John Pule, "Haia (Leave it at That)," 2023. Oil, varnish, ink, and enamel on canvas; Work: 78 3/4 x 78 3/4 in (200 x 200 cm) Framed: 80 3/4 x 80 3/4 in (205.1 x 205.1 cm).
Portrait of John Pule in his studio. Photography by Tobias Kraus, courtesy of the artist and Venus Over Manhattan.
John Pule Wades Into His Windswept Canvases
Completed from above in a process he likens to swimming, the New Zealand painter conjures an idyllic, spontaneous, and slightly Seussian canopy of trees reverberating with the sights and sounds near his seaside studio.
By Ryan Waddoups
September 16, 2024
Here, we ask an artist to frame the essential details behind one of their latest works.
Bio: John Puhiatau Pule, 62, Niue and Aoteroa, New Zealand (@surrealist_likupoet)
Title of work: Haia (2023).
Where to see it: Venus Over Manhattan (39 Great Jones St, New York) until Oct. 26.
Three words to describe it: Ocean, winds, fragrance.
What was on your mind at the time: Things about life. The constant sound of the ocean. Riding my bike through the forest, under canopies of trees, disturbing fat pigeons that fly directly onto my path; seeing lone farmers working in the plantations, great monumental clouds, expansive skies. Because my studio opens to the sea, I hear many sounds: the cargo ship that calls in once a month unloads its heavy containers onto barges, metal against wood, orchestral patterns tangled in blue sea; yachts from all over the world park 50 meters away; whales singing, breaching; children laughing, the winds, setting of the sun, deep vermilions at dusk, men in canoes go fishing; nothing matters in these moments. There is no anxiety, no expectations except what I hear—every sound I hear I think about.
An interesting feature that’s not immediately noticeable: The canvas was placed flat on the floor. I placed a platform over it and completed the painting from above. I spent decades standing in front of the canvas painting. Now, having my body over the work—how can I describe it, compare it, to swimming, diving—it’s easier to apply the enamels. I paint an entire canvas like this. I’m not so tense. There is a slight giddiness walking on a platform, walking over the work.
How it reflects your practice as a whole: It’s spontaneous. I still look forward to waking up in the morning and thinking what I must sing today has to be unique, something new that never stops singing, that cannot sleep, that can dream endless dreams, that would never lie or die. The routine of meditation is listening to the sounds from the forest that surrounds my hut. I bike 10 miles through the forest to my studio by the sea. My approach always changes to how I continue a painting.
One song that captures its essence: “Niueans of Ariki Street” by Hanisi Garue; rhythmic patterns flow through the melodies. It’s also a song about home, Niue and Aotearoa New Zealand.
