Fathers — as wonderful as they are — can oft be fickle communicators. Hence, come the first weekend of September, we’re reduced to the lowly forms of humour that are endemically found on the front of Father’s Day greeting cards. From grilling, to passing wind and everything in between that might signify the extent of your paternal relationship, we suggest you avoid the following clichés only to reach deep within yourself and draw upon some compelling content.
1. Flatulence We all suffer from it time to time — no need to be churlish.
2. The fact that he likes barbequing Hereby insinuating that he is a Neanderthal; “Me like fire.”
3. Dad jokes It’ll only serve as encouragement. Instead revisit some of the better advice he’s given you, such as Modern Family’s Phil Dunphy’s, “If life gives you lemonade — make lemons, and life will be all like whaaaaat?”
4. Anything to do with his relationship with your mother Especially when it comes to your conception and the events leading up to it. No one needs to relive that. Best stick to the ‘growing up’ rather than the ‘being born’ theme.
5. The fact that he comes in second after mum Parental favouritism is not acceptable on this day.
6. The “thanks for being Mr. Fix-it” (Read: I could replace you with a Hire-A-Hubby but I know it makes you feel important).
7. The ‘you are my iron man’ slant Only legitimate if he runs 80km week and can bench press 150kg.
8. The fact that it’s Father’s Day You might as well cut to the chase with ‘this all feels a bit forced’.
This year we are taking a hiatus from Denizen’s eagerly-anticipated annual celebration of Heroes. We look forward to paying proper tribute to influential New Zealanders when the battle against Covid-19 is over. In the meantime we look at back at the inspiring stories of the trailblazers we have honoured in the past and continue to proudly call Heroes. Meet hero Deborah Smith.
I’ve just hustled my way into the common room at Mercy Hospice. The clamour of young voices and a carpark brimming with SUVs playing dodgem makes it feel more like a primary school at 9am on a Monday morning, as opposed to the wary place of hushed palliative care I’ve come to know. It’s an extraordinarily sunny Sunday afternoon and the young voices belong to a group of 20 odd children, varying in age from five to 15. They are here to attend Cloud Workshop, a free art programme for young people dealing with the death of someone in their immediate family.
As name tags are written and applied, brown paper is taped over tables by volunteers, young and old greet each other as an excitable buzz ensues. At approximately 1.30pm, the workshop’s leading lady, Deborah Smith, calls everyone to gather around. Children take a seat on the floor in front of her, much like they would in a classroom, while various adult volunteers and parents instinctively form a protective band around them.
Standing next to Smith is a helper, six-year-old Tom, who assists in announcing the plans for today. “First, I would like to give a very warm welcome to you all,” Smith announces. Recognising all but one familiar face, shortly afterwards she asks, “Tom, would you like to remind everyone why we’re here today?” The young boy states promptly, as though out of mundanity, “We’re here because we have all lost someone close to us.” It is all that is said on the matter before Smith, with the help of artist John Reynolds, begins to explain what today’s task is — making masks — before diving in without further ado.
Cloud Workshop takes place once every six weeks. For hours at a time, children suffering a family bereavement can immerse themselves in creating contemporary art as an escape from the sadness of what is happening around them. Smith, both an established photographer and photography teacher who has achieved legendary status at schools like St Cuthberts College, explains what instigated the concept: “I wanted to help a friend whose partner had just died of melanoma. Her kids wouldn’t go to therapy, so I was searching for something for them to do.” No stranger to loss herself, Smith had to deal with her father’s death when she was only 18-years-old and he was 42. As the eldest of four children, she felt the weighty responsibility of needing to safeguard her younger siblings. She goes on to say about her friend’s children, “There was nothing… which, in a way, made me quite angry and upset. I was really shocked to find out that in the huge amount of time [that had passed between her father’s death and her friend’s partner’s death] it didn’t appear that there was anything new to support bereaved children. But in the meantime, there’d been a lot of research, even out of places like Harvard, about the vulnerability of bereaved children and how fragile they really are”.
To be clear, Cloud Workshop doesn’t purport itself as a form of therapy. Rather, it is a forum for creativity where young people are united in their circumstances. Every session, the children are given a project; painting pillowcases to keep bad dreams away; building models; creating Joseph Cornell-inspired 3D scenes, concertina books and dioramas from scratch; or in this case, crafting masks designed to make them laugh or to hide away. Usually, there is an underlying theme they may or may not draw upon concerning what they’re going through, but there is no expectation that the children need to talk about their ordeal.
“I try not to back anyone into a corner,” says Smith. Most often, there are cases of ‘accidental therapy’. One such example includes a moment during a bathroom break when Smith was standing outside waiting with a group of boys. Thinking about it, she innocently remarked how every single one of them, including herself, had lost their father. The next question came from one of the little ones: how did your dad die? “My father had melanoma,” she replied. “Mine did, too,” said another. “My dad had depression,” came another voice. “You know, that’s another type of illness, don’t you?” the teacher asked. He didn’t know. And that is a big part of the problem.
“Unless kids are hysterical and rolling around on the floor, people think they are fine. But that’s not necessarily true. They still need to be told stuff,” Smith says matter-of-factly. “There’s a cliché about resilience. I don’t think kids are born with it; I think they need help to be taught it. [Through Cloud Workshop] I wanted them to have something that would make them feel strong.”
The initiative might seem like a crucial one in our society, where support networks ought to be readily accessible, but the concept wasn’t exactly encouraged in the beginning. Before Cloud Workshop first launched in 2008, there were many doubters — ‘It won’t work… You’ll never be able to do this… It’s too sensitive’ they said. Smith admits, “The biggest challenge to get it started was actually with the parents and caregivers, convincing them that we weren’t going to take the lid off their children and send them home. Convincing them that actually we were all about empowering, not the opposite.”
But Smith pushed on, and now the classes are filled within five minutes of being announced. “It’s a simple idea that takes a lot of energy. It’s about creating solidarity around what all these kids are going through. I believe in art. It doesn’t matter whether you want to be an accountant or an All Black later in life, if you’re able to be creative, you’ll have an edge. And that’s what I want to equip these children with.”
As I look around at everyone present, kids entirely absorbed in what they are creating, sharing a common bond with those around them, adult volunteers soaking up the fertile imaginations and young energy, I can’t help but think that this is a kind of therapy. An unspoken way of healing that might just make the difference between a child who can’t cope and a child who can.
Smith could easily dedicate all of her time to Cloud Workshop which takes days of research and preparation in the lead up to each session, not to mention the time she is pouring into her new pilot programme for adolescents, Cumulus. But there is no doubting her commitment to it, “I guess for me, it’s the most important, wonderful work I’ve ever done in my life. Despite the sad premise, it just gives me a lot of joy to think that, when we’re in it, it’s really buzzy. Everybody’s making, and we’re just having a great time and all looking after each other.”
If she could encourage people to do one thing, it would be to start giving back on a community level, to pursue any concept that helps people in need — emotionally or otherwise. “Even if it’s a left-field idea, give it a go. There are a lot of people out there who need relief, so if you have the capacity to provide it, I believe you really should give it a go.”
We know. Things can get pretty overwhelming pretty quickly at this time of year. And just when you realise Christmas has properly kicked in, you also realise you’re running about six months behind schedule. Behold four speedy ways to cast your cynicism aside and jump-start your festive fancy.
1. Get a Christmas tree
Go on. Bite the bullet. Sure, it might only be a three-week investment but the smell of pine and the fact that you actually have a place to put your slowly accumulating Christmas gifts is worth every penny. That’s not even counting the sense of accomplishment you’ll feel.
2. Search ‘It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas’ on Spotify…
Press ‘shuffle play’, start making dinner, and wait to see what happens. The comforting timbre of Michael Bublé’s voice will subliminally lure you into a state of festive acceptance.
3. Make a list of the people you need to buy presents for
It might be daunting to begin with but you’ll feel a lot more ‘in control’ once you’ve tackled this simple yet effective task. Pragmatism is key. You’ll also find that your creative juices will start flowing with some fabulous gift ideas.
4. Build a gingerbread house
This is a great excuse to do your bit for the younger ones (or not). Order your house here, flick on some Christmas tunes (see above), holster your apron and make like Martha Stewart. It’s the Christmas ritual you need in your life.
There is a special light in Saint Paul de Vence that attracts the artists,” a shopkeeper says to me — or so I roughly interpret — on our first day of wandering around the medieval town located a half-hour’s drive west of Nice. Being halfway through July, the fortified village is heaving with tourists and the entirely foreign crowd mills in and out of the inexhaustible galleries, perfumeries and tchotchke shops that line the narrow cobbled streets. It’s the first and last time we meander through the township before locating our nearby auberge, La Colombe d’Or, where we would be staying for two nights and from whose fortress-like walls, we soon discovered, we would seldom emerge.
Personally, I didn’t know much about the hotel prior to checking in. Only that, during the 1930s and 40s, it was a popular hangout for the likes of Picasso and Matisse who would stay for weeks at a time and often free of charge in return for a few of their paintings or sketches. Contrarily, it had been a lifelong dream of my partner’s to stay at The Golden Dove (its translated name) where he could dine next to the famous Fernand Léger mosaic and sleep under a Pierre Tal-Coat.
After locating the ivy-covered inn at the entrance of the township — no thanks to our aversity for signage, which was quickly becoming a theme on this particular trip — we entered through the large gate of its well-to-do terrasse restaurant, also the hotel’s official entrance. Here, during the balmy afternoon, tables were being dressed in fresh, white
tablecloths and consummate French waiters studied the evening’s bookings.
Inside the main building, a bucolic lounge houses a post-office-like reception desk, managed with chaotic charm by the third generation of the Roux family (by whom the Colombe d’Or was established in 1923). It was what I would imagine a French version of Fawlty Towers to be like; being the height of summer, all 13 idiosyncratic rooms and 12 expansive suites are either occupied or changing hands, causing a flurry of activity. After a short wait, we are shown to our room which is palatially-sized in modern-day hotel terms. Amongst its dressings are an extremely comfortable four-poster bed — my first time staying in one — superb antique furnishings, several works of art by artists who I’m not so educated as to know, and a wall mural that I spent my mornings pondering over the circumstances in which it was created. Romantic, indeed. There was also the picture-perfect balcony overlooking the township and restaurant.
It quickly became apparent that time spent at the hotel is segmented into three different activities: mornings are a chance to sleep in and indulge in room service comprising plentiful coffee, croissants and confitures. The long, sunlight hours are a prime time for socialising around the pool with its huge, Alexander Calder mobile at one end and where, during the late morning and afternoon, a young, next-generation custodian suffers from extreme boredom as he waits for someone to ask him to fetch an extra towel or soda. Finally, there’s the restaurant, which is a crucial part of the routine. Forget about dining out because here is where you will inevitably have lunch and dinner for the duration of your stay.
Come 7 pm, the place is at capacity, brimming with well-heeled, overly tanned Europeans. There’s a delightful, dimmed echo of conversation and cutlery that sounds within the walled garden environs. The menu, a giant, colourful carte that looks as though it might have been scribed by Miró himself, has not changed in many years. From it, you can order show-stopping crudités — the French have a penchant for using whole fennel as a showpiece — my personal favourite; an entire melon with parma ham (clichéd but so refreshing), and whole steamed fish which an adept waiter will fillet at your table.
There’s a red velvet rope that marks the threshold between our world at the restaurant inside the Colombe d’Or and the world that lies beyond. It didn’t take much to understand why such a barricade is necessary; every five minutes during service an inquisitive passer-by from the village outside will pop his/her head in, disrupting a waiter to ask ‘What is it?’ and ‘Can I have a table?’ (only to be met with a very French response). Such is the vibrant, energised atmosphere of the bustling, packed-out restaurant that emanates with a universal appeal.
Normally, such posturing from waiters would be enough to turn me off a place, but there’s something about the Colombe d’Or, aside from the tightly run restaurant, that is decidedly down to earth. It’s an almost century-old institution that’s far from stuffy or precious. Rather it’s indifferently glamorous in a weathered, Chateau Marmont kind of way. The labyrinthine interior serves as an art lover’s playground, where around every corner, there lies a stunning Matisse or a petite Miró — you would hate to think what the insurance costs. It’s personal and robust, and after one stay, you feel as though you have been inducted into an unofficial club. And if you love art, it’s a pilgrimage you need to make. Just be prepared to want to go back again.
Fifteen years ago, Paul Baragwanath established ARTTFORM, a platform which specialises in independent art advising. Here, we ask about the benefit of his services.
Tell us about your role as an art consultant — it can’t be easy dealing with such a subjective topic. In my view, a good art consultant is like a good psychologist. He or she should be able to understand you, how the spaces in your place need to work and what the art needs to contribute. In other words, to anticipate and to develop what you will not only like — but what you will love.
Is it better to have prior knowledge of art before engaging with an art consultant? Not if you have a good, honest one! An inspired art advisor will expand your knowledge and the way you look at art. Acquiring art with the support of someone who dedicates their life to it can be very rewarding.
You have an array of different clients from private individuals to corporate, institutional and not-for-profit organisations. Is there a ‘minimum scale’ of job you would undertake? There’s no ‘minimum’. If people seek art advice, and I am able to help, I will. Or, I’ll introduce them to someone else who can.
Is there one type of client with whom you most enjoy working and why? Ideally, one who senses art’s potential to enhance their daily life. Or, someone who is willing to take a leap of faith. And art does take a certain amount of bravery, regardless of the scale, budget and type. Public spaces are rewarding because the art will have an impact on the lives of many. But there is nothing more rewarding than working for a private client who values the art you bring into their life.
What do you think people are challenged with most when it comes to the task of buying art? In this instance, how do you help? Probably the biggest issue — and perhaps the least known — is that actually finding truly great art is a challenge. Always. Not ‘everyone is an artist’. Not all art is created equal. A good name is no guarantee of good art. And every artist has bad days, good days and days when they really fly. It’s the job of your art advisor to discern the difference. And if he/she does so, your art will go the distance. For you, and for posterity.
As founder of West Auckland’s world-class family entertainment venue, Whoa! Studios, David Sutherland has seen a lifelong dream come to fruition — one that has brought an immense amount of joy to local children and families. After selling his computer hardware business in 2010, he began work on the project which has taken several years and in excess of $20 million out of his own pocket to complete.
Read more about David in the latest issue of Denizen.
A long-standing Patron of the Arts, Dayle Mace has, quietly, over the course of 30 years been responsible for bringing a litany of public art projects to light around Auckland and New Zealand. Ever humble about her efforts, we have Dayle to thank for the renovation of what is now the world-renowned Auckland Art Gallery Toi o Tāmaki and the Leo Villareal light installation that graces the front of the ASB Waterfront Theatre.
Read more about Dayle in our latest issue of Denizen.
A celebrated family-run wine business has come home to roost in Grey Lynn.
Good wine shops have the habit of finding their way into our hearts and Caro’s Wines is one such specimen. Many know of the legendary family-run boutique from their 12-years operating on Parnell’s Saint Georges Bay Road and now, wine-lovers on the other side of the city are poised to adopt similarly fond feelings due to Caro’s return to the Grey Lynn neighbourhood.
Elevating Ponsonby’s wine scene with their gorgeous, renovated building located toward the Great North Road end of Mackelvie Street, designed by Richard Goldie of Peddle Thorp Architects, the award-winning retailers will be proffering an exemplary range of local and international wines as well as some very special tasting experiences. The stylishly minimalist upstairs room offers space enough for a 50-person tasting event with a fully serviced kitchen to boot. The warm, wood-panelled upper room has already played host to Air New Zealand’s super-premium ‘Fine Wines of New Zealand’ event in July and is also the new home to the renowned Master of Wines Bob Campbell’s wine courses. For years Mr Campbell has held his tastings at Caro’s with the new Grey Lynn premises giving way to a new series of ‘Campbell @ Caro’s’ masterclasses.
The perfect venue for both the most simple and premium wine tastings, Caro’s is equal parts high-brow and homely, inviting one and all to partake in their various wine education offerings. Always ones to ‘keep it in the family’, the mother of business owners John and Richard Caro, Mary Jane, is deemed an expert cook and her famous dishes are presented at Caro’s tastings alongside many of Europe’s tops wines (we hear her famous Lamb Ragout will be making an appearance, paired with Caro’s premium Super-Tuscan tasting in August). This unwaveringly familial approach brings the often pretentious realm of wine down to earth, allowing the celebrated grape-juice to be enjoyed in its proper context: “after all, wine is not meant to go with powerpoint presentations but with good conversation, family, and food” the experts profess.
Having first begun their wine venture on Ponsonby Road 21 years ago, Caro’s have come full circle it would seem. The new store’s building has been in the Caro family for no less than sixty years serving as an office and warehouse. While retaining their premises in Parnell, Caro’s expansion and return to the neighbourhood brings home to roost their deep values in wine appreciation, endowing Grey Lynn (and all of Auckland for that matter) with a beautiful new facility for wine education.
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