Every aspect of Nikau Hindin’s art is a painstaking labour of love. Based in Tūranganui-a-Kiwa/Gisborne, the multidisciplinary artist has immersed herself in her craft full-time since 2018, garnering international acclaim for her revival of the ancient Māori art form of aute (bark cloth).

When I connect with Hindin in April, she’s just returned to Aotearoa after exhibiting her work at two prestigious events: the São Paulo Biennial and the Biennale of Sydney. Between the cities, she’s showcased a vast body of work crafted in collaboration with several other female makers. Although rewarding, she’s feeling the toll of her endeavours. “I’m pretty burned out at the moment,” she admits candidly. “We only had three months to produce the work for each show... It’s just been a big time.”

This production period is particularly demanding when you understand the process for making aute. Instead of working with paints and canvas like many contemporary artists, Hindin’s work begins with a harvesting trip up to the far north of Aotearoa. Accompanied by a group of women, she selects and cuts down 18-month-old mulberry trees, which they then peel, scrape, clean, dry, or beat until they resemble a fine, paper-like material — aute. Mastering this process took Hindin five years, as she was committed to respecting the correct protocols and pathways.

Once completed, she adorns the cloth with traditional celestial maps using natural kōkōwai pigment. It’s an exceedingly time-consuming and strenuous practice, demanding immense patience and skill. “When I first came to the point of painting on my aute, I was very nervous,” Hindin says. “I’d spent five years learning to just make the cloth, now it was time for adornment. I’d been learning about voyaging and celestial navigation at the same time as learning about aute, and it felt natural to document my learnings about the stars.”

For Hindin, pursuing a creative path was never a question of if, but when. A third-generation artist on her mother’s side, she fondly recalls memories of her grandmother, Joan Hindin, who inspired her with her family portraits. “She used to sit with me and paint and I would sit occupied for hours,” says Hindin. “She always wanted me to become an artist and I think that’s why I went to art school.”

Continuing the legacy, Hindin’s mother Debbie Hindin is a clothes designer based in Tāmaki Makaurau/Auckland. Her boutique, Moa, has been a mainstay in Grey Lynn for more than 30 years, exclusively stocking garments made in Aotearoa. “I basically grew up sitting on the cutting table playing with the pattern weights,” she continues. “I’ve always been around the production of garments; I knew all my mum’s sewers, cutters, and my cousins would press for my mum. It was a family business and I grew up learning that the decisions you make in your business can reflect your values.”

Observing Hindin’s work, it’s obvious that she’s channelled every bit of her accumulated wisdom into her art. Though heavily influenced by her creative family, it wasn’t until she pursued her conjoint Bachelor of Arts and Bachelor of Fine Arts (Honours) degree from the University of Auckland that her artistic interests began to solidify. While taking a paper on Māori material culture with Māori customary technologist, Dante Bonica, she learned how resources like stone and wood could be utilised in a meaningful way. “He taught us how to unlock the potential in our natural resources and showed us traditional processing methods our tūpuna (ancestors) would have used,” Hindin explains. “I liked how meditative and physical these processes were.”

Although Hindin never had a specific teacher who taught her how to make aute, she began learning about the practice in 2013, during a university exchange, in Hawai’i. When she was completing her Masters, she returned there in 2017 and spent her weekends learning how to make kapa (Hawai’ian barkcloth) under the guidance of artist Verna Takashima. Back in Aotearoa, she began to make her own aute.

One of the things that strikes me most about Hindin is how willing she is to help other up-and-coming artists to succeed. One of her biggest goals since learning the lost art form of aute has been to pass her knowledge onto the next generation of Māori artists. At the time of our interview, she is overseeing the work of one of her several apprentices — a Tāmaki Makaurau-based aute maker who has been practising under Hindin’s guidance. “Ultimately my aspiration is for Māori, Pacific, and other BIPOC artists to transform and infiltrate the art world,” Hindin tells me. “To tear the colonial house down from the inside and out. I have been intentional about sharing the opportunities that have been given to me so another generation can learn and grow too from these experiences.”

Looking further ahead, Hindin dreams about one day owning a cultural institution where she can impart her learnings to an even wider community of Māori. “Whether that’s [through] an art gallery or an art school... something for Toi Māori to exist within, but also give our people access to international and indigenous artists,” she says. “I don’t know how that’ll happen, but that’s my dream.”

As Hindin considers how to turn her aspirations into reality, she is prioritising some much-needed downtime after an intense few months of creating and exhibiting. The rest will come in its own time.

Words: Amberley Colby

Imagery: Holly Sarah Burgess