This article is presented by Steinlager Tokyo Dry, a Japanese inspired New Zealand beer. We explored the cultural similarities and differences between Japan and New Zealand in a three-part video series. You can watch the episode featuring Paitangi Ostick and read our interview with her below.
Paihia-based Paitangi Ostick is one of the first female proponents of tā moko – the Māori art of tattoo. Much like the historic Irezumi tattoo artists in Japan who learned the fundamentals of their craft through woodblock carving and printing, Paitangi cut her teeth carving wood and bone.
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Since starting her career in etching skin, and getting her own tā moko (including a facial piece), Paitangi has experienced polar receptions: she’s been spat at by young Nazi supremacists in Europe, and invited to prestigious indigenous tattoo events around the world, including in the UK and Germany.
Most recently, Paitangi went to Japan to meet some traditional Japanese tattoo artists and compare notes on their shared craft. We asked her about this experience, along with her approach as a female tā moko artist and the importance of tattoos in Māori culture.
Paitangi observes the traditional Tebori technique in Japan, which involves hand poking
VICE: How did you start doing tā moko?
Paitangi Ostick: I was one of those kids that just did stuff, made stuff, made a mess. I picked up bone carving at a really early age, I was about eight. But it wasn’t until 12 or 13 years ago that I started tattooing. Before that I had gotten married and was in a very violent marriage. My energy was in bringing up my two babies and finding the strength to get out of that relationship, which I did eventually. Through it all I was always doing art; it was my sanctuary. My kids can remember going to bed and still hearing their mum carving until 2 o’clock in the morning.
Twelve or so years ago a very good friend of mine who had been a traditional tattooist for years visited me and said, “What the hell are you doing?” I was taking a kayak tour at the time. He told me I couldn’t lift kayaks forever, so he set up his tattoo gear and told me to tattoo his leg.
Were you hooked from the start?
It just drew me in straight away. I loved the process, the storytelling—people telling me their stories and then using the designs I know to create their tā moko. I had the knowledge for patterns through my work with carving and re-immersing myself with Māori language, culture, and the protocols at the marae.
To those who aren’t familiar, why are tattoos important in Māori culture?
It’s our personal story. It’s different from a painting, our moko is fed by our blood. There’s also a spiritual side to it. We say our ancestors will know who we are by the tattoos on our skin.
Doing tā moko is traditionally a male role. Do you feel your approach as a female artist is different?
Definitely. I get a lot of women who feel a bit intimidated by male tattooists. You know, people get tattoos for different reasons: to mark something, to move forward. I work with Women’s Refuge and a lot of women I meet have had abuse in their life. To come to a female makes them feel more comfortable—especially because I was in that place a long time ago too.
Paitangi with Japanese tattoo artist Megumu Kamata
You recently met with Japanese tattoo artists in Tokyo. What did you learn about the scene over there?
They’re very reserved and careful in the way they tattoo. With Māori, we’ll just tell jokes to loosen people up because you need to make a connection with people very quickly and build up trust because they’re going to give you their skin.
The best thing was when I showed them my tattoo—from artist to artist you want to look at each other’s tattoos. I showed them the chisels used in traditional tā moko and they were like, “Wow, you tattoo with this thing?” I dropped my pants and showed them my work. It was really great. They hadn’t seen that kind of detail and that type of work before. Tā moko is all lines, and they (in Japan) just always work with colour.
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Editor’s Note: This article was updated on 21 November, 2016, as Paitangi Ostick was misquoted in the original version that was published.
