Mapping Rematriation with Pūrākau: seeing Indigenous futures through whakawātea and noa

Rematriation is an evolving screening programme rooted in processes of Indigenous rematriation, a concept that emphasises restoring balance, harmony, and connection to the land through matrilineal knowledge systems. Across works by contemporary Māori artists, Rematriation acknowledges the challenges faced by Indigenous communities, and at the same time celebrates the ongoing restoration and preservation of Indigenous culture and spirituality. Currently, Rematriation includes the work of Tia Barrett (Waitaha, Ngāti Māmoe, Ngāi Tahu, Ngāti Tamainupō, Ngāti Maniapoto), Bobby Luke (Ngāti Ruanui), Tanya Te Miringa Te Rorarangi Ruka (Ngati Pakau, Ngapuhi), Sandy Wakefield (Ngapuhi, Ngāi Tahu), Keri-Mei Zagrobelna (Whānau-ā-Apanui and Te Āti Awa), and Antonia van Sitter (Te Māhurehure, Ngāti Rangi, Ngāti Whakaue). Each artist uses the moving image to visualise the intrinsic, ethereal, and ineffable narratives woven throughout Te Ao Māori. This essay is part one of three that will explore some of the guiding mātauranga of the programme, as well as examine the work of each of the artists, here, Tia Barrett and Antonia van Sitter.

Whakawātea and Noa

The complexity of our kupu and the correct understanding of them is imperative in the recovery of our Indigenous ways of being. We stand firmly in the knowledge of our whakapapa as descendants of the natural world. Our tupuna understood the skies as pūrākau, as stories that document time and space, giving guidance as to how to navigate this realm and beyond. Matrilineally interconnected knowledge systems, these stories were kept safe by our knowledge holders who sang them into the threads of our korowai and the fabric of our subconscious, held in stasis in Te Pōruru, a 'time' of waiting located within the realm of Te Ao Wairua.

How do we traverse the threshold between Te Ao Marama and Te Ao Wairua as our tupuna once did? How do we find our way to the unseen realms of the atua, and communicate with them while steeped in the noise of our technological existence? Walking the borders of these liminal spaces has motivated my artistic practice, which both abstracts and also weaves together pūrakau told to me by my mother, aunties, and grandmothers—matrilineal knowledge carriers. In every story, the concept of whakawātea is integral. As a noun, whakawātea signifies clearing, freeing, purging, or removal. As a verb, whakawātea means to clear, free, dislodge, purge, make way for, or exempt. The ritual practice of whakawātea is vital in Te Ao Māori, through which one returns oneself to a state of noa—a state that is "indefinite, ordinary, and within one’s power"—balanced.⁽¹⁾ 

The act of Rematriation—as verb—might also be seen as a practice through which to restore balance, as a form of whakawātea towards noa. Rematriation is not a new movement; it has always been the work of Indigenous women to restore balance to whanau, whenua, and taonga tuku iho. Mātauranga expressed in many pūrākau recount noa as a natural state for women. For me, the concept of Rematriation is especially important as an Indigenous woman and as a mother of three daughters—it is about restoring balance to our knowledge systems, which, through processes of colonialisation, have been skewed towards patriarchal beliefs that were never our own. In essence, Rematriation is a wairua journey across time, not in the linear understanding of time, but in the moko-puna patterning of whakapapa, guiding whānau, hapū, and iwi to a state of noa—a state of being within one’s power. Me aro koe ki te hā o Hine-ahu-one, take heed of the breath of Hineahuone—pay heed to the dignity and power of women.

In the ritual of whakawātea, one of the most common conduits to a state of noa is water. Te Rauwhero Ruka Te Korako’s Te Whakapapa o Wai (The Genealogy of Water) illustrates how water was birthed from the emotions of Te Wehenga (separation) between Ranginui and Papatūānuku—expressions of Te Mamae (pain), Te Tangi Aue (grief), and Te Aroha-roha (love).⁽²⁾ From these came Roimata (tears, Te Wai) and Te Whenua (the soil), which together birthed the many forms of water. Water, then, is the physical embodiment of emotion, and humans, as part of the water cycle, are inextricably linked to this tapu whakapapa. This understanding is echoed in the concept of wairua, which literally means "two waters." Water is central to sacred rituals in Indigenous communities around the world, and is also a recurring motif in works by artists Tia Barrett and Antonia van Sitter.

The fluidity of water, as explored through artists' moving image, acts as a powerful metaphor for the non-linear perception of time and space, reflecting cyclical, somatic experiences.⁽³⁾ Water’s ever-changing form—flowing between states—parallels the fluidity of Indigenous knowledge and histories, where time is understood as interconnected and cyclical rather than segmented and linear. In Rematriation, these ideas manifest through the mahi toi and mātauranga of wāhine who explore water as both life-giving and as a carrier of ancestral memories. Their art honours the sacred relationship between people and water, reasserting its role in rematriating land and knowledge by allowing Indigenous perspectives to flow back into spaces where they had been displaced. Water becomes a connector of bodies, times, and spaces. Ko te whaea te takere o te waka, women are the hull of the canoe—they keep the family together.

He Pounamu Ko Āu

Tia Barrett’s (Waitaha, Ngāti Māmoe, Ngāi Tahu, Ngāti Tamainupō, Ngāti Maniapoto) work He Pounamu Ko Āu (2023) explores the questions, "Ko wai au? No whea au?" — "Who am I? Where am I from?" In Te Ao Māori, the question ko wai koe? asks about the waters you come from, drawing on whakapapa, whakawhanaungatanga, and wairuatanga, emphasising the deep connection between people and the natural world. Tia’s film is a generational work, and was crafted through a pūrākau methodology developed by her mother, Dr. Alvina Jean Edwards, with the additional involvement of Tia’s daughter. In turn, it is a work that symbolises Indigenous women’s leadership and guardianship over the environment. In He Pounamu Ko Āu, Tia uses pounamu that are intrinsically connected to the awa of Te Wai Pounamu as a way of bridging Te Ao Mārama and Te Ao Wairua. This connection is central to the concept of rematriation, restoring balance to our relationship with the land and waters, which may be disrupted but remains unbroken. She situates the camera in the awa itself, allowing us to witness how its currents and ambient light mimic the characteristics of pounamu. Water is shown not only as a physical element but as a carrier of whakapapa and mauri, reinforcing the notion that caring for water is essential to restoring both environmental harmony and cultural sovereignty. Pounamu, formed underground by intense heat and pressure over millennia, becomes a metaphor for rematriation, celebrating the enduring strength and mana of wāhine Māori and bringing us to a state of noa.

One of the most well known pounamu pūrākau recounts the story of a taniwha named Poutini, dwelling on the West Coast of Te Wai Pounamu, who falls in love with a beautiful woman named Waitaiki and takes her away. Pursued by Waitaiki’s husband, Poutini, in order to protect her, transforms Waitaiki into pounamu at the mouth of the Arahura River, making her an aspect of his own being. Today, Poutini is considered the spiritual guardian of pounamu and the mana whenua of the West Coast. From this pūrakau, we learn how pounamu embodies mana wahine, wairuatanga, and the protection of mauri. Wearing pounamu protects and brings balance, connecting us to water where pounamu resides. To return to the kōrero regarding noa, this pūrakau highlights how Te Taiao is interwoven with the essence of wāhine Māori. In this way, Tia’s work contributes to processes of rematriation, where Indigenous knowledge systems and relationships with the natural world are essential to healing both land and community.

Mānawatia te Whenua, Mānawatia te Tangata

I first met Antonia van Sitter (Te Māhurehure, Ngāti Rangi, Ngāti Whakaue) in 2023, as she was completing her Master’s of Architecture—an exploration of climate resilience through pūrākau that connect with intergenerational wisdom, linking human experience and traditional storytelling with critical climate data. Her research brought attention to the vulnerabilities of sacred cultural sites, especially in the wake of extreme weather events like Cyclone Gabrielle. As highlighted by climate scientist Akuhata Bailey-Winiata, nearly 80% of Aotearoa’s marae are positioned in flood-prone areas.⁽⁴⁾ Mānawatia te Whenua, Mānawatia te Tangata (2024), commissioned by CIRCUIT for Matariki, was Antonia’s first moving image work and included animations of drawings that she had produced as part of her studies; large-scale sketches on translucent drafting paper that represented principles in Te Ao Māori such as whakapapa, tikanga, tapu, and that had previously been installed suspended from the ceiling of the campus atrium. Animated by the natural movement of air, it was almost as though they were breathing. Tīhei mauriora!

In her film, Antonia delves into the intricate relationships between people, place, and spirit through visual storytelling, returning to Manupirua Bay on Lake Rotoiti, where her whānau are kaitiaki of the geothermal springs. Interwoven are scenes from the short film Ahī Ka (2013), directed by Richard Curtis and filmed on Lake Rotoiti, which extends the notion of ahi kā, representing continuous presence and resilience. By blending filmed footage with hand-drawn overlays, Antonia crafts a narrative that captures the intangible qualities of wairua and mauri. Here, water isn’t just a physical element—it’s a vessel for ancestral memory and a fluid embodiment of time, positioning water as representative of the cyclical experiences of time and interconnectedness. In its layering of drawn images, of whakapapa and pūrākau, Antonia’s film reflects Te Ao Māori, where relationships with nature are dynamic and alive, and bind people to the landscapes they inhabit. Lake Rotoiti becomes more than a backdrop; it is the marae that stands between Papatūānuku and Ranginui.

There are many taniwha pūrakau that belong to the dark, enigmatic waters of Te Rotoiti-kite-a-Īhenga, Lake Rotoiti. One favourite of mine tells of Te Upoko o Huraki Tai—a rākau tupua, a tree that has been imbued with special powers; it sails through Te Rotoiti with its broken branch gliding through the water. A harbinger of news, Tohunga and tangata would gather around and leave ohaoha, gifts, and adornments to the branch as though to a person. Antonia’s work goes beyond conventional narratives, portraying the wai-rua of water as a spiritual experience, a gift—a symbol of continuity that resonates with Māori resilience and the need for enduring ties to place. In this way, water’s fluidity serves as a metaphor for rematriation, reclaiming space for Indigenous ways of knowing and being, bridging ancestral wisdom with the adaptive resilience needed today. Through her architectural and visual storytelling, Antonia’s practice affirms that the survival of ipukarea, take tupuna, and hau kaianga relies on a symbiotic relationship with the environment, reminding us that mātauranga is essential to facing contemporary challenges. A built environment working in harmony with the whenua and all the natural systems we need to thrive—noa.

Wairoa Film Festival

Over the course of the year, Rematriation has screened at venues across the motu, in Ngāmotu New Plymouth, Ōtautahi Christchurch, and Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland. Most recently, Rematriation played on the Kahungunu Marae in Nūhakau as part of the Wairoa Māori Film Festival in October of this year, where this relationship with water—as life-giving but at times destructive—shaped the setting for the screening. The wai itself became part of the narrative. The festival is a testament to the community’s fortitude, showing a collective will to rebuild, renew, and support one another through continued challenges following the impact of Cyclone Gabrielle. Te Wairoa Hōpūpū Hōnengenenge Mātangi Rau (the Wairoa River), which flooded hundreds of homes, speaks to the area’s deep connection to the land, and also to its vulnerability. The landscape tells a story of loss and adaptation; giant uprooted trees like dinosaur skeletons, stark evidence of the magnitude and force of the surrounding waters. As I stood amongst these giant bones, where Te Wairoa Hōpūpū Hōnengenenge Mātangi Rau meets the sea, it was hard not to imagine Tupaheke, the kaitiaki taniwha of this awa. He is said to have arms like a great crab and is harmless to local people, but if a stranger touches the rock where the river meets the sea, it is said they will suffer misfortune. I make a great effort not to touch the rock—any of them. Taniwha pūrakau are warnings left on the whenua, visualised through rocks or trees in the landscape. They tell of the power of the wai, and through whakapapa, taniwha are the intermediaries between tangata whenua and the elemental atua.

In my role as CIRCUIT’s Kaitiaki Kiriata, presenting Rematriation on the Kahungunu Marae was challenging. Each of the works, in their own way, invited the viewer to feel and experience them as the visual embodiment of ihi, wehi, and wana (the fear, the awe, and the power). These artists’ works were presented for their intrinsic mana. The tension lay in how they would be received by the community. Our audience was majority kuia, kaumatua, and tamariki—people who were still recovering from the trauma of Cyclone Gabrielle. The feedback was one word and unanimous—"intense!"

For me, this speaks to the ability of mahi toi to reach intangible worlds. In these essays, I am using Te Pū o te Rākau, a research methodology embedded in pūrākau that refers to the foundation of a tree, and references how stories grow with each generation. In lieu of western scientific outputs, Te Pū o te Rākau speaks to Indigenous recovery, revitalisation, and sustainability.⁽⁵⁾ As a whole, the works in Rematriation embody the forces of our imagination and moemoeā, forging connections between ourselves, our audiences, and the unseen realms of our tūpuna.

My next essay will delve into the works of Bobby Luke Campbell and Sandy Wakefield, exploring nurturing and preservation as acts of radical futuring, ensuring the transcendence of tino rangatiratanga for generations to come. The final essay in this series will examine the intersection of rematriation and techno-ascension, envisioning new pathways for Indigenous creativity and mana motuhake.

Tanya Te Miringa Te Rorarangi Ruka is an artist and CIRCUIT's Kaitiaki Kiriata, a curatorial position which supports a Māori curator to present artists' video in contexts framed by Te Ao Māori.