts from around the globe.

Baseball remains the most competitive sport for youth in Hawai‘i, linking fathers with sons – and increasingly, daughters.

As the third hitter stepped to the plate, tutus with umbrellas, little sisters and older brothers in Pearl City purple rose and yelled a thousand directions at their pitcher. Three cool strikes and Waipi‘o’s season was over.

sponding black shirts, signed by each Waipi‘o all-star, were proudly worn in the opposing set of bleachers.

I estimated Nohea’s fastball to be around 55 mph. With the closer mound and the smaller players, we reasoned her pitch gives as little reaction time as its 85-mph equivalent in college or the majors. “We’ve never clocked her, too superstitious,” her dad told me as he watched the game from behind the Pearl City dugout, too antsy to sit on the hot metal bleachers. “She’s a great kid. Her mom and I weren’t too athletic, so she gets it from her older brother Tyler, who played for Kamehameha Schools. He practices with her every day.” I was later pointed to a lanky, tattooed local guy who yelled constant encouragement to his sister.

As Mr. Hee explained to me the scheduling problems with his daughter’s various baseball seasons, he abruptly threw his hands in the air and yelled, “Hou! Yes! Yes!” – his daughter had just made a brilliant play off a hit that sent a ball beelining for her forehead. Instead of shirking the ball, she caught it in one lightning quick motion and wheeled around for a toss to second and the double play. “Sorry ah,” her dad said. “That’s my girl!”

In the fourth inning, Waipi‘o was up to bat and down 1-4. Hee and Obara, two upcoming sixth-grade girls, had picked the Waipi‘o lock and kept them nearly scoreless to that point. But an odd energy was building with the boys in black. With runners on second and third, a hit pinged off the aluminum bat and skidded low into the red dirt infield. The shortstop fielded it with wobbly legs and made a late, off-balance throw to first, which flew past the baseman and clanged against the chain link fence of the Waipi‘o dugout. The boys, clawing onto the fence, screamed as their hitter rounded first. The game was tied with one inning left.

Pearl City managed to go up one at their next at-bat. In the last inning, Nohea returned to the mound to the soundtrack of her own name: “Let’s-go-girl!” and “Almos’-pau!” With the season on the line and her teammates’ expressions communicating something between concentration and terror, her face remained stoic, almost bored, like a skilled pianist practicing scales. She stepped off the mound, waved off a few signals from Darian, and calmly returned to pitch.

There were plenty of moments when it seemed like nothing was going on. When the Waipi‘o third baseman warmed up to relief pitch, when the officials held the game by checking a questionable bat, and when Nohea stopped to think about whether to burn it or throw a change-up in silent communication with her catcher. It gave us an opportunity to consider the implications of the next inning. Get through this, and beat Nānākuli tomorrow. Win next weekend, and then off to states. Win in Santa Barbara for regionals and then off to Williamsport. We were beyond time. There was nothing but being here, now, wondering what will happen with the next pitch. Keep winning and you keep playing.

The Pearl City outfielders popped their glove pockets in preparation. Nohea struck out the first hitter. The second hitter duped a line over the first baseman, barely managing to get on base and keep Waipi‘o’s hopes alive. As the third hitter stepped to the plate, tutus with umbrellas, little sisters and older brothers in Pearl City purple rose and yelled a thousand directions at their pitcher. Three cool strikes and Waipi‘o’s season was over. After the game, when asked if she was fazed by the fourth inning rally, Nohea calmly replied, “No big deal. We all make errors, but we just make it up next at-bat.”

I attempted to talk to Waipi‘o President Tim Yee about his team’s season. “Maybe

you should talk to Leann, the Pearl City president,” he said. “She’s probably in a better mood.” He then went to the mound and congratulated each Waipi‘o player by name and handed the boys their well-earned, runner-up trophy. As his boys filed past the Pearl City team to give half-hearted low-fives, a few wiped away tears with their undershirts. Nohea played the full game against Waipi‘o and maxed out her allowable pitches under the rules. The next day, Pearl City lost to Nānākuli. As of the writing of this article, the state championships are about to commence, next stop on the road to Williamsport.

The District 7 little leaguers play a competitive, excellent version of ball. When they get to Williamsport, they often meet kids that come from parts of the world where America similarly imposed a plantation-based economy. What happened in Hawai‘i regarding sugar – the uneasy relationship between labor and planters – and American sports was not an isolated occurrence: Plantation economies and societies were developed in Louisiana, Guyana, Cuba, Puerto Rico and Jamaica – all with notoriously excellent levels of play.

Residents of Hawai‘i have applied a few of the best lessons the game offers. The islands’ fields have seen the rich intermingling of peoples from around the world, who worked from siren to siren, spoke Pidgin English to each other, went on strike together, and played ball together. They took an American sport and made it their own. Game after game, inning after inning, they came to think of themselves as locals, as people of Hawai‘i.

Kuha‘o Zane, shown here at Merrie Monarch, continues to link his past with his future.

a future rooted in the PaSt: KUHA‘O

ZANE

T EXT BY J EFF M ULL

OPENING IMAGE BY

BRAD

BALLESTEROS | INTERIOR IMAGES BY JOHN

HOOK

On an early summer’s morning, Kuha‘o Zane sits before his computer in his office at Sig Zane Designs in a nondescript building located just outside of Hilo. The company he works for, the company his father started 30 years ago, has grown into one of the most revered lines of aloha wear in Hawai‘i today. At first glance, Kuha‘o looks to be the pinnacle of style, as if he’d mesh seamlessly into the New York, Portland or San Francisco downtown scene. His skin is browned and his hair is lightly dusted with streaks of gray. His desk is littered with mockups, deadlines and to-do lists and there’s a bloated list of emails that he’s yet to respond to. For a young professional in his late 20s, all of this seems, well, normal. But if you were to take a closer look at Kuha‘o, and pull back the veneer of stylish clothes, remove the limited edition Vans and Fitted cap, you’d see that there are many more layers to this man than meets the eye. Where so many of his contemporaries hold a keen focus solely based on what is now, what is modern, what is current, Kuha‘o can’t shake the past. And all for good reason. For Kuha‘o, it’s what’s behind him – his history, his lineage – that’s shaping what’s ahead.

Not long after Calvinist missionaries first arrived in Hawai‘i in the 19th century, a strict Western set of moral laws took over the islands. Some of the most pivotal components of Hawaiian culture were struck down, hula being at the top of that list. To preserve hula, to keep the Hawaiian art of storytelling through dance alive, the knowledge

was forced to go underground. Hula kapu, or the forbidden hula, was born.

“A lot of Hawaiian culture almost died in the 1800s. To preserve hula, it had to be taught in secret,” reflects Kuha‘o. “My great grandma, Tutu Fuji, was one of the few women fortunate enough to be able to learn hula at such an important time. At a really young age, she was taken to a very rural area of Puna on the Big Island to learn a form of hula called ‘ai ha‘a.”

According to Kuha‘o, learning a forbidden style of hula at that time was no walk in the park. “When my great grandma was learning hula, there were only four people in the class, and it was very strict. They had to do a lot of things to take care of themselves that most young kids couldn’t dream of today,” says Kuha‘o. “But it was a real honor to be selected to hold on to the knowledge at such a crucial time. At one point, I think there were only five people who held on to the ‘ai ha‘a knowledge. I know this might sound a little crazy to some people, but the way she was taught was very spiritual. When their kumu would leave town, he was said to have taught the class through their dreams. The next morning, the class would all wake up and know a new dance.

“You don’t just learn the moves when you learn hula,” adds Kuha‘o, “you learn the history. You learn the background. You learn what flowers to pick when you’re making certain lei. You learn about the song. … some of these songs we learn date back 300 years.”

When Kuha‘o’s great-grandmother turned 13, she re-

“My dad’s aesthetic is very modern. His designs are simple and very clean but also very thought out. I think it speaks to people in a much different way than other lines. Every piece has a story.”

turned to Hilo and passed her knowledge onto her family. In essence, the lineage of hula followed the family’s bloodline. The knowledge was passed down the family, falling next on Edith Kanaka‘ole, Kuha‘o’s grandmother, who became one of the most revered figures of Hawaiian knowledge and hula. On the Big Island, the stadium that hosts the annual Merrie Monarch Festival, an event in which the Zane family is firmly involved, is named after her. Edith Kanaka‘ole’s wealth of knowledge was then passed down to her daughter, Nalani, a woman who would marry a man named Sig.

In the 1970s, long before his name became synonymous with aloha wear, Sig Zane, Kuha‘o's father, made a living flipping houses in Honolulu. But soon, the call of the Big Island and some potentially big payoff opportunities in underdeveloped real estate called out to him. If he was able to tie together a living in the congested city of Honolulu, imagine what he could do with new home developments on the Big Island. With big visions of continuing his business in real estate, Sig jumped ship and moved to the Big Island. But not long after relocating, a new chapter in Sig’s life arose that would completely alter him forever. Like so many other life-changing events that befall so many men, Sig’s came in the form of a woman.

When Sig first met his future wife Nalani, there was no way he could have fathomed the curve his life was about to take. As a Hawaiian woman with a family tree that could easily be the story of a Hollywood film, Nalani’s views of the world would speak to Sig and he would come to embrace all av-

enues of Hawaiiana, including hula. His days flipping houses were over and he was about to embark on a new venture that paid testament to the days of old while still hitting a modern tone.

“To impress my mom, my dad made some screen-printed pareos. This was back in the early ’80s and my mom told my dad that he should start looking into aloha shirts,” says Kuha‘o. “None of the aloha shirts made at the time celebrated true Hawai‘i. So that’s how Sig Zane Designs was basically born.”

Two and a half decades later, the Sig Zane label has become an iconic aloha-wear brand recognized throughout the world for its authentic aesthetic and contemporary style. Having grown up around the business and with a passion for design, it was no surprise that Kuha‘o would follow in his father’s footsteps and work for the family business.

After graduating from high school, Kuha‘o traded the sleepy lifestyle on the Big Island for the glowing lights and hustle of Los Angeles, where he attended the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising, an esteemed art and design college in Los Angeles. After graduating, Kuha‘o returned to the Big Island and began working as the lead graphic designer at Sig Zane Designs, where he and his father began to weave touches of more contemporary style into the traditional lines.

“My dad’s aesthetic is very modern,” says Kuha‘o. “He has a great eye for flow and spacing. His designs are simple and very clean but also very thought out. I think it speaks to people in a much different way than other lines. Every piece has a story.”

from

to

The knowledge of hula was passed down

generation

generation. The woman behind Kuha‘o is his grandmother, the namesake for which Edith Kanaka‘ole Tennis Stadium in Hilo is named.

Recently, with the help of Kuha‘o, Sig Zane Designs has worked on a slew of collaborations with a host of highly established companies ranging from Shwood Eyewear to Converse to Tiffany & Co. This past April, in a collaboration between Vans Shoes and Kicks/HI, they produced one of the more memorable runs of shoes of the spring. At the Kicks/HI store in Honolulu, the collaboration nearly sold out in the debut weekend. At the Sig Zane store in Hilo, the shoes were gone within 48 hours of hitting the showroom floor.

All of the success of Sig Zane keeps Kuha‘o and the rest of the family moving at breakneck speeds. Always on the hustle, forever traveling, the family recently returned from a trip to Japan, where they met with an adoring Japanese audience bubbling over with passion for their brand. Moving forward, Kuha‘o envisions continued success as the creative director for Sig Zane as well as more collaborations and freelance design work. Currently, the company has been contracted to provide cultural design direction to the Sheraton Keauhou in Kona. For Kuha‘o, it’s been one of the more intense projects he’s worked on, but also one of the most fulfilling.

“Working with the resort has been a really great experience for us,” says Kuha‘o. “We’ve all worked very hard to not only help with the redesign, but also to help them understand the significance of it. Every piece we’ve worked on in the hotel has a story, has a meaning. When tourists stay at this hotel, they’ll be surrounded by pieces that are true to Hawai‘i. We’re very proud of it.”

When asked what his next move will be, Kuha‘o is adamant that his future will always have a reverence for the past. “The past is something very special to me. I’ve got some big shoes to fill, that’s for sure. I guess that’s the story of my life. But I love it. I really do love what I do and I truly hope I can do it forever.”

For more information and to keep up with Sig Zane Designs, visit sigzane.com.

In a collaboration between Vans Shoes and KICKS/HI, Sig Zane Designs produced one of the more memorable runs of shoes of the spring, selling out within 48 hours.

“Paradise of the Pacific,” by Brigitte D’Annibale evokes a sense of nostalgia that perhaps never really existed.

#hi no S tal G ia : The Sweet Lie

TEXT BY DAVID.GOLDBERG | I MAGES BY JOHN HOOK

The popular landscape of Hawai‘i is practically built out of nostalgia mixed up with the pain and struggles of its difficult and unresolved historical issues. The visual arts can reflect, sustain and critique this nostalgia. But what role do they play – and can nostalgia survive – in an era driven by technologies evolving toward the creation of a permanent state of déjà vu?

Let’s not mince words; nostalgia is a lie: sweeter than that sugar cane you chewed on back in plantation days, your first kiss under a full moon in Waikīkī, or your grandmother’s mochi. Nostalgia is not memory. Presidents and meth addicts alike have powerful connections to the past, but they shouldn’t be confused with nostalgia, which is an artistic medium like painting, television or baking.

You’ve heard it before: Back in the days, X was pure, honest, simpler or more straightforward. Things were built better, people knew right from wrong, the environment was cleaner, and everything had a proper place. But nostalgia is a style of remembering whose seductive power depends on how much the present supposedly sucks. It is 100 percent subjective, and it never applies to everything or appeals to everyone.

We channel nostalgia through its expressions like music, design, fashion, architecture and attitudes. This is why, when confronted with the constant changes of our consumer-driven culture, songs, clothes, places and beliefs from the past help us “remember when …” even if we don’t or can’t. Nostalgia lives through media, is always accessible, and is always ready to take root in the imagination.

Try Googling some of Norman Rockwell’s covers for the Saturday Evening Post magazine. Starting in 1916, he defined a painting style that featured realistic renderings of everyday situations, from barbershops to small town sidewalks, meant to represent the essence of America. But all forms of nostalgia fall apart under any serious scrutiny, especially when we consider people and situations that are absent from its presentation.

Though Hawai‘i was an annexed U.S. territory for most of Rockwell’s career, the Post did circulate here and featured travel articles, Dole pineapple advertisements, and even a profile of Punahou School. Though he was an observer of culture, Rockwell was no Mark Twain, and life on the plantation (or in the lo‘i, or

taro patch, for that matter) was beyond his scope. Nevertheless, his images became a part of our islands’ visual subconscious. Their power, and that of nostalgia in general, comes from the creation of a sense of place and identity that selectively filters the bulk of reality and history. Such conservatism is not culturally exclusive. Thus Rockwell’s masterfully executed “timeless moments,” as whitewashed as they were, echoed through the decades and mutated, eventually informing the tone and function of Pegge Hopper’s moody and wistful Polynesian beauties, Kim Taylor Reece’s idealized hula dancers, Kelly Sueda’s landscape paintings of “lost” Honolulu neighborhoods, and even the underlying vibe of Hawai‘i’s Plantation Village in Waipahu and Disney’s Aulani Resort.

Despite the modern aesthetics that inform Hawai‘i’s cities and suburbs, the nostalgic visual fantasy of an older “sense of place” still subtly permeates everything. Though this is a common design and branding strategy, commercial references to yesterday’s indigenous motifs and plantation aesthetics quietly argue that today isn’t good enough. We play our own game of selective erasure when we celebrate the “spirit of old Hawai‘i” by sampling and recycling vintage magazine graphics, indigenous textile patterns, old corporate logos, typefaces, archival photographs and color palettes.

In contrast, consider the city of San Francisco. As deeply informed as it was by the Gold Rush and Spanish missionary eras, the city is not dominated by those periods’ visual histories. Why not? First, because the city’s tourist appeal developed well after its strategic and economic value was established, and second, because the reboot caused by the 1906 quake and subsequent fire amplified that value through the type of innovation and risk-taking that only disasters can produce.

Now consider the plight of Kaua‘i after Hurricane Iniki in 1992: 1,400 homes destroyed, 5,000 damaged, agriculture crippled, no electricity for weeks, an exodus of insurance companies, and the Coco Palms Resort (originally blessed by the post-plantation nostalgia of Elvis’ Blue Hawai‘i) remains a ruin. This might have been an opportunity for the unconquered isle to reinvent itself, to invoke the stories of the menehune and build great new works overnight. Instead, Kaua‘i reinvested in

the economics of agribusiness, cinema and tourism.

Enter one Brigitte D’Annibale, who fled the cultural chaos of Hollywood where she was a scene painter and set designer for a summer hiatus on Kaua‘i. No stranger to these islands, she found herself living in the harsh wake of Iniki, exploring the debris with the newly emancipated chickens. Enamored by the simplicity and charm of Kaua‘i’s architecture and lifestyle relative to O‘ahu’s overdevelopment, D’Annibale began painting for the sake of painting and decided to stay. She was inspired by Iniki’s handiwork: buildings turned to skeletons, peeled paint, far-flung doors and accelerated weathering. Instead of stretching canvas, she assembled collages of scrap wood, metal and cardboard and applied layers of acrylic and oil paint, enamel and encaustic wax to these bas-reliefs. Her painted fields of color collaborated with the textures of the underlying materials. Then came the Hawaiiana: a repainted haole hula girl lifted from a post card, huge tropical flowers and some palm trees, and the vehicles and motifs of 1950s tourist transport. They were finished with words and slogans tuned to advertising and rendered in the typefaces of tiki bars, plate lunch joints and travel brochures.

While investigating nostalgia’s use in commercially successful Hawai‘i art in 2007, I found D’Annibale’s paintings at the Tabora Gallery in the Hilton Hawaiian Village. Though they were readily decoded in the context of work by Robert Rauschenberg or Jeff Koons, these paintings contrasted powerfully with the typical renderings of beach scenes, maidens, mountain ranges and country stores. D’Annibale’s loose, casual rendering of figures and forms, unfinished multilayering, and use of intentional drips were contemporary, evoking a melancholy tropical torpor and a vaguely threatening humidity. Were these hula girls actually suffering, and was the “lure of the tropics” actually a trap? Had she flipped the idea of nostalgia into a critical tool in the commercial gallery, the least critical of art environments?

Not really.

I asked her why these paintings were popular despite muted undertones of tragedy and clear signs of surrealist decay. She believes that even though Tabora’s clients ultimately sought digestible

work to complement their sofas, they wanted something that evoked “the real.” Ultimately D’Annibale’s paintings touch on the same essence as Norman Rockwell’s, but hers reflect the visual rhythms of image searches, Instagram feeds and music videos. In an era characterized by the ability to simulate, cut and paste any image, independent of time or place, nostalgia may be an endangered medium. Not because black-and-white film, saturated video, sepia tones, Polaroid contrast or 8-bit graphics are just effects options in a photo collage app. Not because gangster rappers are resurrected as holograms. Not because we all know that working sugar cane fields is actually backbreaking labor, that the eroding sands of Waikīkī are imported, and that grandma’s mochi is made from Monsanto’s genetically modified rice. Nostalgia is threatened because “vintage,” “rare” and “forgotten” music, film and fashion have no place to hide in the Internet age, and neither do their complements emerging from the underground. Thanks to our 24-hour status updates and media sharing, ever-smarter recommendation programs, and instantly populated searchengine fields, the delay between making and consuming culture approaches zero in a dazzling flash. This means that anything, from the most sentimental nostalgia to the most aggressively critical remix effort, can be anticipated, analyzed and contextualized by coolhunters, armchair critics, comment trolls and market researchers … even if it was conceived and incubated offline. If the future can be suffocated at birth but people adopt it anyway, what happens to the past? It becomes an obsolete medium, and just another option for filtering the present – earthquakes and hurricanes are disempowered. Here we are then, stuck between the plot mechanics of Memento, Back to the Future and The Terminator. Enjoy these sweet lies while you still can.

#hinostlagia InSTAGrAm WInner!

CLASSIC beauty

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JOHN HOOK & CHRIS ROHRER

HAIR BY KYLIE MATTOS, RYAN JACOBIE SALON MAKEUP BY DULCE FELIPE, TIMELESS CLASSIC BEAUTY STYLED BY A + A

MODEL: ALEXANDRA BUTTERBAUGH

Lace jacket and jewel neck silk blouse, Moschino, Nordstrom. Black jersey pants, Girl. By Band of Outsiders, Aloha Rag. Vintage earrings and ring, vintage, Barrio Vintage. Shoes, Homecoming

Print dress, Dries Van Noten, Nordstrom. Earrings and ring, vintage, Barrio Vintage. Necklace and shoes, Homecoming.

Black jacket and floral print top, Thomas Wylde, Aloha Rag. Black pants, Alexander Wang, Nordstrom. Earrings and ring, vintage, Barrio Vintage. Necklace, stylist’s own.

Floral print dress, Thomas Wylde, Aloha Rag. Earrings and ring, vintage, Barrio Vintage.

Black bandage dress, Herve Leger, Aloha Rag. Earrings and ring, vintage, Barrio Vintage. Shoes, Homecoming.

Black zip-up dress, Moschino, Nordstrom. Earrings and ring, vintage, Barrio Vintage.

Black and ochre dress, Alexander Wang, Nordstrom. Beret, earrings and ring, vintage, Barrio Vintage.

SElECTS

BY CHRIS KAM & BLAISE SATO | IMAGE BY GEOFF MAU

The Modern Hawaiian Cowboy

HAWAI‘I HAS AS RICH OF A HISTORY IN AGRICULTURE AND RANCHING AS IT DOES

IN SURFING CULTURE.

Just as boardshorts make up the surfer’s uniform – rolling form, function and personal style into a singular article of clothing – paniolo (Hawaiian cowboy) dress accommodates for the rigors of the job while maintaining a stylish heritage.

The Western shirt, characterized by a stylized yoke with decorative piping, colorful, plaid bandana fabric and pearly snap-closure buttons, dates back to the Hollywood cowboy heroes of the 1950s. The palaka, Hawai‘i’s signature plaid, is a durable yet breathable cotton twill originally fashioned in red or blue patterns. In the early plantation years, everyone from kids to grandpar-

ents wore some sort of palaka in the form of skirts, aloha or work shirts.

The combination of dress for the paniolo has a decidedly Spanish influence: Western-style shirts, raw denim pants, carved leather belts and boots, and a straw cowboy hat that’s flatter on top than the mainland 10-gallon style. In the 1830s, King Kamehameha III commissioned Spanish vaqueros (cowboys) to train Hawaiians how to ranch.

The Spanish brought with them a certain flair, from their style of dress to their intricately carved leather saddles, custom whips and silver spurs. This knack for rugged pageantry has held on to this day.

Ralph Lauren’s RRL line (a name inspired by “Double RL,” Ralph Lauren’s ranch in Colorado) is an expertly curated collection that draws inspiration from American heritage with a focus on military, rail and western gear. It emanates a similar authentic aspect to the Levi’s Vintage Clothing collection, a staple of its own. Then there’s Polo RRL (Rugby Ralph Lauren), which produces everything from leather boots and M-65

jackets to duffle and tote bags and has garnered attention for its iconic aesthetic and American heritage perspective.

American heritage brands and stories have never really gone out of style. The word “heritage” itself denotes that it is a part of a culture, and in this case, part of our nation’s fabric, literally and figuratively. For cowboys in Hawai‘i, the denim in jeans had to be raw to be able to handle 14-hour workdays, while fabrics for shirting needed to be more breathable to accommodate the island’s humid climate. As a result, shirts were often made of cotton twills and chambray, a lightweight alternative to denim.

It is this mix of chambray shirting and exquisitely carved leather goods that is the main influence behind KICKS/HI’s latest collaboration with Vans’ top-tier boutique line, Vans Vault. KICKS/HI has created a shoe that applies Hawai‘i’s ranch fashion sense to a Vans Authentic silhouette, while adding accents of their shop’s signature orange. The design tells a story, and through that story, the paniolo heritage continues to grow.

COCKTAIL ROUNDUP

Shaken Not Stirred TEXT BY DAVE NEWMAN | IMAGES BY GEOFF MAU

“I don’t go to a bar, I go to see bartenders.”

We asked Dave Newman, former bar manager of Nobu Waikiki, famous for their intricately crafted cocktails, and the owner of the newest gastropub Pint + Jigger, to give us the rundown of where to catch the top bartenders (and their cocktails) around the state. Find Dave: Pint + Jigger, 1936 S. King St.

WHO: Jonathan Schwalbenitz is a consummate professional and a mentor to many upand-coming bartenders around the islands. More than making drinks, the way Jon works a room is amazing.

TRY: Manhattan

FINd JONATHAN: Murphy’s Bar and Grill, 2 Merchant St.

WHO: Kyle Reutner is the type of bartender who knows what you like and knows what you’ll love. Many times, Kyle whips up something new for me and we see how it goes. Being a good barman, Kyle can also read your mood and hone in on it to make what turns out to be a home run.

TRY: Barrel-aged Negroni and whiskey or a Mezcal mule

FINd K YlE: Town Kaimuki, 3435 Wai‘alae Ave.

WHO: Dave Power always has something amazing and new to try. His use of fresh local ingredients and his masterful skills with booze always make me yearn for more. Make sure to ask Dave a question or two about drinks or spirits. Prepare to learn way more than you thought possible.

TRY: El Diablo, one of the best tequila cocktails I’ve ever had. It is perfectly balanced with great notes of ginger, tequila and citrus.

FINd dAVId: The Feral Pig, 3501 Rice St.

WHO: Justin Park’s use of bitters and his ability to surprise are always a pleasure.

TRY: Any classic and enjoy his smooth delivery

FINd JuSTIN: The Manifest, 32 N. Hotel St.

WHO: Christian Self’s spins on the classics are always a treat. He has been in the game for a long time and is sure to set a glass in front of you that will make you smile.

TRY: One of his many Mai Tais

FINd CHRISTIAN: thirtyninehotel, 39 N. Hotel St.

WHO: The crew at Nobu is coming into its own.

TRY: Kenny’s latest soju/mescal drink with cilantro, which is nothing short of stellar. Any of JJ’s creations using whiskey. Anything made with gin or whiskey by Alicia – she can create something totally new that tastes like it should have been thought up a long time ago.

FINd NOBu CREW: Nobu Waikiki, 2233 Helumoa Rd.

IN THe kITCHeN w ITH...

Jason Iwane, Kalapawai Cafe & Deli

TEXT BY KRISTINE WADA | IMAGES BY J OHN H OOK

In food television, head chefs are looming personalities who bang on cutting boards with their knives as audiences cheer in fear and awe. Jason Iwane of Kailua’s Kalapawai Cafe & Deli is no such chef: Despite earning praise for his talents, including a Hale ‘Aina award, the 41-year-old local boy admits, “I have a hard time with compliments. I feel like I’m just doing my job.”

The Kalaheo High School graduate began cooking at age 16, when he got tired of asking his mom for spending money and got a job at Zippy’s. Several jobs and many years

later, while working at Zia’s Caffe in Kāne‘ohe in December 2006, Iwane was approached by the owners, the Dymond family, about cooking at their newest restaurant: Kalapawai Cafe & Deli.

The café exterior matches that of sister store Kalapawai Market, with cheery green paint and white trim. Yet while the market sells light deli dishes and sundry goods, the café is all about the food.

A quick stop by the café reveals a front counter that sells to-go coffees and pastries. Within, breakfast and lunch offerings include

a pleasant assortment of salads, soups, sandwiches and pizzas. And for dinner, chef Iwane presents an impressive small-plate menu (with wine!), comfort food-inspired, with a focus on clean, seasonal flavors and tidy presentation.

Iwane’s pork chop has been gaining popularity among customers. “It’s grilled meats with bright flavors. Sassy, in a way. The pork chops are big and on the bone, like a rib. At the end of your meal, you want to take the bone and kind of nibble on it. We need wet towelettes,” he says with a laugh. When one

Focusing on clean, seasonal flavors, chef Jason Iwane is bringing comfort to Kailua residents at Kalapawai Cafe & Deli.

guest asked to buy a pint of his barbecue sauce, the humble chef was shocked, “It was my first experience of, ‘Wow, I’ve made something cool.’”

Iwane began experimenting with food while working at the now-closed Jaron’s Restaurant in Kailua. At 3660 on the Rise, he studied the subtle application of flavors under chefs Russell Siu and Lydell Leong, who Iwane describes as knowing “exactly what to put in to make [food] alive, to make it sing.” Today, he encourages his young kitchen team to experiment freely, and proudly supports their individual growth as chefs.

“That’s the best part. The journey, learning about yourself, learning about the food that you’re working with,” Iwane observes. His transition from a shy, uncertain chef to one who prepared a meal for 800 guests as part of receiving his Hale ‘Aina award is certainly a remarkable one. In the next year, he will act as a chef demonstrator in the Made in Hawai‘i show. He also recently celebrated his first anniversary as head chef at Kalapawai, facing the continued challenge of putting his mark on a predecessor’s menu. Says the chef, “The soul of the dishes are the same, but the flavors changed. Don’t be afraid of the change.”

There’s nothing to fear in Iwane’s sweet potato ravioli, wide and slippery in a shallow pool of caramelized sage brown butter and topped with plump plum to-

matoes that burst tart and juicy in your mouth. The duck breast is similarly sumptuous – pink and tender with a drizzle of cherry port sauce, perched atop a hill of wilted kale and mushrooms – a mix savory enough to make even the veggie-averse eat their fill.

When asked how he defines a good meal, Iwane struggles to form an answer. “I take what’s in front of me and try to be thoughtful with it. I assess the ingredient and think, What is the best way to cook this? Where do I go from here? I don’t know. Umm … I don’t know how to answer that one.”

He’s being humble again. Iwane creates a wonderfully cozy dining experience for Kalapawai Cafe guests with comfort food that rivals mom’s. As for the chef’s choice? Nothing’s more comforting at home than salty potato chips.

KAlAPAWAI CAFE

750 Kailua Road. Hours: Monday – Thursday, 6 a.m. – 9 p.m.; Friday, 6 a.m. – 9:30 p.m.; Saturday, 7 a.m. – 9:30 p.m.; Sunday 7 a.m. – 9p.m.

KAlAPAWAI MARKET

306 South Kalaheo Avenue. Hours: Daily, 6 a.m. – 9 p.m.

For more information, visit kalapawaimarket.com.

OPEN MARKET

MASAKO NASHIMOTO:

FOR A PURPOSE

Somewhere in the village of Giverny, France, Claude Monet is rolling in his grave, kicking and screaming at the fact he will never meet the talented Masako Nashimoto.

Q&A with fashion trendsetter and Homecoming Honolulu owner, Emilie Fuji.

What is the main reason you decided to open the shop? We really wanted to move to Hawai‘i and opening a boutique was a means to an end. Honestly though, we saw a hole in the market here in Hawai‘i for this type of shop, which sells a selection of really good brands as well as shoes and fun, novelty items like iPhone cases and more.

Why did you pick Chinatown? Chinatown feels like the city to me. It’s reminiscent of downtown San Francisco, a bit gritty, kind of dirty, but definitely cool. There’s so much going on here and so many new businesses opening up – it’s really exciting to be a part of something that is just gaining its momentum.

What is one accessory a girl should always have? Shoes, duh. The more the

better. Clear glasses are something that I’ve been loving lately. It adds a layer between your tired eyes and the public, sort of a camouflage mechanism for when you’ve had one too many late nights.

What fall trends are vital? Gold, patent, and anything with a basic black and white pattern. I envision a store full of shimmery gold mini dresses and black, patent leather Jeffrey Campbell Litas. I’ve never experienced fall in a tropic climate, but I’m super excited about the prospect.

Visit Emilie and Homecoming Honolulu at 1191 Bethel St. For the latest in-store items, follow Homecoming on Instagram @homecominghonolulu.

Most noted for her colorful personality and honored business achievements, Masako Nashimoto is seemingly everywhere at once. She is the founder and president of Nashimoto and Associates, a successful marketing and public relations firm based in Hawai‘i, and a passionate painter.

As a humanitarian, she is a member of the Retail Merchants of Hawaii, Waikiki Improvement Association, the Japan Hawaii Travel Association, Nippon Club, Hawaii Chinese Tourism Association, Japan Hawaii Travel Association, Visitor Aloha Society, Hawaii Senior Life Enrichment Association and Japan America Society of Hawaii. She served as a liaison for the State of Hawai‘i to Japan for 20 years. Each organization has her full attention, and she often donates her art to benefit health-related and nonprofit ventures.

As Nashimoto evolves as an artist, experiences provoke shifts in her creative flow. Her past still-life watercolor paintings are being cast aside to make room for her abstract designs. Generally, the artist begins a piece on Sunday at noon. Depending on the emotion behind the art, the piece can take two days

or two months to be completed. “It’s stressful, but it’s more fun than what I do here,” says Nashimoto, looking around the office of her marketing firm. “For me, painting is a continuous circle.”

Using watercolors, Nashimoto serendipitously creates a variety of pastels. She develops texture within her work through many self-taught techniques. Her use of split complementary colors and imagery is similar to the early stages of classic art, but her techniques are completely modern.

She admits there was a time in her life solely dedicated to motherhood, when she placed production of artwork on hold. As time passed, she faced a difficult loss. While mourning this loss of a loved one, she became inspired to paint again.

Dedication to her business and family never disabled her ability to help others. After the closing of Hawaii Medical East, Nashi felt compelled to help in whatever way she could and donated paintings to be auctioned off to help raise funds for the opening of the Queens Hospital Liver Center.

After many life experiences, Nashimoto has nurtured her talent back to life and proclaims her love for art and contribution. “I never thought painting would last this long,” she says, “but it’s part of my life now.”

PAINTING

TEXT BY ERIKA FORBERG

O UT W ITH T HE Old, I N W ITH T HE S HOE

REGALING KALE AT YUZU

Yuzu offers a vibrant new dining concept featuring an affordable menu of fresh flavors. The restaurant is a brainchild of a chef and restaurateur with more than 23 years experience both locally (Maui and O‘ahu) and abroad (Tokyo). Entrees feature fresh local and seasonal ingredients to create a truly unique dining experience. In celebration of the season, Yuzu introduces its new organic kale and dragon fruit salad. It is an interesting combination of local grown

ingredients such as organic kale and red dragon fruit from Kona. The salad is accompanied by macadamia nuts and a creamy, homemade tofu sesame dressing.

Yuzu is located on the ground floor of Ala Moana Hotel, 410 Atkinson Dr. For more information, visit yuzuhawaii.com.

CRÈME DE LA CREPE

The new crepe breakfast at Arancino di Mare will having you saying “oui oui” all around town. Though the restaurant is known primarily for its Italian eats, Arancino’s new crepe breakfast is just as divine. The delectable thin pancakes are filled with an assortment of sumptuous delights, and while most associate crepes with dessert, the heartier, savory options are truly the crème de la crepe. The pancetta and potato is rich and filling, the smoky pancetta balanced by gooey cheese and wrapped in a light, yet perfectly chewy crepe skin. The assorted berries crepe is a sweet delight, filled with strawberries, raspberries, blueberries

and blackberries piled atop a fluffy cream filling. Wash it down with an Arancino mimosa or a hibiscus spumante, a refreshingly floral-flavored sparkling wine. So instead of the traditional two-egg breakfast, discover European flavors in the heart of Waikīkī.

Arancino di Mare is located in the Waikiki Beach Marriott Resort, 2552 Kalakaua Ave. For more information, visit arancino.com.

CrAFTING UNITY in Umoja, Kenya

S TORY AND MAGES BY TIFFANIE WEN

When Rebecca Lolosoli first met with 15 rape victims in her homeland of the tribal Kenyan highlands of Samburu County back in 1995, she could have done the expected in a community where women possessed no rights and speaking up was unheard of: nothing.

“If you don’t live with a man, any man can come and do anything they want to you. They beat you or rape you because they know you don’t have any security,” Rebecca explains. “So we thought, why don’t we women come together and provide security for each other?” She then founded Umoja, an allwomen village that, despite repeated attacks from its neighbors, has managed to thrive as a safe haven for women fleeing from domestic violence, rape, early pregnancy, forced marriages and genital mutilation.

Bumping along the dusty dirt path in our rented 4x4 to Umoja – Swahili for “unity” –we arrive to a reception from the matriarch herself as well as a dozen residents wrapped in brightly colored shukas and adorned with stacks of stunning beaded necklaces called seyein. They perform a welcome dance, flowing and singing rhythmically in the relentless Kenyan heat, each woman a pop of bold color against a tan backdrop of dirt and the village’s signature huts, caked with layers of dry mud.

In fact, it’s these bright necklaces that are

largely responsible for the survival of the village, whose 50 or so members support themselves by selling handmade beaded jewelry in their local curio shop and online and hosting foreign visitors on a nearby campsite. Two years ago, the group even worked with Diane Von Furstenberg to design a piece for her spring collection.

“In Samburu culture, these necklaces are very important to women,” says Rebecca. “If a woman is married and doesn’t wear necklaces, it means her husband is neglecting her. If there’s a woman who is crying and doesn’t have necklaces, a friend might give one to her.

For us, it’s also a sign of friendship.”

Profits from jewelry sales go to food for residents and the development of the village, which includes a one-room schoolhouse where children sing nursery songs and chant the alphabet in unison. The group has even managed to build a small museum and is learning to raise chickens.

But despite the women’s success and the serene nature of Umoja during our visit, the going has been far from easy. Just two weeks before our interview, the village was attacked by a man from a neighboring village. Disgusted by her emergence as an internationally recognized women’s activist, he beat Rebecca with a club and threatened to kill her. And

Rebecca recognized the man – it was one of her sons.

Two years earlier, Rebecca’s then-husband threatened the women of the village with a gun. When the women attempted to file a complaint with the police, they were told that the incident was a family dispute and that if Rebecca were to be killed by her husband, he wouldn’t be arrested.

Amazingly, these events only strengthen the group’s and Rebecca’s resolve. Despite the dangers, she plans to run for local council in Kenya’s historic election later this year and has even managed to garner support from some of the male leaders in the community.

“In our village, women make their own decisions. They have the right do what they want,” she says. “Here, we are free to do what we want.”

For more information and to purchase Umoja jewelry, visit umojawomen.org.

Brightly colored beaded necklaces, handmade by the women of Umoja Village, are bringing freedom to women fleeing domestic abuse, rape and genital mutilation in the maledominated Kenyan highlands.

THEME: Surf dEAdlINE: September 30, 2012 EMAIl: contact@FLUXhawaii.com, enter “Viewfinder” in the subject

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VIewFINDer

Frame + Focus

“With some time to spare on Moloka‘i, I drove around looking for something to do. I found there was nothing to do besides look at old houses and old everythings. I saw Kaunakakai Ferry Terminal on the rent-a-car map, so I figured I’d go look for some surf –

there’s usually some surf around boat harbors. While there, I saw a group of kids jumping off the jetty into the water. They were stoked. It was summer, it was hot, they were having fun. They didn’t know there was nothing to do on Moloka‘i. I took a photo. The kids noticed I was shooting, so they kept trying to out-do one another, jumping higher and further out. I was having fun watching them have fun.”

PHOTO BY JOHN HOOK