Sugar from the Sun & a Suitcase from Palmerston North

On Friday evening of Elvis Booth-Claveria’s BedStageAltar performance series, Zody Takurua and Chris Girven perform two sets of Huka Mai Te Rā, a developmental body of work exploring the realities of existing as half-caste takatāpui in Aotearoa. Their script is funny, free-flowing and heartfelt. It has clearly been written by the duo with a careful mix of abandon and consideration, highlighting their own nuanced positions by sharing intimate experiences that those of similar positionalities will relate to while insistently keeping a sense of humour. The audience for the first showing is packed, with people spilling out Enjoy’s entrance onto Left Bank. Both doors have to be opened to accommodate those peering inside, eager to watch Takurua and Girven as they move about the space. During the second viewing, a few familiar faces from the first stick around while others shuttle out and the chairs that line the gallery walls welcome new bodies.

K is for ketamine

That you do in Ivy and your brother has to come pick you up

Takurua and Girven have woven loose narratives in their poetry, offering us glimpses into the lives of young, urban takatāpui in Te Whanganui-a-Tara.

N is for nah g you're not Māori ay

I thought you were Italian or Greek or Indian or something

They perform with bravado and vulnerability. Close friends nod and smile when specific lines unearth memories.

Everything is a growing pain

My eczema is a growing pain

Seeing my parents go grey is a growing pain

Girven speaks to the audience earnestly, in the hope that by sharing these experiences, we feel less alone.

When a sound is made it echoes

It echoes, it echoes, to māmā

Takurua ends a poignant monologue.

From speaking to Takurua and Girven in the lead-up to their performance, I know that their set up at Enjoy is paired back—stripped down to its most basic form for the first public showings of this body of work. They use their own phones as torches, have asked a friend to turn on a cold floodlight at certain cues and use only two chairs, a small table with a toaster and peanut butter as their props. These decisions have served them well. 

As we linger after Takurua and Girven have finished their performance, a masked figure dressed in layers of floral robes enters the gallery with a silver suitcase. The Doll first exhibited at Enjoy in 2001, as a part of the International Now Romantic Federation of Fools, a collective of artists established under a shared manifesto based around creating destructive art. Twenty-three years later, she returns, invited by BedStageAltar curator (who also happens to be her godchild) Elvis Booth-Claveria. 

The Doll plops a mattress down in the centre of the space, turning off the stage lights and setting up her lava lamp. Pink and green pillows are placed atop a purple blanket, but the ‘practical’ items end here. The Doll’s rapt audience borders the gallery walls, watching with quizzical smiles on their faces as she unearths an impressive number of objects from her suitcase. VHS tape, a doll's severed head, ash, playing cards, scissors, picture frames, googly eyes and so much more are strewn around the mattress, creating a moat between the performer and the audience. Those watching share glances with each other as they witness this ritual and listen to the Doll muter to herself. 

The boundaries between public and private are further blurred by a twitch livestream that features audio captured overnight. It is solely sonic—if people want to see the Doll they have to stand outside Enjoy and peek through the gallery’s front facing windows. Some of the audience linger, keen to continue observing the Doll during her overnight stay. In the morning, she reverses her ritual to pack away most remnants of Gateway Bed, leaving only locks of hair, a bucket and razor behind.