ARTISTS
Huarere: Weather Eye, Weather Ear
Over a year of too much weather, artworks radiate outward weather signals and inward presentiments, heat, wind, grief and salt rain. Huarere, the weather, conjures rere, flying, and immersion in the fullness, hua, our saturated atmosphere. Artists give us means to radically imagine meteorological non-beings and other species, while in the midst of human struggles with the 鈥榦ne-in-one-hundred-year鈥� weather events that happen, paradoxically, every few months.
Huarere: Weather Eye, Weather Ear at Te Tuhi is a 鈥榳eather station鈥�, a physical enclosure for six online 鈥榳eather reports鈥� that took place from Matariki 2022 through Koanga, spring, and Ngahuru, autumn, equinoxes and return us now to Ihu o Hinetakurua, the winter solstice, 2023. The oceanic forces of Te Moana Nui A Kiwa drive our rapid weather and animate the artworks across shorelines from Aotearoa to Tonga, Rarotonga, Samoa and Niue. Winds whisper and scream: kupu, words, tohu, signs, rise and fade within the heated, damp atmospheres of our inundating isles.
Our 鈥榳eather ear鈥� attunes to sounds of birds and thunder 鈥� agitated, flying away 鈥� while our 鈥榳eather eye鈥� alerts our senses, along with scientific instruments of weather observation. When the 鈥榓tmospheric river鈥� entered our common lexicon, with each successive cyclone or deluge our bodies hooked into aches and scents of rain on the one hand, and the pulsing electronic blobs that creep across rain radars on screens on the other. In this exhibition, hydrophones or cameras reveal the spirits in glacial lakes and sea foams, while diurnal weathers spur the wind-cry of aeolian choirs and the aleatory electronic scores of remote sensors. Many of the artworks are less contained, expository events than un-presentational, ceaselessly rolling onward, rendering us sometimes helpless and sometimes hope-full.
Over a year of too much weather, artworks radiate outward weather signals and inward presentiments, heat, wind, grief and salt rain. Huarere, the weather, conjures rere, flying, and immersion in the fullness, hua, our saturated atmosphere. Artists give us means to radically imagine meteorological non-beings and other species, while in the midst of human struggles with the 鈥榦ne-in-one-hundred-year鈥� weather events that happen, paradoxically, every few months.
Huarere: Weather Eye, Weather Ear at Te Tuhi is a 鈥榳eather station鈥�, a physical enclosure for six online 鈥榳eather reports鈥� that took place from Matariki 2022 through Koanga, spring, and Ngahuru, autumn, equinoxes and return us now to Ihu o Hinetakurua, the winter solstice, 2023. The oceanic forces of Te Moana Nui A Kiwa drive our rapid weather and animate the artworks across shorelines from Aotearoa to Tonga, Rarotonga, Samoa and Niue. Winds whisper and scream: kupu, words, tohu, signs, rise and fade within the heated, damp atmospheres of our inundating isles.
Our 鈥榳eather ear鈥� attunes to sounds of birds and thunder 鈥� agitated, flying away 鈥� while our 鈥榳eather eye鈥� alerts our senses, along with scientific instruments of weather observation. When the 鈥榓tmospheric river鈥� entered our common lexicon, with each successive cyclone or deluge our bodies hooked into aches and scents of rain on the one hand, and the pulsing electronic blobs that creep across rain radars on screens on the other. In this exhibition, hydrophones or cameras reveal the spirits in glacial lakes and sea foams, while diurnal weathers spur the wind-cry of aeolian choirs and the aleatory electronic scores of remote sensors. Many of the artworks are less contained, expository events than un-presentational, ceaselessly rolling onward, rendering us sometimes helpless and sometimes hope-full.
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