Rei Kawakubo said to, “It’s our job to question convention, if we don’t take risks, then who will?” This was in reference to her now infamous Body Meets Dress, Dress Meets Body Spring 1997 collection for Comme des Garçons. The Japanese designer flipped stuffy Parisian fashion on its head when she sent out an array of dresses of varying fabrics, colours and volumes that challenged the status quo silhouette. Tyrone Te Waa (Ngāti Tūwharetoa) went into his show, WīWī WāWā exhibited at Anna Miles Gallery, with a similar approach and renegade aesthetic. Drawing inspiration from a rich tapestry of mediums, Tyrone has created a body of work that breathes new life into the arts but does so in the most poignant of ways. A natural storyteller, he takes you on a visual carpet-ride through generations, space and time. Lineage is merged into every stitch, clinch and pin. Every wrap, tie, loop and fold brings heritage to the forefront. Tyrone—who can trace direct descent to German poet Johann Wolfgang von Goethe—has the innate ability to weave romance and whimsicality into his work, yet it is dusted with wit and a tangible sense of cheek. The result: a fiery take on the banal, a dazzling fluorescent middle-finger salute to grey uniformity, a thunderclap that shakes the mundane to its core. 

Taking centre stage in big, bold form are works that have presence and physicality. Notably, Scrappy and Tau (2023), a pair of sculptures made of a mix of salvaged textiles perched proudly atop wooden stands, built by friend Samuel Montgomery. Bird Snare from Ongarue Pub (after Nanny Te Keehi) (2023), resembles a hungry- or foul-mouthed hīnaki, an eel trap, wrapped in gingham-print Japanese cotton. A clear acknowledgement to ancestry; Te Keehi was Tyrone’s great-great-grandmother and, as the story goes, was renowned for her colourful use of a very limited English vocabulary. Complementing these larger pieces are smaller works that, despite their size, still pack a punch. Works such as Kaukau and Kōkō (both 2023), two felted pieces with stunning fringe trains in pink and electric blue, or Taniwha Guru (2023), a severe and fiery eye-feast, are stunning in their detailing. There is a playfulness and sense of humour in Swamp Hen (2023), a nod to Tyrone’s fascination with wigs with its unkempt troll-doll hair, and Semaphore (2023), two figures locked in a joyous dance, cleverly encapsulates his joie de vivre. The couture-like craftsmanship and precision in these pieces leave you spellbound, while their reluctance to fit within the confines of a predetermined framework suggests that the rules are absolutely made to be broken. With wacky, out-the-box titles such as Tri-hard (2023), On the blower with Nan (2023) and Hotdog Dream (2023), you can’t help but fall in love. 

Obsessed with fabrics, materials and textiles, Tyrone always finds nifty ways to use them, and even niftier ways to obtain them. Often salvaging, he sees beauty and opportunity in anything—scraps of metal, off-cuts, old crates, swatches thrown here, yarn and twill thrown there. Anything can be rethreaded, sprayed, nailed down, combed, stuffed, tightened and rehashed. A lick of paint and that trash has been given a new bolt of life. There is a place for every unwanted cast-off; every discarded thing can be spun back into beauty. Descending from a long line of staunch and passionate artists, it is no surprise he is on path to cementing himself as his own creative force to be reckoned with. Yet what is unique in his story is that he seems to possess all the very best parts of so many of our tūpuna; regal finesse and refinement balance raging creative intensity and madness. 

WīWī WāWā is probably Tyrone’s most personal and revealing work to date. Pieces such as Tōku Ringaringa / My Hands (A Ngāti Porou Story (2023) appear to augment the tattoos that adorn his hands, while Manunui (2023), a luscious work of gorgeous earthy hues, speaks to the very landscape in which he grew up—the beady white eyes on its gleeful face acting as a portal, inviting us to explore his world. It is thoughtful and fun, Tyrone-esque. Artist Richard Fahey said to me during a recent visit to the gallery to collect notes, “I can imagine Tyrone wearing some of this.” And it’s true. It is everything he is and embodies, yet it doesn’t define; it simply sits alongside him. The show is punchy and flamboyant, but there is a vulnerability and transparency, and it says, “This is me to the core.” I can imagine our tūpuna looking down, cheering in delight. I can hear our Aunty Gail, true queen of queens, “Ufff!” That’s a stamp of approval, a wink from the stars.