"No, I haven't heard of your magazine. Yes, I'm as surprised as you are at how surprised you are that I've never heard of it." Hong Kong, Hong Kong.
What a whirlwind of a month. Around this time a month ago, I was looking out of my kitchen window staring at the fence in my backyard in Auckland New Zealand, and now, as I look out of my kitchen window, I see… another kitchen window. It's been a rollercoaster ride so far. In the process I've lost two watches, broken one (brand new) iPod, had another iPod stolen, survived a week with Ricky Powell (whilst simultaneously losing my sanity), managed to fly with 55kg of luggage, convinced at least three security guards that I'm not trying to rob the building I live in, had approximately 2.5 verbal arguments with HK utilities and government officials, and cooked dinner a total of 0 times at home. Adjusting to my new home has been an interesting process, and not so much of the pace of the city as most would assume; it's the differing value systems and thought processes that have been the biggest eye opener to me here. I'd been here about 8-10 times before relocating so I thought I had the place pretty much sussed, but living here and moving with the flow of the human mass here has opened my mind up to the unique nuances that dictate consumer behaviour here in this island Metropolis.. firmly stuck between two worlds.
Still, the energy and flow of a new city is a promising outlook as to what's to come professionally. For an island that is smaller than the city of Auckland yet housing the entire country's population and on the front door of one of the biggest booming economies in the world just at its border, Hong Kong is uniquely placed in terms of commerce and creativity. Elsewhere in the world it seems that these two spheres interact like a Venn diagram, where here, they look more like concentric circles. That said, I don't think there is any more exciting time to be here than it is right now, where it feels like the island is finally looking at appreciating culture after stamping their authority as a global commercial powerhouse. In case you missed the memo, I have relocated to Hong Kong to accept a position as Creative Director for creative production house and multi-media agency Silly Thing. In case you hadn't heard of Silly Thing, you may have heard of our publication Milk Magazine - Hong Kong, China, and Taiwan. Aside from giving people too many nicknames at the office and officially establishing (or mandating?) Fried Chicken Fridays® I've hit the ground running, and I hope to share some of our new upcoming projects with you all in the coming months. It's a great team and an amazing office environment to be creative in, and there are some real personalities there. I'll share more about the agency and the work that we do in a future blog post.
However, to save you the trouble of repetitive conversation if you were to bump into me on the street, I will try and answer all of your commonly-asked-questions here:
- Yes, I've just moved here from New Zealand.
- No, I said New Zealand, not NewYork.
- Yes, I am settling in quite well.
- No, I do not live in the Mid-Levels.
- Yes, I have eaten at Yardbird.
- No, I do not work for a bank.
- Yes, I'm aware that you think that it must be so different here compared to home.
- No, it isn't just rolling hills and villages in New Zealand. We have a few bigger villages. Oh yes, being from Birmingham I'm sure you were far better prepared for moving to Hong Kong.
- Yes, I knew what the city was going to be like. We do have planes in New Zealand, after all.
- Yes, I remember your name. Do you remember mine?
- You work as an intern for a PR firm? That is so unique. Tell me more.
- No, I have not yet met xxx who does xxx for xxx.
- Yes, I am feeling quite hot here, thank you for pointing that out.
And because time is rest and rest is rare here in Hong Kong, I'm going to let a few pictures from the first two weeks do the talking. I think the B&W sets the appropriate mood.
Camera: Fuji X1 Pro
Setting: Monochrome Film filter
Lens: Pancake 17mm / F1.4
See you out there. And I won't lie, I miss home. Promise I'll be back.
"oh, ffs."
Auckland, New Zealand
Wednesday 11th April 2012
I swear nothing seems to come easy on these cars. Much like humans the older cars get, the more temperamental they seem to become; you fix one thing, and another problem comes to light. It's like replacing someone's pacemaker only to find out that they've also got a busted hip... it's a never-ending struggle, and almost as frustrating as trying to guess your very non-artistically inclined friend's Draw Something effort. After a short period on the road, Bruce the S800 decided to pack it in one cold night at a neighbourhood gas station. After running through a few trouble-shooting exercises and minus a clump of hair on my head, I worked it out to a busted alternator.
A month and a half later...
The freshly rebuilt alternator/generator, back from Lin @ CDM Performance in Tauranga. So, being the PMA human that I am (was?), I figured it was just a simple case of throwing it back into the car with a new battery, cranking it over, and I'd be back on track, hurtling along at 9000rpm to the world of classic-car-cool-dom.
Not quite. On closer inspection:
Oh goodie, fuel is pissing out of cylinder #1... and all over the alternator, no less. Fire hazard? No way. Back to square one. After a two week long curse-a-thon along with the obligatory hair tearing and wailing to the automotive Gods, I decided it was time for the next step - to rebuild the carburetor assembly. Given my new temporary unemployed status (read previous blog), I figured I had a little time on my hands; so equipped with an S800 carburetor overhaul kit ordered from Japan, a couple of workshop manuals, dusty tools, copious amounts of carburetor cleaner & degreaser, and pushy advice from old car guys who own Honda S-cars that like-to-constantly-remind-me-that-I-don't-know-anything-about-anything since I wasn't alive when these cars first rolled off the assembly line, I decided to give it a crack.
The carburetors, stripped off the intake plate and separated into two units - carbs #1/#2 and #3/#4. It took a lot of reading to even get to this point. After all, most of my previous automotive experience had been with later model fuel injected cars. Carbs? A whole new world. I figured since it's all mechanical, it can't be all that hard... right? Air + fuel + spark = power. Should be simple? First port of call - the float chamber. This is where the fuel feeds into the carburetor for the jets. Those circular dumbbell looking things are brass floats, which activate a valve once the fuel reaches a certain level in the float chamber and closes off the feed to the needle jet. A worn float valve could be the culprit for the fuel leak.
As expected, the float valves were a bit worse for wear.
New float valves in.
New float chamber gaskets too.
These old Honda S-car club guys may have a grand old time busting my chops, but they do come up with some pretty nifty ideas. Like using a business card to cut out a measurement template for the float level. The float level is the distance between the top of the float and the chamber at the moment of contact with the float valve. Set incorrectly, it may mean too much or too little fuel going to the needle jets. You adjust it by bending the tiny arm that contacts with the flot valve (you can see how it works a couple images up). In the S800's case, that's 19mm +/- 1mm... every mm counts. It's a pretty delicate job, but once I managed to set one right, the other three were easy.
Swapped out new secondary main jets too.
With the float chamber sorted, it was time to look at the top half of the carbureteor - the vacuum chamber. Here's the vacuum piston (and needle jet), which rises into the chamber as the air velocity increases to moderate the air flow coming in from the venturi, along with the fuel mixture. As you can see, there's a few scores and friction marks on it accumulated over the years. Unfortunately, it's supposed to be an almost mirror-like finish.
So, with a bit of autosol metal polish and some elbow grease...
The vacuum chamber covers - polished (left), un-polished (right).
et voila, the vacuum piston, all polished up.
The vacuum chamber springs that help return the piston to the default height also needed a bit of adjustment - they're supposed to be 53mm at free height. Just a matter of winding them slowly in your hands until they meet the proper measurement. Most were at 57mm-58mm, stretched over the years.
Aside from the float valve, the gaskets could've also been another cause for the fuel leak. Enter Damian Wijnhoud, a friend from the local Honda club and engineer, who decided to help me cut out a new gasket and sandblast the intake plates. You rule dude.
Aside from all that above, I also made sure to pull out all of the air jets and clean each part meticulously with carburetor cleaner and compressed air. Unfortunately, those make for boring pictures, so I don't have any. Just the very tedious aspect of rebuilding carburetors. Some prior genius/brain-donor also decided to wet gasket everything too, so there was a lot of silicone residue to remove from the air & fuel feeds.
Time for reassembly.
Whilst I had the autosol handy, I thought I'd clean up the plates and the vacuum chamber covers. I guess they came up ok.
Back in the car, after replacing a dodgy looking carburetor mounting bolt.
Fingers crossed....
Semi-success! Fuel is no longer leaking, but the fast idle is pretty high, I need to readjust the pilot screws to lean out the mixture a little, and I think the throttle bodies between the two carburetor units may not be 100% synchronized. I did synchronize them looking through the plug screws when they were on the workbench, but they may have been pushed out of synch during installation.
So, time to give thanks to the automotive Gods and leave it on a good roll.
I'll tackle the carburetor tuning tomorrow... please continue praying for me.
To do: - Rebuild/overhaul carburetors (new o-rings, vacuum piston seals, jets, float valves, general clean)
- Balance wheels/tyres
- Wheel alignment - Rebuild/refit alternator - New battery (under warranty)
- Heavier transmission fluid (plugged/clogged breather maybe?)
- Bodywork / Paint
- Repolish/chroeme bumpers, headlight surround, handles, fittings
- Review exhaust system? Need new flange for collector
AN OPEN LETTER TO NEW ZEALAND.
Wednesday 28th March 2012
Dear New Zealand,
It’s taken a rather long time for me to get to this point, but after many months of thought and reflection it has finally come time for me to pen this note.
In 2007, we set out to achieve what many thought was impossible for New Zealand; to create a globally recognized retail name and introduce the best products that we could find all over the world to our little corner of the globe. The statistics were overwhelmingly against us – we’ll never forget what a major sportswear brand told us in one of our first meetings with them – “Our region, including Australia, accounts for less than 1% of our global business. So why try?” Over the last five years, we’ve encountered everything from critical acclaim to mockery, but it never deterred us from our vision; we just kept going as far as the horizon could take us. From there, one vision sprouted into another as we strived to show that we could hold our own for our little country amongst the creative projects and initiatives by our peers in other areas of the world.
Five years on, we look back and are finally able to appreciate the body of work that we’ve been able to achieve in this realm and the people & brands we’ve had the privilege to work with. We’ve managed to travel the world, meet some amazingly talented people, opened accounts and product tiers from brands that never gave NZ a passing thought, pioneered projects that nobody thought would’ve been possible from (<1%) New Zealand, and shared a ton of laughs and good times. Sitting here and looking back, we can happily say that we’re satisfied that we’ve ticked almost everything we set out to achieve.
After months of consideration and reflection, I have decided to embark on a brand new challenge. Soon, I will leave the shores of Aotearoa to relocate to the island metropolis of Hong Kong and accept a new position as Creative Director for HK-based global design house and multi-disciplinary agency Silly Thing. I’ll be working with a group of very talented individuals to introduce exciting new projects to the global landscape with their in-house brands and their formidable list of clients; from sportswear giants to automotive manufacturers, camera marques, fashion houses & luxury labels. Although working out of New Zealand has been a fantastic experience over the past 12 years with truly no place on the earth quite like it, I’m ready to do work that will hopefully be seen on a global scale. I am very thankful for this opportunity and excited about what the future will bring, both personally and professionally.
It is with this note that we’re excited to announce that as of 01/04/12, Qubic Store will be passed onto a new owner; yet still operated and guided by the same core people that share the vision that we started off with in 2007. I'm excited to be passing on the legacy to someone else to continue with the store, and we’re blessed to have found others who share our dreams. We're excited to see what new ideas they bring forth to not only New Zealand, but also the world after taking on the business. We implore you all to support them in this vision as you did ours over the past five years. I'm truly excited to see what our crew, who we have seen grow up over the years (both in spirit and maturity) will be able to accomplish in the future, and I am confident they will continue to fly the original cause with pride, as well as fighting the good fight and developing their own vision for the future. I will remain on board as a consultant, advising on special projects, creative concept, and ideas going ahead in an effort to assist them in this growth.
New Zealand will always be home, and will always hold a special place in our hearts as part of our identity and where we’ve come from. I can honestly say that I will miss every single aspect of this beautiful country. Although I’m leaving behind a group of incredible friends, family and the overall community, we will always treasure the amazing support we’ve received from everyone here – whether you worked with us over the years, shopped with us, hung out with us, laughed with us, gave us advice, or simply provided encouraging words from time to time. Believe me, every little bit counted, and there were many struggles we had to overcome to see our vision turn into a reality, both personally and professionally.
Thank you, to every single person who has supported our business, our vision, and our dream over the past five years. Most of all, we want to thank our family – Ben Wong, Hal’e Lawrence, Big Ben Work, Tess Skullan, Ani Hancox, Miey Haizin, Leon Haiu, Yean Ong, Dianne Chiang, Jason Walker, Jordan Gibson, Hieu Tran, Hunter McDonald, Gean Tumata, Kenny Leung, Reimy Jones, Levin Laird, Karen Aguinaldo, Sian Britton, JamesKLowe, JiaHann Lim - the crew, every single person who has worked, or still working inside those doors for the past five years. You are the reason why this never felt like a job to us. We love you all, owe you more than you could ever imagine, and can't wait to see what you guys will accomplish in the future.
Now, it’s on to the next. See you in Hong Kong.
Love and Aroha,
Frank & Ivy.
Founders, Qubic Store 2007.
A NIGHT AS A COMMERCIAL CLUB DJ IN A COMMERCIAL CLUB.
Auckland, New Zealand
8:47pm.
Sale Street Bar
“What the fuck is this?”
It’s 8:47pm, and I’m standing in the booth behind Justin, aka DJ Vincent Hanna. I’ve known Justin for a number of years now, and he’s just flown back into town from Sydney for his regular DJ set at Auckland’s Sale St bar. I know a lot of DJs through my work - but normally, the sets I end up at are all weird little underground clubs or dive bars with lots of guys, exciting conversation about audio quality or how deep someone is going into their set. It suddenly occurred to me that I had little idea of what it was like to be a.. well, commercial club DJ. Is it really all about popping bottles and throwing random illuminati hand signs in the air? I wonder. So, on a whim, I decided to go undercover and shadow DJ Vincent Hanna, to see what it was really like over a 4 hour set on a regular night as a club DJ. Why not?
“Where’s the fucking crossfader? Jesus fuck. Dude. It’s like racing a car without a clutch. I mean, you hear about dudes who have probably done it, and it may be possible, but it never works out well. Fuck.”
DJ Stereotype #27– Complaining about the equipment at the club when you arrive. (check.)
8:50pm
A lady comes up to the booth. “Hi, can you play TLC?” We’re not even 5 minutes into the set and it’s already begun. I look at Justin. “You know, at least that was a legit ask, and not something stupid like giving you a napkin.” OK, so I tell the lady it’s coming up soon.
I ask if I can handle the requests from now on. “Knock yourself out, son. But there’s only one rule. No breasts… no requests.”
Sounds fair. I ask him what the weirdest request he’s ever had was.
“One time, I got told I was a shit DJ because I didn’t have Abba.”
I wonder what kind of clubs he plays in, in Australia.
".. then there was this other time, when some girl came up and asked if I had that "that shit cray" song."
I zone out as he continues to spew a flurry of cuss words about the mixer.
8:55pm
I’m already starting to get a little bored. I wonder how I’m going to last until midnight. How do DJs keep themselves occupied? I ask Justin what his funniest request has been.
“So this one time, it was a the peak of the set, and some kid comes up and asks me if I had Pretty Ricky. Nobody has ever asked me if I had Pretty Ricky. Normally it’s Rihanna or some dumb shit, so I legit wanted to play Pretty Ricky…. but I didn’t have any of his tracks with me that night. I was bummed. So now I always make sure I bring Pretty Ricky tracks. Problem is, nobody’s ever asked for it since. Fuck. Where’s that kid at?”
I ask him what his strategy for the night is.
“Strategy? Right now, I’m putting out the vibe to old dudes that they may be out of their element. Then, when they go, I bring it back. Hell yeah son.”
I ask him if he’s always this salty.
“Fuck you. It ain’t being salty. It’s called experience.”
9:00PM
TLC request lady is back. “Hi. Do you have that, boom boom dee wop boom boom song?”
I tell her to write it on a napkin. “It’s just a suggestion, not a request!”
Sure, honey. I smile and give her the thumbs up. Hey, at least she’s polite about it.
It’s still pretty quiet. I ask if we should play some pop40 banger to get people to the dance floor.
“Fuck playing that. That’s for when it gets rowdy. We all about the whole songs right now.”
I look across the bar. Some big girl tries to grab a bouncer to get him to rub her breasts. Tight.
9:10pm
It’s the time when the ‘workies’, who have been drinking since lunch time are getting to maximum ratchet level. Or maybe there’s just a lot of creepy old guys around in their ‘casual’ polo shirts. The singalong begins. Holy shit! Our first dancers.
“It won’t last.”
He’s right, it didn’t. I watch the dancers. It kind of morphs into what looks like a gay version of hyphy. Cool.
9:15pm
I decide to wander over to the bar to get some drinks.
Semi-drunk-white-guy: “Hey, are you the DJ?”
Me: “No.”
SDWG: “I LOVE THIS SONG.”
Me: “Cool.”
SDWG: Proceeds to start mouthing the words to Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get it On, and crooning the lyrics.
I look around, and realise we’re the only two people at the bar. I feel awkward.
When I get back to the booth, I ask Justin if he’s ever had to fight anybody during a set before.
“Here’s a public service announcement. Don’t fight the DJ. They know the bouncers, asshole.”
9:20pm
I’m bored, so I start developing the DFI – the “Dance Floor Index.” Much like commodity trading, it goes up in points dependant on how many people start trading… or in this case, dancing. Currently, it’s at 0. Wait. 1. No, wait, 0.
Some of Justin’s friends arrive. Good looking friends. They come to do the obligatory hugs and air kisses. I hear something like “.. it’s ok, I’m just getting warmed up. It’s going to get better.” I shrug.
“Yeah, this is for those dudes who have been drinking since 3pm, they’re liquored as hell and they want to get their early grind on before they knock out at 10pm. Go get it son. This is experience talking here.”
9:30pm
The fader is bleeding now. Cuss words start flying around like beef in a stir-fry.
“Where the fuck is Nick McLaren when you need him?” (head of product dev, Serato)
I think his saltiness just went up to 6000 power. Big Pun comes on, and I wonder why nobody wants to singalong to Boomerang with me. Is that too much to ask?
9:45pm
Justin looks over. “Watch this.”
Big girl who was trying to grab the bouncer from before starts dancing like the world needed her to do that to avoid the apocalypse.
“Yeah, like that. It’s like having a remote control for humans.”
I ask her to throw the diamonds up.
She does.
No shit.
10:00pm
I’m bored. I ask him when it gets busy.
“dude. There’s no formula. But I’d say normally 12-2am is the magic hour for the commercial DJ set. People right now are in that transitional period where they’re not sure if they want to get hammered here, or hammered elsewhere.”
I ask what happens between 12-2am.
“That’s when we start playing dirty songs, because drunk white girls love singing along to songs with dirty words.”
Huh. No shit.
"But since we're only on until midnight tonight, I'll play Rack City at 11:42pm. Watch me."
D Floor Index – 2
10:05pm
I think Justin is starting to get a bit self-conscious about my questions. He tries something.
Unfortunately, it’s the guys that start dancing. In an ironic-but-you-wonder-if-they’re-really-not-that-ironic kind of way. I see you homie. I see you enjoying this song a little too much. Wow, you really do get to see a whole new perspective from the booth.
D Floor Index – 4
10:15pm
Time seems to fly by now. We’re halfway through the 4 hour set, and everything is beginning to sound the same. I’m nodding off. Every so often he turns around to tell me how much the mixer sucks, to reassure me he’s normally much better than this. I tell him it’s like telling a girl “sorry babe, it’s just really cold tonight. It’s normally a lot bigger.”
He doesn’t look pleased.
D Floor Index – 0.
10:20pm
We throw in the Pop40 teasers to see if anybody will bite yet. It’s like baiting fish.
I busy myself people gazing. I’m not sure what it is, but everything just seems a lot more clearer from the DJ booth. At this stage, it’s just creepy old guys in polo shirts checking out girls in body con dresses.
Two girls start flinging their arms around and dancing that weird dance that kind of half resembles a cross between ‘shaking dat ass’ and a folk dance with that random mini-kick thrown in that middle aged women do. You know what I’m talking about.
I hear them talking. “It’s ok, he’s getting better, he’s picking it up.”
I wonder if Justin hears that. He gets a couple of thumbs up. I wonder if it’s sarcastic.
10:22pm
The girls come up to the DJ booth.
“HAIIIII. DO YOU HAVE CHRIS BROWN?”
Me: “No, he beats women.” “YEAHHH? COOOOOL!” (thumbs up)
Me: “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” (thumbs up) “YEAHHHHHH. COOOOOL!”
I give her a double thumbs up.
Justin plays some Chris Brown remix just to fuck with me. I guess I deserved that.
10:28pm
Now they’re screaming for Usher. I ask them if they asking for Pusha…. T. We go back and forth for a second. Usher. Pusha? USHER. Pusha? Then I get bored and pretend I don’t hear them.
D Floor index – 3
10:29pm
D Floor index – 5. I think something’s happening here. Shit, here comes the pop40 playlist. It’s the Black Eyed Peas. I ask for ear plugs.
D Floor index drops to 3. Social justice prevails!
10:30pm
There’s a few lone girls left on the dance floor. It’s like riding a wave at the moment, and I’m getting tired.
“Yo, you wanna see these girls go off?”
Sure?
They go off.
huh.
10:42pm
I think 10:30pm is when the DJ stereotypes start flooding in.
Stereotype #901 – Girl comes up to booth wanting to talk to DJ. (check.) Stereotype #946 – “Hi, can you play that song? The one on the radio?” (check.) Stereotype #826 – “LOOK I KNOW YOU JUST PLAYED THAT SONG, BUT MY FRIEND WASN’T HERE, SO CAN YOU PLAY IT AGAIN NOW?” (check.)
11:02pm
Flo Rida comes on. Justin looks at me apologetically. I think it may be time to start drinking.
11:20pm
The stereotypes just keep on rolling through.
Stereotype #925 – DJ buys shots for his friends whilst playing LMFAO’s “Shots”. (well, he insisted this was a stereotype, but I’m not sure.)
Stereotype #726 – Guy leans over the booth to try and look at laptop to see what’s next on the playlist.
D floor index – 7
11:25pm
Justin looks at me and says… “it’s time.”
No shit. Drunk white girls really do like singing along to songs with dirty words.
The fuck?
D Floor index – 8
11:35pm
Ayyyyye we’re deep in pop40 territory now. It’s time for T.I. … and here come the awkward white guy dance moves. The dudes who have finally dropped enough liquor throughout the night to decide they can now attempt to ‘get down.’
Singalong song time.
There’s a group of older women singing along and dancing in front of the booth. It is extremely awkward listening to them talking about ‘putting their ass into it.’ They give us the thumbs up. I smile, even more awkwardly.
Stereotype #538 – Drunk girl spills a whole bunch of drinks in front of/almost on DJ booth.
(check.)
The iPhone self pictures with hand signs begin with various groups in the club. It spreads like a virus. I decide to take one with Justin. Then I feel hella stupid straight after, so I delete the picture.
^ I’m glad I started drinking.
D Floor index is going through the roof.
Justin drops the bpm down to 92 again. I ask him why.
“Here’s a free DJ tip son. You gotta chill it out. Let them buy drinks, so they’ll get more rowdy.”
D Floor index – 5.
11:40pm
More stereotypes, hot and fast.
Stereotype #721 – DUDES DON’T GET REQUESTS. SORRY BRO. (check.) Stereotype #629 - Drunk girl runs up to the DJ booth just to scream the hook at the DJ. (check.) Stereotype #813 – When all else fails… plays Fabolous. (check.)
Stereotype #815 – Steal drink from some random offering a sip to DJ, and don’t give it back.
11:45pm.
It’s getting close to the end.
D floor index – 15+
11:55pm
I decide to make a request of my own.
“Fuck you! That’s stereotype #529 motherfucker – the Back Seat DJ. Now let’s finish this and go.”
12:15am
Justin hands over the booth to the next DJ. Soon, we’re in the car on the way home. I ask before he hops out of my car if he has any parting wisdom for me.
“You know what. DJing, it’s like fucking. When you’re a noob, all you want to do is get straight to the fucking. You blow your load too soon, because you have no idea what you’re doing. When you get older and experienced like me, you know how to get that rhythm going. You know how to work it. You play that pop40 shit to get the crowd tapping. Then you play the dirty songs to get the girls dancing, and then you slam it home with some bangers. Then you go home and think about the music you wish you could've played. That’s about it. G'night, fucker.”
I honestly don’t remember the first time I met Askew. Sure, I could make up some amazing blog-Disney story about how we linked up randomly on the street when we were groms, and then went on to our respective industries, championing our various causes only to reunite years later with our laurels and critical acclaim in hand, but… we didn’t. Truth is, when I first got to shake the guy’s hand back somewhere in 2006, his reputation had already far preceded him. All I seem to vaguely remember was this imposing character, 6’something tall, in an oversized teeshirt, baggy jeans, and Nike Air Max 90s wildly proclaiming his legal (and not so legal) accomplishments, replete with large arm movements and a handshake that almost took me off my feet. At the time, the New Zealand street art culture seemed firmly wrapped in a heavily NY influenced style – fat letters, panels, missions, fame, and everything else that went along with it. Elliot was at the forefront of it all; a core member of Write4Gold world champions TMD CREW, the editor of Disruptiv; NZ’s first graffiti-dedicated zine, an acclaimed graffiti writer, tranzrail menace, and a champion of the streets.
Over the years, I’ve seen Elliot go through various trials and tribulations, both personally and professionally as he took steps that nobody wanted to take, boldly throwing himself and his art out there in an effort to pave the way for a whole generation of kiwi street artists. Through this friendship I’ve also had the privilege of making some life-long friends, from the TMD family and others associated with his work. I’ve listened to him share his frustrations, his dreams, his ambitions, and what seemed like a mountain of challenges in front of him to be able to achieve those goals. Sure, I wasn’t always around due to my own travel aspirations and there were moments where we didn't see each other for months, but I think we’ve always had a mutual understanding of the walls we had to overcome to achieve our respective dreams. After all, being isolated on an island in the South Pacific, most people assume that their potential stopped at the horizon, blinded by the romanticism of the kiwi success story – being discovered randomly by chance, and then finally (after years of trying-but-not-really-trying-because-if-you-try-too-hard-everybody-calls-you-an-eatarse) having their work appreciated by the masses. Elliot never seemed to be hindered by such boundaries. He staked his personal finances and reputation on the line time and time again to try and up the ante; flying in international artists, putting on shows for local budding talent, constantly thinking up new ideas for exhibitions, and flying himself out to expose his work, and via proxy, NZ’s talent, to the world. Through this quest he’s also accumulated an impressive list of some of the graffiti world’s biggest names acting as advocates for his work; REVOK, RIME, and countless others. There really wasn’t any immediate reward from doing it all – he simply had a dream, and once he saw an opportunity would stop at nothing to try and achieve it. This attitude, as I've come to learn, is also extremely infectious - with his partner Olivia taking her leap of faith and managing him full-time after completing her PhD in Chemistry... perhaps one of the biggest gambles of her life.
In his first solo show in years, Elliot dug really deep – don’t get me wrong, his work has always incorporated his strong convictions and opinions on all types of subjects; personal, political, social, or otherwise, but this time, it was evident that he really spent a lot of time looking inside himself and exploring his own identity; both as an artist, and as a New Zealander. For many of us that strive beyond the borders of our country, the work’s message truly hit home, as we struggle ourselves to find out what it means to be… a New Zealander.
Here's a few pieces that stood out for me.
"Thunderclap headache." This was perhaps one of Elliot's redefining moments, and the catalyst for what was to become this show. About a year or so ago, Elliot was struck with a mini-stroke of sorts, despite living an active, healthy, straight-edge vegan lifestyle. I remember him explaining the proper term to me and the condition in minute detail just after he had been discharged from hospital, as if he had been reading medical journals his entire life. Bloody typical. Nevertheless, it seemed he had an epiphany of sorts after the event; a spark that completely changed his artistic style & direction, inspiring this series of paintings.
"Frontal Lobe Study 3"
"The Right Frontal Lobe". (Acrylic, vinyl paint, waterborne glaze) Perhaps my favourite piece of the show. Dark, mysterious, abstract, yet poignant.
Detailing. Mind blowing.
"The New Imperalism." Abstract forms of the NZ identity.
"It is the Gift & The Curse". The juxtaposition of our geographical circumstances.
"Pakeha On Crazy Island." The errant promises we give ourselves, our insecurities, and the hard truth.
"Plasticine Boy." A self-portrait.
Although I’m by no means artistically inclined nor am I an art critic, I am truly proud of what Elliot has accomplished; both with this show, and the accumulative effort of the years preceding it. To Elliot (and Olivia - not pictured, where you at?), all those years have truly paid off - and I look forward to many more to come.
