This week we're speaking with Berlin-based artist Taja Vaetoru in their cosy alt-bau studio. We discuss the personal and cultural realities they explore in their practice, their perspective on the concept of hope, and what it feels like in the moment to be connected to your work. We hope you enjoy.
I first asked Taja if there are any clear thematic narratives that they identify in their work.
"[It] often revolves around the conceptual thread of absence and presence. I use Polynesian references to explore the emotional and psychological impact of my father's death and absence, juxtaposed with the presence of cultural symbols that connect me to my heritage. This thread runs through my art, illustrating how the interplay between what is lost and what endures shapes my creative expression and understanding of self."
I was then interested to learn how they contextualize themself within their influences.
"I will always be influenced by my past, sometimes my future and what has already been written for me. My ancestors were great voyagers; they read the currents and navigated with the stars. My people are storytellers and my family are black pearl farmers. I feel as if the marks I make, started with them - generation through generation their marks now meet the tip of my pencil, my brush, my words."
"I’m often creating when I’m in a state… A state that surprises me, pulls me in, without warning. When I'm pulled in, I listen to my body, sometimes my mind and I just make. I like to think that I’m simply a listener, a conductor of energy."
"I'm doing what was already supposed to be done. I’m reading my currents and following my stars."
I was curious to hear in more detail the story of a painting that was meaningful to Taja. They offered the story of a collection of large paintings they have been captured by recently.
"I'd take a day to paint one and only stop when I run out of materials. In these paintings, the figures represent Tangaroa, the Polynesian god of the sea. He is typically depicted with a large head, large penis, oval eyes, and hands resting on his stomach."
"Cyclone Martin struck our island, Manihiki, in 1997 when I was just two years old. The cyclone claimed the lives of ten people, with another ten lost at sea. Among them was my father. It wasn’t until ten years later that he, along with the others, were officially declared deceased."
"During that period of uncertainty, as a child, I used my imagination to create spaces where my father might still be safe and well. These paintings are visual echoes of that child’s imagination and the hopes and prayers I held."
"The floating figures in my work—are they adrift in the sea, existing in a spiritual realm, or residing in heaven? Perhaps they inhabit all these places simultaneously, but to me, they are floating in hope. This is the essence of what these paintings convey."
"Hope is a profoundly beautiful and powerful concept, especially for a child. It’s a guiding light and a source of strength, and it is this sense of hope that permeates these paintings."
Thank you Taja, for sharing your story.
You can follow Taja on Instagram here.
Interview by Ewan Waddell.
Photos by Rachel Israela.
