On Sunday I unfurled myself from our home in Mangawhai, the sacred space of my mums passing, and drove to the garden thats held so much of my grief over the last year. As broken as I was, it felt important to put my feet back in the soil at Ngakinga. The tears flowed, the people came and we hosted a morning natural dye workshop amongst the flowers.

The story of the garden; of grief, failure, compost and worms, flew on banners I have been making over these last few months.

Hot, urgent, trembling months that have pushed me to let go time and time again. I always said this was a grief garden. So to be witness to my mums transition in the final month here is beyond words. What I didn’t foresee was how the story of this garden, of the tending, of the soil and worms that gathered, of my mum, will live on in the form of sound.

Ngakinga is also transitioning and on Sunday afternoon we harvested our mighty sunflowers that are now being dried and shaped into pūoro by our dear friends Mikaere, Tony and Jordan and the rest of the taonga pūoro collective we have been collaborating with. At the end of the day held by sound and karakia, Tony spoke of the whakapapa of these instruments and that they will always sing the song of Ngakinga and of my mum.

I am absolutely undone. And forever held together by Te Taiao.

#socialpractice #naturaldye #taiao