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This next video is just a short one. The waiwai(mordant) has been prepared and is ready for the kiekie to be steeped in. I have sorted my kiekie into different colour grades. The unblemished kiekie I have set aside to remain as is. The second grade has yellow discolouration and can be dyed other colours, and the last bunch has significant black spotting. This is what I will be using to dye black in the lepo/paru.

I steep the whenu for short periods, hang it to dry, steep it again, hang it to dry, and so on.
Testing is necessary whenever I introduce new sources into the process or when working in a different area, as all plants and their qualities vary. Doing tests beforehand on a small bunch is important so I can make adjustments to my process before working on a bigger scale. I did my testing the week prior to get the process right, as I hadn’t worked with mangrove and false kamani in this process. Even though my own experience with these plants in other applications, along with conversations with friends, suggested they would be effective,I dont know for sure until the whenu speak.

Understanding the qualities of the materials helps determine things like boiling times, how many batches of leaves are needed, and how long the fibres should remain in the mordant or mud. I sorted all of that out beforehand so that filming could be done in one go, because there is no re-filming. Once it is in the waiwai, it is in the waiwai.

So yeah I test everything. Nature is in constant motion, so things are never exactly the same — the moon, the tides, the seasons and temperature, the cycles of plants and the changes they go through.

When dyeing leaf material like this, the fibres are encased in waxy outer layers, and so, they do not readily absorb dye. For this reason, chemical dyes are predominantly used today in this application, along with heat, to dye the weaving strands quicker and with a wider range of colours. Even then, the process can still be difficult depending on the dye being used.

After the kiekie has soaked up the tannins, it is hung to dry, and then it is ready to be soaked in the mud which you will see in the next video.

Ok, so here is part one of dyeing: gathering the mordant source and preparing the mordant. Depending on where I am, this process can be quite different, as the dye plants and paru/lepo are always different wherever you go. Even though the overall process remains the same, you often have to adjust certain things to achieve the best results, as some sources are more effective than others. Doing testing on new sources beforehand is a good way to gauge those differences which is what I did prior to this.

Firstly, I have my bunches of sorted kiekie, which are graded by colour. The whitest strands are kept as they are, the slightly blemished ones are my second bunch, and the strands with black spotting are used for dyeing black, so those are the ones I am using in this video.

I am in Hawai’i here in this video, so the plants here are different. I have used other Hawaii plants for this process in the past, but the results were not to my satisfaction, so this time I didmore rangahau to source better options. I also discussed my rangahau with friends and narrowed my choices down to the best tannin yielding plants that are accessible to me: false kamani and mangrove. Both are highly invasive trees here, and both happen to produce seeds that float on water and spread easily. Side note, there are alot of plants/trees around that are high in tannins, I have done this process with many different trees over the years using whatever is around.

Continued in comments⬇️

This is my friend Tangimoe Clay, and this is pīngao, a plant tuakana that plays an important role in dune ecosystems by helping stabilise and form sand dunes. Many people may never have seen or heard of it before because it has disappeared from much of our sandy coastlines, despite ongoing restoration efforts.

Tangimoe, who is a renowned weaver, has been deeply involved in the re-establishment of pīngao within her iwi of Te Whakatōhea for more than 20 years. Today it is one of the few places where pīngao is once again abundant and thriving.

What I still find fascinating about pīngao is the way it grows. Beneath the sand are long, rope-like runners that spread horizontally through the dunes, sending up the tufts of green and golden leaves we see above the surface. These golden leaves are a prized weaving fibre used in raranga for kete (baskets), pōtae (hats), whāriki (mats), as well as hieke (rain capes) and many other taonga. I would say however that pīngao is most closely associated with tukutuku, where its bold golden tones create striking contrasts within the patternwork alongside white and black-dyed kiekie.

Concerning harvesting, I’ve been hesitant to share this video because I would not want people to feel they can simply go out and harvest pīngao after watching it. In many places, pīngao is still in decline, and restored areas are carefully protected by kaitiaki(stewards). In many cases, the return of pīngao has come through years of collaborative conservation and community effort.

Because of this, it is important to follow the appropriate tikanga and local protocols when accessing pīngao. The best place to begin building that connection is through becoming involved in planting and restoration work, and by building relationships with both the kaitiaki and the environment itself.

There are different harvesting methods that are obtained through those relationships, and one should not be harvesting pīngao without first learning how to do so properly because you can actually do alot of damage.

Continued below in comment⬇️

This is a 5 part video, that covers the harvest and preparation of the weaving strands, dying and weaving. I have not included the preparation of the kaho and tautari, which form the lattice as this is already a very long video.

When we think of Māori weaving, the main plant that comes to mind is harakeke (Phormium tenax, NZ flax).

But what many may not know is that our ancestors worked with a wide range of plant fibres across their textile practices.

While much of our weaving typically utilizes one type of plant fibre within a particular weaving practice, tukutuku is unique in that it brings together several plant tuakana within a single practice. I think that is one of the many things that makes tukutuku so special.

The plant tuakana include toetoe (Austroderia richardii), rarauhe (Pteridium esculentum) or tōtara (Podocarpus totara), kiekie (Freycinetia banksii), pīngao (Ficinia spiralis), and of course harakeke (Phormium tenax). Paru (iron-rich mud) is also used in the process to dye weaving fibres black.

To work across this variety of fibres within one kaupapa allows for more time spent in the taiao—observing the diversity of our plant tuakana, the landscapes they inhabit, their unique characteristics, and the tikanga and tukanga that guide how they are gathered and prepared.

When our experiences and learning are broadened, our knowledge deepens. Otherwise, weaving can easily be seen through a narrow lens, particularly in how we understand tikanga and tukanga.

Of course, as with everything, depending on the availability of time and resources, much of this process and knowledge can be cropped out, leaving a very narrow channel for observation and experience. That is a sad reality for me when it comes to weaving.

The more we engage with the taiao, with our tuakana—plant and other—the broader our understanding becomes. Through that, we learn and become better at protecting, caring for, and nurturing our diverse taiao.

Continued in comments⬇️

I have always been drawn to quilts and have long resonated with the art form. There is something powerful in taking discarded fabric scraps and irreparable clothing and transforming them into something beautiful — something vital, warm, and comforting.

A quilt is something that can be held onto for a lifetime. Treasured. It carries memories and legacies of family, friendship, and love. There is something deeply moving in knowing that someone held you in their heart and mind with every stitch — that the fabrics themselves once lived a life alongside that person.

I have not personally experienced receiving such a taonga from my tīpuna. Others in my whānau have, and I am truly happy for them.

At some point, we all may feel a pull to prepare a tāonga — to leave behind, reminders of who we are, of our identity and our legacy. Whether in a diary, a recipe book, a song, a jar of seeds, an audio recording, a photo album, a whakapapa chart, a piupiu, a quilt, or even a video showing how to make one.

I know our loved ones will want to know us when we are gone. They will look for us — and perhaps hope to see themselves reflected there too.

I have always been drawn to quilts and have long resonated with the art form. There is something powerful in taking discarded fabric scraps and irreparable clothing and transforming them into something beautiful — something vital, warm, and comforting.

A quilt is something that can be held onto for a lifetime. Treasured. It carries memories and legacies of family, friendship, and love. There is something deeply moving in knowing that someone held you in their heart and mind with every stitch — that the fabrics themselves once lived a life alongside that person.

I have not personally experienced receiving such a taonga from my tīpuna. Others in my whānau have, and I am truly happy for them.

At some point, we all may feel a pull to prepare a tāonga — to leave behind, reminders of who we are, of our identity and our legacy. Whether in a diary, a recipe book, a song, a jar of seeds, an audio recording, a photo album, a whakapapa chart, a piupiu, a quilt, or even a video showing how to make one.

I know our loved ones will want to know us when we are gone. They will look for us — and perhaps hope to see themselves reflected there too.

I have always been drawn to quilts and have long resonated with the art form. There is something powerful in taking discarded fabric scraps and irreparable clothing and transforming them into something beautiful — something vital, warm, and comforting.

A quilt is something that can be held onto for a lifetime. Treasured. It carries memories and legacies of family, friendship, and love. There is something deeply moving in knowing that someone held you in their heart and mind with every stitch — that the fabrics themselves once lived a life alongside that person.

I have not personally experienced receiving such a taonga from my tīpuna. Others in my whānau have, and I am truly happy for them.

At some point, we all may feel a pull to prepare a tāonga — to leave behind, reminders of who we are, of our identity and our legacy. Whether in a diary, a recipe book, a song, a jar of seeds, an audio recording, a photo album, a whakapapa chart, a piupiu, a quilt, or even a video showing how to make one.

I know our loved ones will want to know us when we are gone. They will look for us — and perhaps hope to see themselves reflected there too.

I have always been drawn to quilts and have long resonated with the art form. There is something powerful in taking discarded fabric scraps and irreparable clothing and transforming them into something beautiful — something vital, warm, and comforting.

A quilt is something that can be held onto for a lifetime. Treasured. It carries memories and legacies of family, friendship, and love. There is something deeply moving in knowing that someone held you in their heart and mind with every stitch — that the fabrics themselves once lived a life alongside that person.

I have not personally experienced receiving such a taonga from my tīpuna. Others in my whānau have, and I am truly happy for them.

At some point, we all may feel a pull to prepare a tāonga — to leave behind, reminders of who we are, of our identity and our legacy. Whether in a diary, a recipe book, a song, a jar of seeds, an audio recording, a photo album, a whakapapa chart, a piupiu, a quilt, or even a video showing how to make one.

I know our loved ones will want to know us when we are gone. They will look for us — and perhaps hope to see themselves reflected there too.

I have been patiently waiting for light all week. Heavy rains, overcast skies, weather warnings for strong winds and flooding.

This morning I woke before sunrise to check the horizon. Each time I looked out the window, it grew brighter and brighter.

I rolled up the quilt, grabbed my tripod and camera, and ran to the beach to capture the final shots — to bring this kaupapa to its close.

There’s always a sense of relief when I complete a project. It asks a lot of me. And by the end, I feel both emptied and ready — already looking toward the next journey.

A quilt is basically a layer of batting—wool, cotton, or now polyester—sandwiched between two fabrics and stitched together to form a single piece.

I start by securing the base layer—often an old sheet—to the frame. The batting and quilt top are pinned to this foundation. Tension is built gradually: first by drawing the front and rear bars apart, then by pulling twill straps pinned along the sides of the quilt taut across the cross grain.

A quilting frame is used to hold all three layers in place, maintaining even tension to prevent distortion and puckering.

When quilting on the frame, I work in a way similar to a typewriter, moving from right to left and from front to back, working as far as my reach allows. Once a section is complete, it is rolled onto the front bar like a scroll. The excess layers are then unrolled from the rear bar, re-tensioned, and the next section is worked. Depending on the quilting pattern, this process can be straightforward or more complex, particularly when the pattern includes a central point.

Once the quilting stitches reach the opposite side of the quilt, which is typically a few months later, I loosen the tension on the frame. The side straps are removed and the quilt is cut out along its perimeter. I then sew around the edge of the quilt and prepare the binding, which conceals the raw edge.

The binding is made from joined strips of fabric, prepared in advance to ensure the total length matches the full circumference of the quilt. Once the strips are joined, the binding is ironed in half lengthwise, creating one folded edge and one raw edge. The raw edge of the binding is sewn to the edge of the quilt. The beginning and end of the binding are then sewn together to form a seamless join, and finally the binding is stitched down to finish the quilt.

The folded edge of the binding is then turned to the underside of the quilt, secured with clips, and finished with a blind stitch worked around the entire edge. I used pins for years and was constantly getting poked, but the clips are far better.

Hand quilting takes time and labour, but the beauty that comes from that attention is well worth it.

My apologies to all whom have already liked, commented and shared this post. I had to repost due to copyright issues with the music. I mainly add music when there is too much noice pollution, in this case its me breathing into the camera when Im doing close up shots. IG only allows the use of music in reels no longer than a minute and my videos are mostly longer than that. So my first task today was to find another option and not long into my search I came across the music service Epidemic Sound which allows access to a database of royalty-free music. You must have a subscription to use this service, which grants you permission to use their music.

Anyways, I am finally finished with the tuitui on this kuira. I had hoped to complete it before my last trip home, but there was too much going on at the time. Finishing it now brings a real sense of relief, especially as other projects are waiting for my attention so Im excited to share this. I did not make the quilt top (the top/patterned layer)which is so beautiful! I just do the hand quilting and turn it into a quilt. This will be included in body of work exhibited later this year.

I made this quilting frame over ten years ago from an old bed frame someone was throwing away and two sawhorses. The idea is simple: it keeps the quilt layers taut while quilting them together to help prevent puckering. A frame doesn’t need to be fancy—you can use almost anything, sticks even. It really comes down to your ability to work the frame to achieve its function. That’s what I love about these old art forms: they’re founded on resourcefulness.

Once the frame is set up, the quilting can begin. Hand quilting involves a lot of sitting, repetitive movement, focus, discipline, and a certain kind of stamina to continue stitching over long periods of time.

I have grown to love quilting; I find it meditative. While I’m focused on the stitching itself, my thoughts move from place to place. As I stitch, there are areas of the quilt that are more engaging—full of twists and turns—while others are just continuous straight lines. Those sections demand the most focus and perseverance. They’re also where I have been strengthened the most.

Rangitāmirohia te ara kōtui ki a Papatūānuku.

Twist together the weaving line that connects you to Papatuānuku.

Rangitāmirohia te ara kōtui ki a Papatūānuku.

Twist together the weaving line that connects you to Papatuānuku.

He mauri tuku iho, He mauri taketake.

The mauri of a piupiu does not arrive at the end of its making.
It is already there, long before the first leaf is cut.

It comes from the soil that feeds the pā, from long nourishing rains, from sun and wind whose movement of light and air cleanses and sustains the harakeke.

It comes from the waters—streams, rivers, and springs that descend from our sacred mountains.
It comes from te ahi tipua, the subterranean fires carried across the great ocean from Hawaiki.

It comes from lifetimes of observing the natural world—
from ancient knowledge shared, refined, and passed down, enduring time and change.

This piupiu is a receptacle of knowledge,
holding memory, relationship, and continuity—

With this understanding, it is no surprise that when a piupiu is secured around the waist, its mauri shifts the wearer—uplifting, inspiring, and instilling a deep sense of pride.

I want to share this video to give a clearer view of hākuku — scraping, as it’s often referred to in English.

Big mihi to @_manu20_for letting me video her doing the hākuku.

Its important to understand that this process can only be done successfully with certain cultivars of harakeke. Often a variety is referred to by its use, such as “piupiu”, which lets people know what a particular pā is good for — especially when they may not know the variety name itself or its specific characteristics. A muka variety does not automatically mean it is suitable for piupiu.

So what are the characteristics of a good piupiu variety?

• The muka (fibre) content must be thick
• The para, or filmy layer, must release cleanly from the fibre
• The leaf must curl tightly
• The pōkinikini (cylindrical strand) must dry hard

Some varieties can be scraped, but the pōkinikini produced may be very lightweight, and when dry the cylinders remain soft. There is a lot more to this mahi than simply cutting a random leaf and scraping it.

Once a suitable variety is found, then the work can begin.

Hākuku takes a lot of practice. It requires strength, finesse, and very delicate handling of the strand. Manu makes it look effortless and gentle. Whenu can easily split, get creased or over scrape the muka.

There is a subtle movement Manu does just before her hākuku — pressing the edge of her mākoi against the back edge of the scored line. This ensures the mākoi stops on the following line, reducing the risk of it slipping forward under pressure.

This mahi reveals itself over time, as understanding deepens through doing.

Dyeing is such a cool topic to talk about. There is something about the process that excites us all. Colour, its creation and use to create visual languages is a powerful tool that adds another layer of depth, meaning, difficulty, and beauty to the already time consuming harvesting, preparation and weaving. My approach to dying these days is quite intuitive and practical and using the resources available depending where I am that changes. Some places are abundant in these resources and others have none. I dont know if others think about this but I think about the recipient and their knowledge and ability to care for the tāonga and the type of care needed to preserve the colour in understanding its nature. So much to wānanga about. Let me know if you have any thing you want me to share about dyeing or feel free to share something you love about dyeing.

Dyeing is such a cool topic to talk about. There is something about the process that excites us all. Colour, its creation and use to create visual languages is a powerful tool that adds another layer of depth, meaning, difficulty, and beauty to the already time consuming harvesting, preparation and weaving. My approach to dying these days is quite intuitive and practical and using the resources available depending where I am that changes. Some places are abundant in these resources and others have none. I dont know if others think about this but I think about the recipient and their knowledge and ability to care for the tāonga and the type of care needed to preserve the colour in understanding its nature. So much to wānanga about. Let me know if you have any thing you want me to share about dyeing or feel free to share something you love about dyeing.

Dyeing is such a cool topic to talk about. There is something about the process that excites us all. Colour, its creation and use to create visual languages is a powerful tool that adds another layer of depth, meaning, difficulty, and beauty to the already time consuming harvesting, preparation and weaving. My approach to dying these days is quite intuitive and practical and using the resources available depending where I am that changes. Some places are abundant in these resources and others have none. I dont know if others think about this but I think about the recipient and their knowledge and ability to care for the tāonga and the type of care needed to preserve the colour in understanding its nature. So much to wānanga about. Let me know if you have any thing you want me to share about dyeing or feel free to share something you love about dyeing.

Dyeing is such a cool topic to talk about. There is something about the process that excites us all. Colour, its creation and use to create visual languages is a powerful tool that adds another layer of depth, meaning, difficulty, and beauty to the already time consuming harvesting, preparation and weaving. My approach to dying these days is quite intuitive and practical and using the resources available depending where I am that changes. Some places are abundant in these resources and others have none. I dont know if others think about this but I think about the recipient and their knowledge and ability to care for the tāonga and the type of care needed to preserve the colour in understanding its nature. So much to wānanga about. Let me know if you have any thing you want me to share about dyeing or feel free to share something you love about dyeing.

Dyeing is such a cool topic to talk about. There is something about the process that excites us all. Colour, its creation and use to create visual languages is a powerful tool that adds another layer of depth, meaning, difficulty, and beauty to the already time consuming harvesting, preparation and weaving. My approach to dying these days is quite intuitive and practical and using the resources available depending where I am that changes. Some places are abundant in these resources and others have none. I dont know if others think about this but I think about the recipient and their knowledge and ability to care for the tāonga and the type of care needed to preserve the colour in understanding its nature. So much to wānanga about. Let me know if you have any thing you want me to share about dyeing or feel free to share something you love about dyeing.

Dyeing is such a cool topic to talk about. There is something about the process that excites us all. Colour, its creation and use to create visual languages is a powerful tool that adds another layer of depth, meaning, difficulty, and beauty to the already time consuming harvesting, preparation and weaving. My approach to dying these days is quite intuitive and practical and using the resources available depending where I am that changes. Some places are abundant in these resources and others have none. I dont know if others think about this but I think about the recipient and their knowledge and ability to care for the tāonga and the type of care needed to preserve the colour in understanding its nature. So much to wānanga about. Let me know if you have any thing you want me to share about dyeing or feel free to share something you love about dyeing.