Ina ma Tuna – Ina and Her Eel is a well-loved creation story still known throughout the Moana Nui. Sina, Ina, Hine, Hina—a goddess, an adventurer, a navigator, a great beauty. A wondrous woman and one of my favourite role models. Tuna, the deity of all eels, the biggest and blackest of them all (so I have heard), spied Sina bathing in his freshwater pond. The rest of the story you can find, there are many versions, mostly cleaned up by the missionaries, now relegated to the pages of children’s books. The best versions are handed down through the mouths of aunties and Pacific Sisters. Ultimately, it is the story of how the coconut came to the islands—a tale of forbidden love, sacrifice and service.

In 1994 I cracked open a coconut and released its sweet juice. I came face to face with Tuna. “Look, the face of the eel.” Sister Ani O’Neill knew the story well and we compared versions. That coconut became a puppet and part of the costuming we created to render the story at the opening of Bottled Ocean at the Auckland City Art Gallery. Ani was the deep-water fresh pond, all in blue, and I was Sina, with the coconut Tuna stacked up upon my arms, head in hand.

As legendary as it was, I’m not wanting to elaborate on Bottled Ocean. I am going to reach deep into some ungooglable territory when Ina ma Tuna developed into the Pacific Sisters’ first-ever multimedia extravaganza, thanks to the invitation of Lisa Reihana to join the 1995 Interdigitate Festival. All I really have left is a set of black-and-white photographs and a few notes as proof that it all really happened.

Founded by Phil Dadson in 1990, Interdigitate was a pioneering festival that bridged ‘new media’ and performance. Back then, any sort of image or sound making was costly, requiring studios and specialist technicians. New video technology brought costs down to those of us who struggled with the financial demands of producing imagery. Working with Lisa, who had been using film and animation techniques since the early 1990s, gave us access to a whole new world; we were a crafty collective telling our stories through what we made, played and adorned our bodies with.

In 1995, we conjured up a night of myth and magic. Layers of live and pre-recorded sounds both ancient and modern. Hip-hop beats, electronic samples, taonga pūoro, skin and wood drums played alongside each other. A colossal wall of thirty-six TV screens transmitted a visual symphony of iconic Pacific patterning in light onto ancestral bodies adorned in video tape, tapa cloth and coconut motifs as they moved through time and space. The fusion of the past in the present, a living embodiment of Moana futurism that had never been seen before.

Reflecting on that one memorable night, I see how influential it was on acti.VĀ.ted artistic practices still at play today. These have been handed down to the next generation of Pacific Sisters, who are now using the same techniques, albeit better technology, to tell their stories. I extend my heartfelt gratitude to Phil Dadson, Lisa Reihana and my Pacific Sisters. Their influence and support have played a pivotal role in shaping me into the artist I am today.