HANDSHAKE project

Category: Handshake8

  • Reflecting on 2 years of Handshake 8

    Reflecting on 2 years of Handshake 8

    It’s so nice to have this blog space to expand on the creative thoughts around this project.  So often we are limited to a certain word-count for artist statements.  For the record, that’s not a complaint – concise statements have their place, but I think 2 years of work necessitates a little more than 150 words to explain.

    Super quick minute making project from the first night. From lampshade to hat!

    Reflecting on how far I’ve come…It seems a long way from the first class with Estela Saez.  Picture this – fresh off the degree course, new in a Gallery Managers job, a bunch of friends descending for my 50th birthday that weekend, barely set up in a new shared workshop where I didn’t know where anything was….and I got lost on the way there so was running late.  Not a great start – nervous, overwhelmed, and in-well-over-my-head is how I remember it.

    That first session would best be described as a bit of a sh*t-show, but I grew to love Estela’s classes and am immensely grateful for her teachings and positive energy, along with all the other amazing tutors we had over the 2 years.

    Homework from Week 2 with Estela. Task: transform and old half finished project.

     

    For me, the first year of Handshake was about finding my feet in a home workshop, without all the cool tools I’d been used to when studying.  It was also about expanding my community and developing confidence.  I threw myself into to programme whole heartedly, I didn’t see much of friends or family, completing my homework assignments with enthusiasm.  At the end of it, I had developed as a maker….but also had to face the fact that Mum’s Alzheimer’s had taken a bit more of a hold and if I didn’t step-up I would miss this precious time of lucidity with her.  So I made the decision to bring the two big challenges in my life together.

    But… How do you spend a year thinking about dementia without getting completely depressed?  How do I shift my attitude from overwhelmed to accepting?

    As well as broadly researching the disease, I tried to focus on positive articles to do with medical breakthroughs, understanding the contributing lifestyle factors that come in to play, as well as beneficial ways to interact with and continue to appreciate your loved one.

    To get the creative process going …Music seemed like the best place to start. It was a prevalent part of my childhood and Mum was the instigator.

    She was in an amateur operatics theatre group before I was born and was always singing around the house. I too caught that bug, and remember her telling me to stop singing and go to sleep when I was a kid.

    Mum was also the parent who said go-for-it! …when on a ¼ life crisis trip back to NZ from the UK, I decided to try out for music school as a singer – up to that point I’d sung Karaoke in public 3 times. That decision, while naive, changed the course of my life.

    So, that’s the backstory.

    I think lyrics are a good way to distill down ideas.  Most of the song (A Matter of Time © Rachael Chapman 2024) I wrote at the beginning of the year, intentionally leaving the end 2 phrases until the later part of 2024.  I wanted to see what had shifted.

    Using these musical and lyrical landscapes to create the atmosphere, I then explored many material and form possibilities to try and re-express the music in object form.

    When I look back at all the dead ends and rabbit holes I went down, its quite funny to see how paired back (for me) and minimal the end result was.

    For a long while I was obsessed with the lyric ‘ I wish we could stay here – our head in the clouds’ so many cloud forms were played with but nothing felt quite right.  When my mentor suggested brain forms might be a more relatable connection to explore, initially I was despondent, I think this was about 4 months out from the exhibition, kinda late to change lanes.  As ever, it all worked out for the best and I’m really glad we went that way.  I’m sure there will be cloud form moment in another exhibition.

    I did have much bigger plans for the project but now realise that it required a 2-3 year timeframe to do, especially while holding down a full time job. Yes, I do wish I’d landed on the dementia plan a year earlier.

    My mentor, Katrin Spranger was awesome.  She is one of the coolest people I’ve met, almost intimidatingly so. As the co-founder of the K2 Contemporary Jewellery Academy on London, she juggles, business, motherhood and her thriving art practice – I think she was in 3 shows in 2024.  Just the role model I needed – nothing was too bizarre, everything was explored, play encouraged. Honest feedback given.

     

    Please check out (environmental artist) Katrin Spranger’s website: www.katrinspranger.com

    Towards the end of the making period I did need to shut down external voices and follow my intuition. We’re hopping to have our final catch-up in person, next time I’m in London.

    In the end the works sum up the song refrain that resonated the most ‘ A Matter Of Time’. Key connectors being the double meaning of Matter alongside Time being our nemesis in so many ways this year.

    ‘A’ Necklace
    ‘Matter’ Necklace
    ‘Of’ Necklace
    ‘Time’ Necklace

    4 Pendants, made to rest on the heart space, small and intimate (by my standards) each depicting one of the words in the refrain.  Multilayered to reflect the facets and layers of concern.  Silver and brass – hard metals that weather and change patina over time, their colours connecting to silver linings (always there in life if you look for them)  Brass, expresses a line towards the end of the song ‘this time – is more golden than gold’.  Each piece was made to play with shadows…because initially, I imagined dementia as a shadowed land, a liminal place of existence.

    I tried to make the forms and the display approachable.  The intention was not to scare or shock people, but pull them in. To share. To connect.  I know it’s a difficult subject and that everyone’s journey through dementia is different.  I hoped that, like a sad love song can help with heartbreak, others would relate.

    Personally, I came out the other side with a much more appreciative relationship with my Mum – we’re closer than ever. It was awesome to make and capture lots of cool memories.  She sang the intro on the song (a lullaby from my babyhood), and since then has gifted my brother and I with recordings of other songs she sang to us as babies – treasures.  I know the coming years will be challenging (thats just life) but this time has been most precious.

     

    Memory Game:  lets try to remember where we gathered these rocks from ….

    Mum writes place names
    Engraving Set-up
    At the Bench

     

  • Stitches and Stones

    Stitches and Stones

    When I began my handshake journey I was a stone carver. I love the materiality of stone and its connection to the natural world. I gravitate towards reductive ways of working and enjoy the meditative process of carving.

    I’ve always been a forager and I love rock hounding. I’ve spent countless hours combing the beaches and rivers of Aotearoa. Some finds I use as material for making work and some end up in my pot plants or as small gifts for friends.

    ‘Stone #7’ and ‘Stitch #5’ brooches

     

    Last year, I stepped away from my previous work and ventured into fabric. This was a huge shift for me, and I wanted to bring the essence of stone into this new medium. So, I began creating fabric pebbles—working with fabric in a way that mimics stone, yet without using stone itself.

    My current work continues this exploration: a conversation between stone and fabric. Vastly different materials, each with their own rich histories and traditions. They have completely different ways of behaving and require specific ways of working.

    I sought to find relationships between these two materials. How do you translate the language of stone into fabric? And how, then, do you bring that language back into stone? What does it mean to carve fabric, and can you stitch a stone? These questions have driven me to experiment, to discover new ways of working, and to subvert traditional techniques in search of something new and unexpected.

    ‘Stitch #1’ and ‘Stone #1’ brooches

     

    In my studio, I spent many days sifting through my stone collection, studying the patterns and forms. Alongside this, I made regular visits to the tip shop—digging through the crates of discarded clothes, filling a bag for $2. I assessed each item on colour and texture and took my favourites back to my studio to deconstruct, putting aside the buttons and zips for possible future use.

    I’ve used my stone collection as a guide, but I didn’t set out to create exact replicas. Instead, leaving room for intuition and whimsy— I wanted to capture a feeling rather than aiming for precision. And while my natural tendency leans toward perfectionism, I’ve learned, mostly thanks to participating in Handshake, to embrace the freedom of mistakes.

  • SINCERELY YOURS

    SINCERELY YOURS

    Sincerely Yours is the last in a what has become a three part series. It began with an exploration of identity and our human need for belonging, through my initial work titled Dear Public. Last year, as my work developed for our first handshake show, I realised what I as creating was a continuation rather than something new. Dear Maker became part two of a decidedly introspective series. A continuation of the same letter. 

    This work looked at the impacts of shame and the ritualistic practice of confession as an antidote. While both of these bodies of work resulted from profound intimate experiences it’s the connection formed through the common nature of our human attributes and emotions that drives my work. Sincerely Yours is this letters epilogue, which culminates in an expression of renewed hope. 

    “…behold, all things have become new.” – II Corinthians 5:17

     Last year, Dear Maker contained a sealed confessional box called “Communion”. This piece facilitated a way for the audience to exercise the acknowledgement, expression and release of shame though written confessions. This year began with the burning of this confessional, the resulting ash becoming the beginning element for the next iteration.

    Each of the previous works utilised the inescapable nature of appearance and perception to address the unremarkable yet tremendously impactful themes. The mirror faces within these works continue in the same vein. Facilitating an encounter, inviting the viewer to pause and behold oneself in a new light, while momentarily adorning their surfaces in reflection. An opportunity for introspection, between Maker and self.

  • Bodies of Water

    Bodies of Water

    To heal; heal the waters. 

     

     

    My work through HANDSHAKE8 explores themes of talisman, place, land, healing of matrilineal lines by connecting to matriarchal power, embodiment, instinct and intuition.

    Ritual plays a large role in my making process, where I connect to healing energies of many lineages, notably Rongoā Māori and the Akashic Records. I work in an intuitive way, letting playful processes lead and inform my results.

    The works document a journey through Aotearoa, where I lived by and visited many bodies of water – streams, rivers, oceans and lakes. I moved around the country many times, reflecting itself through various emerging styles and differing materials. The nature of rivers is to flow on in a continuous stream, something I found myself immersed in this year.

     

    Rivers of Time. Silver, sapphire. Hair pins.

     

     

    Finding my roots in the native forest prior to Handshake8, I was influenced by the shapes of punga wood, bringing their nature and forms to my work.

    I spent over a year living nestled in a house in the forest, where each day brought the trees to my eyes, native bird song, mist, dawn light, moonlit leaves. A stream sung to me every time I crossed it to leave the land I lived on.

    In time, I would be called to move many hundreds of kilometres south, to the mountains, lakes and rivers. The punga wood sat near my bed for many, many months. At first they were talismans of the forest, reminders of the native bush I grew up near, in Waitākere, Tāmaki Makaurau. Now I was nestled in the mountains, in-between Wānaka and Tāhuna, connecting to an entirely new place and landscape I had not dwelled in before.

    One Summer afternoon I delved into a ritual at my making desk and opened my akashic records, a spiritual library of all my past lives. Calling through past lifetimes to help me in my making, I found myself immersed in someone I used to be, as I also worked in the present.

    I connected in to the mauri or spirit of the blue lakes of Wānaka, Hāwea and Tāhuna, as well as the mountains around me in the Cardrona Valley. 

     

     

    Ritual states connect to different states of awareness beyond the Now, usually beyond fully awake/ conscious mind. As I channel it feels like a cool river is flowing into my mind and body – a continuous stream of light providing clarity and conscious awareness. At other times I drop a little bit deeper for an embodied knowing. As if I am at the base of a deep blue lake or ocean, looking out at the world around me and intuiting through my wharetangata, my womb.

    Time is not linear. It moves in spirals. What happens in the past also happens in the present, and can occur in the future. Sometimes past lifetimes are having an impact upon our present. Worldwide cultures throughout time have always used divination systems to intuit the future and its myriad of possibilities.

    Healing is also not linear, it too moves in spirals. When we heal ourselves, it ripples out into the collective consciousness. This occurs through our minds awareness of our healing, and the body’s understanding of healing which occurs in the waters of our bodies, our cells, blood and organs.

    I seek to heal through the timelines. The intentions of these talismans of power are to bring healing to the matriarch, nurturing receptivity through allowing intuitive understanding to flow through us as we all seek to heal ourselves and the world around us.

     

    Kōtukutuku – what’s feminine anyway? Pakohe, silk. Necklaces.

     

     

    These necklaces act as portals and talismanic keys, connecting to matriarchal power of the wharetangata, the womb. In some healing traditions it is thought that both male and female bodied people carry a spiritual womb, their own vortex of creative power.

    Kōtukutuku is a native plant medicine used to connect to feminine power and the animus for healing matters related to the feminine and the mother, its dark nature referencing the colour of the stones. Kōtukutuku means “To let go.”

    There is a period of time right before one lets go, where everything gets chaotic. There is a build up of pressure, internal stress, energy feels compressed until the letting go occurs. This can translate into a menstrual cycle, pregnancy, miscarriage, abortion, birth. It relates to orgasm, to death, to cathartic release, and to the practices of shamanism and magic.

    When we learn how to relax into letting go, when the letting go is asking to occur, the process becomes easeful. When we learn how to become water; as receptive as a still lake, flowing as a river, relentless as the tide, we undoubtedly also learn to soften the mechanisms of the psyche enough to let go and access a deeper, embodied wisdom.

    Embodied wisdom learns to recognise what process is occurring at what moment, and how to move within it.

     

    Land – Womb – Ancestral – Healing. Serpentine, silk. Necklaces.

     

    “barefoot in the twilight, sunlight lingers between bones. a circle drawn in the dirt, i collect sticks to make a fire. dusk gathers, as does the quiet. stillness. i become a starlit sky, become woodsmoke, river flow…” 

    – an excerpt from my exhibition during Handshake8 Proof of Concept show, 2023.

    I slept by the river, listening to its relentless song. Wood smoke from last night’s riverside fire still clung to my skin, hair and clothes, as I nestled into the cozy nest I made in my van. In the morning I danced and sung to the river.

    This stone is a memory, a call to come home to self. To be with the land, to care for the natural world, the planet and our bodies. To pay attention to what our bodies are telling us, and to be patient in our embodiment process if trauma holds our consciousness separate from an embodied state. To trust the journey, to trust the process.

    Noticing what needs healing, when, how, and why. Tending to what is broken. Being present with grief. Connecting to and healing ancestral lines by inviting in healing. Every ancestral line carries wounding, of many different sorts. What healing does your lineage need right now?

     

    Koromiko & Wild Roses | When a river becomes a body. Silver, serpentine. Rings.

    Koromiko,

    A native plant medicine which brings us into right relationship with self and others. Healing for the sacral centre.

    Wild Roses,

    A spirit of love emanating its frequency.

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • BEAUTIFUL BUT INSUFFICIENT

    BEAUTIFUL BUT INSUFFICIENT

     Last year, Dear Maker contained a sealed confessional box called “Communion”. This piece facilitated a way for the audience to exercise the acknowledgement, expression and release of shame though written confessions. This year began with the burning of this confessional, the resulting ash becoming the beginning element for the next iteration.

    Each of the previous works utilised the inescapable nature of appearance and perception to address the unremarkable yet tremendously impactful themes or identity, belonging, shame and confession. 

    This year I embarked on an unknowably fraught operation to create a selection of mirrors that would continue in the same vein. The cast mirrors combine ash with, speculum, an alloy that embodies the fragile nature of both the subject and objects intended for this work. This alloy was also used in Dear Maker, last years work for Proof of concept.

    The familiarity of the materials and techniques used didn’t spare me from a intense phase of epic mistakes and technical failings. These primarily resulted from the change of scale, equipment and processes required in the making of these larger objects. I have definitely gained a new appreciation for the complexities of metallurgy through the production of these works.  

    These images are of the only casting that survived my initial casting sessions.

    This was until it later self imploded due to complications with the crystal structure in the alloy and oxides formed during the casting process.

    While the results are quite beautiful the are insufficient in fulfilling my intentions.                                                                                                                                                                            

  • Tell me more about ‘Desire Lines’

    Tell me more about ‘Desire Lines’

    This my artwork created for the final Handshake 8 exhibition ‘Materlise‘, present by the Handshake Project at the Artshouse Trust, Pah Homestead, Auckland Tāmaki Makaurau. The exhibition runs from 8 November 2024 – 16 February 2025. The piece is called ‘Desire Lines’, 2024, Necklace, Found timber, FireLine, stainless steel, sterling silver. Collected timber locations: Tāmaki Makaura Auckland, Pōneke Wellington, Ōtaki Beach, Ngāmotu New Plymouth, Whangaruru, Tauranga Bay, Rarawa Beach, Tapotupotu Bay.

    Desire Lines is a concept that has emerged in my arts practice over the past two years in the Handshake Project. The term “desire lines” describes departure from the dictated paths that often surround us. They are the foot worn trails cutting across fields or the curving tracks that skip the hard concrete corners of foot paths.

    This meandering away from set routes mirrors how I gather inspiration on my daily walks, instinctively drawn to found objects in the distance. It also reflects my shift from my usual metal structures into exploring other material possibilities. Even in the objects themselves, I see this departure, as they transcend the typical boundaries that define jewellery.

    Throughout this year’s creative process, I’ve relished the opportunity to deeply explore materials under the expert guidance of my mentor, Neke Moa. I have learned to take time to regard and explore each and every material I have collected—culminating in this single piece. In this moment standing in this gallery I continue to enjoy the process of regarding and exploring each elements material.

    As I take in the piece, I am inevitably drawn to a particular bead, noticing the natural details that reveal wild origins of the materials. Some beads showcase wormholes, while others retain the live edge of their original timber forms. The rich hues and intricate patterns within the wood grain remind me that each bead is one of a kind.

    From the very beginning, creating this piece—and the countless experiments that preceded it—has been a physical endeavour. It began with walking and noticing, which led to collecting and carrying, then cutting materials into usable lengths, and rough shaping. I would sand each piece by rocking it on my fingertips, and oiling each bead individually before threading them onto a string. All the while watching the length grow.

    Throughout the year I have made beads. Often daydreaming about my next chance to explore—waiting for low tide to reveal beach treasures or for storms to bring down new materials. As I gathered on my daily walks, the necklace expanded, growing beyond a traditional scale. I began to loop over my shoulders, cascading down to my knees, and ultimately brushing the ground. Its desire seemed to keep it reaching for the floor, reconnecting to the earth.

    Certain beads evoke specific memories tied to their materials. For instance, a few beads of mottled brown ripples are from branches that fell onto the road near my home after a particularly brutal storm earlier this year. Others feature yellow and pink hues from discarded pohutukawa off cuts I discovered piled at the edge of a garden, that had fallen onto the beach below. Needless to say, not wanting to lose an opportunity, I returned with a handsaw to harvest usable branches that would fit in my backpack for the steep hike back home.

    This collection of beads forms a material map—not a conventional map of roads on a folded piece of paper or glowing screens, but an archive of journeys layered upon one another. Each bead represents an unplanned detour, a drift away from established paths toward hidden treasures.

    Overall, this necklace encapsulates the places I’ve explored, documenting my quests for materials along the way. While it may appear static in the gallery, it is anything but. Once it returns to my studio, it will continue to evolve, capturing new experiences and desire lines, ensuring that each bead tells its own story in an ongoing narrative of exploration.

     

     

  • THE DESTRUCTION OF SHAME

    THE DESTRUCTION OF SHAME

    “Every act of creation begins with an act of destruction.” – Pablo Picasso

     

    This years work has begun with the destruction of confessions gathered throughout our last exhibition.

    The burning of these within their sealed confessional has left me with a new material: their ash. This ash becomes the nucleus of the next pieces, which focus on hope and restoration.

    This has then been added to tin and copper during the alloying process creating a highly reflective mirror alloy for casting into new forms.

     

    Photo credit: Robert Braly

    Photo credit: Robert Braly

    Photo credit: Robert Braly

  • A Journey of Image, Jewellery, and Process

    I feel incredibly fortunate to have had Manon van Kouswijk as my mentor over the past year. What stands out most about Manon’s approach is her quiet sense of humour—subtle and layered, it gradually reveals itself, inviting a deeper appreciation of her work. I often found myself hoping that some of this lightness of touch would rub off on me as I explored my own creative process.

    At the start of this year, I was faced with the question of how to move forward from the body of work I had shown at Depot Artspace. In that work, I had sought to capture the passage of time through the repetition of images. I wanted to convey the feeling of a fleeting moment, one that gradually fades as memories fragment and eventually slip away. Time, in its blur, pulls everything into a hazy past, and I wanted to explore this sensation through my art. Ultimately, I hoped to return to the object and jewellery, connecting these abstract ideas back to something tangible and wearable.

    Manon’s interpretation of my previous work was insightful: she saw it as an exploration of the disruption of the image. This prompted her to suggest that I move away from the significance of any one image and, instead, focus on the different ways in which an image can be manipulated. She encouraged me to choose a random photograph—one without sentimental meaning—and to play with it. The goal was to free myself from the weight of expectation and explore without the pressure of an end result.

    Alongside this, Manon recommended I build a library of materials, experimenting with various techniques and ways of applying images to those materials. This process quickly filled my workshop with manipulated paper and fabric, yet there was still a longing to bring jewellery back into the fold. This exploration began to take shape around how I could dissect these flat forms and create something wearable, something that could evolve into jewellery.

    One idea that took hold was the concept of a patchwork type spiral – something that could be either a square image or a draped strand. How many ways could I cut a piece of paper and still satisfy this concept? The challenge became about finding creative ways to manipulate the material while remaining true to my underlying exploration of time and memory.

    Manon’s advice throughout was invaluable: “Be loose with your process,” she urged. “Don’t worry about the endpoint.” This idea of loosening control was both liberating and daunting. She reminded me to focus on the question behind my work – the search, not the answer.

    During one of our sessions, I mused about what the image would actually be. That’s when the idea of infinite repetition struck me. A photograph, although infinitely replicable, can never actually capture the exact moment again. This idea of endless repetition mirrored something I had been thinking about for a while: family jewellery. Just as we imbue jewellery with meaning, it becomes a tangible link to our past, our present self, and the future. It exists in a space where time is both static and in flux, much like a photograph trying to hold onto a moment that has already passed.

    Another theme Manon and I discussed frequently was the tension between the need for deadlines—exhibitions, for example—and the reality that good work is often takes time. Creative processes cannot always be forced, and sometimes, the best ideas develop slowly and unpredictably. I am beginning to view exhibitions not as definitive end points but as moments in time—markers of progress rather than the final word. As I learn to build a body of work in a more organic way, I am also learning not to view my pieces as “finished” in the traditional sense. Like a family tree, my work will continue to grow, branch out, and change.

    As I reflect on the path I’ve been on, I can see how much I’ve learned. The pile of potential ideas and techniques waiting for me in my studio feels full of possibilities. I feel positive about the direction I’m heading, and I’m excited to continue discovering where this journey will take me. There’s still much to explore, and I’m looking forward to seeing how my work evolves.

  • I wonder …

    I wonder …

    Everyday, I walk my dog. Everyday, our walks are by our local water ways (the Kakanui beach and the Kakanui River). Nearly everyday, I wonder why there are so many things to be found that don’t necessarily belong there. So, everyday, I walk and I wonder about this stuff, all of this stuff, and how things might be different.

  • Thoughts on Labour

    Thoughts on Labour

    For me Labour Weekend, a New Zealand public holiday, has always been associated with celebrating my birthday and with miserable wet weather. But, it is an important weekend holiday that has more significance than merely time off work.

    Labour Day is actually a time to celebrate the 8 hour working day, for which New Zealand was at the forefront of establishing. The carpenter Samuel Parnell is the acknowledged father of this right for workers, as back as early as 1840. But it wasn’t until The Labour Day Act of 1899, that established this public holiday. 

    It is a good time to consider our labour, as artists. To think about the ramifications of our ability to work and how this act, in inherently political, especially in our current political culture, here in NZ. 

    For myself, my ability to work is not guaranteed. I continue to suffer from PTSD and am currently going through the process of being diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I do not always have the energy required to work, and when I do work, it costs me with fatigue and other symptoms. I have been fortunate enough to find some casual employment in the arts and culture sector, but I often have to rest for longer than the period of labour. And more significantly, when I labour for others, as in paid labour, I then have such a limited amount of energy left, that my own artistic work suffers significantly. This is a dance that I am struggling to find a rhythm that works well for me. And yet, I count myself fortunate. 

    My current situation has given me opportunity to consider whether our artistic labour culture is a healthy one. And I often have to admit, that for many, including myself, it isn’t always. So how do we continue to labour for the arts and look after ourselves and others too.