This story was originally published in The Dominion Post and on Stuff
Jessica Palalagi is relishing being back by the moana. Sixteen years in the concrete jungle of London will amplify a longing for the sea in any antipodean. For Palalagi, though, it’s pretty personal: It’s part of who she is.
“I love to spend time in the moana. I wouldn't call it swimming, just ‘being’. Usually, I just float and listen to her for any words or advice, feeling enveloped and safe and at peace.”
Palalagi will be offering her own advice as the new kaiwhakahaere matua (general manager) of the Arts Foundation Te Tumu Toi. It’s her job to lead the vision that the arts are integral to a thriving Aotearoa – a tough job when the arts, already a struggling sector, are suffering under the weight of a pandemic.
In an ideal world, an artist could make a decent living at their craft. Through their work they would feed the souls of those in their community while being able to fill their own bellies. It would be a career people chose without the fear of financial struggle.
That’s Palalagi’s vision. But we have a way to go, she says.
“My dream would be that a young person in Aotearoa could go home to their [family] and say, ‘I want to be an artist’, and that family would not sigh or roll their eyes or be terribly worried about whether or not they are going to survive [financially].”
Society is saying we want art, and we want more of it, but we don’t value it in the same way as we value other things, she says.
“We love the joy it brings, the view into other people’s worlds, the perspectives and portals, but the people who are creating these amazing experiences and allowing us to travel through different times and spaces are not remunerated in the same way [as other careers].”
Speaking from her Tāmaki Makaurau home with a lilt hinting at her years in the UK, Palalagi, 43, is ready to get down to business at the Arts Foundation, an organisation that supports artists through private philanthropy and, more recently, through its Booster crowdfunding programme.
Everyone in the industry is very tired at the moment, she says. A lot of the funding for artists comes with strings attached. It’s reliant on producing the goods. That doesn’t help in a climate of Covid cancellations.
“I don’t care if you’ve got tonnes of resilience, it’s becoming harder and harder, especially in the live performance space, to continue to pivot.
“The Arts Foundation gives money that is for the artists to spend on whatever they wish – it’s about the artist being able to create more work without having to worry about how they will pay their electricity bill.”
Getting the word out about the foundation is one priority as she gets her feet under the desk. A road show the Arts Foundation is planning, which has now gone digital, will look at what arts and the creative community looks like in your town.
“I think we can become quite insular in the cities.
“[This] is about trying to understand what we can do to support arts in the community. It’s a great collaborative effort [with Creative New Zealand] to see what the arts sector is saying across the nation.”
Palalagi wants to think about the next generation of philanthropists,?to make sure the Arts Foundation is there for future artists.
More money from multigenerational philanthropists is crucial, but she says the industry needs more than that.
Aotearoa needs to have a deeper connection with the arts and the role it has on our lives. Why don’t we talk about the arts on the 6 o’clock news, she asks. “The idea of mainstreaming the arts, so we actually talk about it as a nation, is not something we do. I’d love for us to have a part in that.”
Palalagi grew up in a family of bookworms, but no-one else was into art apart from her. Even now her family say, ‘’We don’t really understand what you do, but we love you’’, she says.
Born and raised in Onehunga, Tāmaki Makaurau with her two younger sisters she is of Niuean and Scottish descent. Her memories are centred around moments with her Scottish mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, who all lived in Onehunga.
“I spent a lot of time with them and was deft at interpreting their broad accents. They were loving and brusque with a sharp wit.
“They shaped me in some of the hardiness that comes with people from that end of the world.”
On her Niuean side, she recalls her grandmother as the matriarch.
“She would always smell me when we said hello and goodbye. It’s a Niuean way of breathing in your life essence.”
Her Niuean heritage has constantly set her apart, she says.
“There are many rooms that I have been in where I am the only person of colour and have needed to constantly correct people on the pronunciation of my surname, or that Niue is indeed a real place.
“I use it to my advantage though – it means I am always surprising people, or confirming their bias that sometimes they didn't know they had.”
She took art at school but became frustrated with the curriculum. She could never understand how a teacher could put a percentage on her work. It put her off art school, though she painted through her 20s.
She continued to study, completing an MA in Art History, focusing on contemporary Māori and Pasifika art, at Auckland University. After graduating in 2004 she upped sticks and moved to London.
She started out working in social housing in the Borough of Brent. She went back and forth between Aotearoa and the UK ‘'aligning my chakras’’ before paradoxically getting work as a travel co-ordinator for a high-net-worth family from Saudi Arabia. She went on to spend seven years as sustainability leader at Marks & Spencer, working at reducing waste, recycling and making business more sustainable.
Through her work as co-chair of Black Asian and Minority Ethnic she guided M&S’ executive team on diversity, ethnicity and culture. Throughout her London years she absorbed the art that city has in such abundance.
She was one of four founders of the In*ter*is*land Collective, described as a misfit collection of tagata Moana (Māori and Pacific Islanders) aunties, activists and artists based both in the UK and Aotearoa.
They were in residence at Raven Row Gallery, a non-profit contemporary art exhibition centre in Spitalfields , East London, hosting artists from New Zealand and across the Pacific.
The creative space, named Moku (island), was as much about being together, laughing, talking, eating, lounging around, as it was about the art. It was a place to discuss ideas and work on them as well as showcasing and exhibiting those ideas, says Palalagi, who took on the role of curator and producer.
The collective went through hard times with lockdowns putting the kibosh on live exhibitions. Their next In*ter*is*land show will be on these shores at Tautai Gallery on Auckland’s Karangahape Road, in July. Her own contribution will be a digital work.
Since returning home at the end of 2020 she has been involved in curating exhibitions and consulting for impact and social enterprise group the Ākina Foundation.
She lives with her artist partner in Kingsland, surrounded by their own art collection.
When not ‘’actively relaxing’’ in the moana she might be found actually relaxing under a cloud – a hanging sculpture work made by Sione Monu .
“[It’s] above my couch so when I lie down I look up at it and smile ... all these things are good for my soul.”
