When Ernesto Ovalle picked up a slab of pounamu more than 20 years ago he had no idea the life-changing journey the stone would take him on.
Ovalle, who is part of the Ngāi Tahu Pounamu authentication scheme, has spent years painstakingly restoring greenstone and is part of a growing number of tauiwi (non-Māori) working in this space.
Sitting in his small workshop on Karangahape Rd, Ovalle cradles a broken tiki. Where many would see the journey’s end for this taonga, he sees a new beginning.
It’s something he knows all too well from his own life. In 1999, he packed up his young family and escaped the unstable social and political climate of his home in Colombia and arrived in New Zealand with limited English and no community.
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Ovalle realised how important it was to have a bit of attachment to the things that we consider precious.
Descended from a long line of jewellers, Ovalle got a job at the Royal Jewellery Studio which crafts contemporary New Zealand jewellery. It was in this job he had his first encounter with pounamu, through Chaz Doherty, a kaiwhakairo of Ngai Tūhoe, at the Kingsland jewellery studio. They became friends and exchanged jewellery and carving techniques with each other.
“Chaz brought a piece of tōtara and his chisels and he started showing me how to carve wood and, for me, it was a new world.”
Ovalle also experimented with bone, but it was greenstone he felt drawn to. “The greenstone was quite special to me,” he said. “It was really appealing to my hands, and I was really immediately aligned [to it].”
With a thirst for learning, Ovalle branched off to study whakairo at Tai Poutini Polytechnic in Greymouth, and at Elam School of Fine Arts in Auckland. Since 2006, Ovalle has had a studio shop set up on Karangahape Rd called Oro Negro. Prior to that, he pitched up stalls at Aotea Square.
Ernesto Ovalle restores pounamu from his studio on Karangahape Road. (Image description: Ernesto Ovalle is in his workshop smiling at the camera. He wears a blue shirt and an apron and holds two pieces of pounamu).
Working with pounamu connected Ovalle to te ao Māori and through that he was able to reconnect to his culture and country. He belongs to one of the oldest tribes in South America, the Muisca people, a population that was drastically reduced by Spanish colonisation. “I was really curious about my own culture in the indigenous motifs from pre-colonisation”.
The more he learnt about te ao Māori, and tikanga Māori under the guidance of Poutini Ngāi Tahu, the more connected he felt as an indigenous person to tāngata whenua.
Ovalle has been part of Ngāi Tahu’s Pounamu authentication scheme since 2017 and purchases from the iwi which is the only ethical way to buy authentic stone.
“[Ovalle] wants to make sure he upholds the integrity of the pounamu … so he is always in communication with us to see if he’s OK to do certain things,” a Ngāi Tahu Pounamu spokesperson said. “He’s been really amazing to work with … We highly recommend him [and] support his business.”
Those looking to buy raw stone through Ngāi Tahu, the legal kaitiaki of pounamu, need to apply for licensing. Applicants who already have whakairo training tend to get authenticated more easily, but their intentions with the stone are also taken into account. Ngāi Tahu has a strict application process in place for those wanting to work with their stone to ensure tikanga is followed. The iwi said no-one on the scheme has ever violated customary lore.
“A lot of them are saying that they want to do what’s right for the mauri of the stone and make sure the stone is used correctly.” The spokesperson for Ngāi Tahu said non-Māori carvers are common and exist within their whānau and hapū-owned business. “A lot of these carvers have fallen in love with the art form.
”When it comes to tauiwi carving our taonga, it helps keep our traditions alive, just like when you have tauiwi learning how to speak our reo.”
RICKY WILSON/Stuff
Ovalle says that restoration and recarving of pounamu has been a part of history despite some views that broken pounamu should be returned to the awa. (Image description: Closeup of Ovalle’s hands holding pieces of a broken tiki. There are two large repaired mere pounamu in the foreground).
Being able to connect his indigeneity to aspects of te ao Māori has enriched his work, and his spirit.
“The respect for the living, the respect for the land, the respect for the water, for the rivers, for the mountains … is important to be able to understand the protocols and why the protocols are in place,” Ovalle said.
“When Māori say Papatūānuku, we say Pachamama … That’s your roots [that go] to the ground to the other side of the world talking to you, your whakapapa talking to you … even as different tribes, different community, and different country, indigenous people are one.”
Ovalle has brought techniques taught by his kaiako into his studio. “I have the privilege to be able to learn the tikanga and I have amazing teachers,” he said.
“We wear the stone with a sandstone stick [as] an act to acknowledge the past. Stone files were used to carve pounamu in the old days way before colonisation.” While diamond tools are available to Ovalle, using sandstone is an acknowledgement of the lineage of makers before him.
Ovalle said when pounamu breaks, many think it is the end. “Some people just say it’s not meant to be. You know, better put it in the ocean [or] put it away. But if you look carefully in many museums in New Zealand, you can see there have been restorations. Restoration is part of the tikanga,” Ovalle was taught.
“When you see some of the old tiki [and] you compare the curves of the profile of the tiki, you can see a very similar curve to the blades [of a larger toki blade],” he said.
At art school in Colombia, Ovalle learnt how to mount large sculptures into small bases, giving him some techniques of mounting and anchoring pieces. Ovalle makes his own threaded pins from stainless steel and, combined with chemical expertise and physical precision, he guarantees the integrity of the restored taonga.
Ngāi Tahu Pounamu’s preference is that the taonga should not be wasted and do their best to carve down broken pieces into smaller taonga.
“Some people regard it as, if it breaks, it’s tapu, and it should be returned, and that’s a personal preference … if they feel that they should return it back to the awa then we help assist with that,” Ngāi Tahu spokesperson said.
When Ovalle talks about pounamu, his eyes spark up and an excitement washes over him.
“It can be quite spiritual, quite special to restore a piece … I see how customer’s face changes when they put the [taonga] back on their neck. It’s just remarkable how the pieces help lift the mauri of the wearer.”
RICKY WILSON/Stuff
Ovalle can spend up to two weeks on a single restoration. (Image description: Ovalle is in his studio concentrating on a small piece of pounamu which he is using a power tool on).
When Ovalle takes on a restoration he talks to the customer about the whakapapa of the stone and its importance to the wearer. Most of Ovalle’s restorations happen at nighttime. It allows him space to think about the work at hand and to connect to his ancestors.
“It’s a very spiritual moment for me to restore something … I cannot have distractions,” he said. “I have a little bit more communication with my grandfather, my uncles, my own whakapapa. I sometimes feel the praises of the old makers [watching over] the top of my shoulder.
“It feels like one or two hours [but] when I look at my clock it’s 4 o’clock in the morning. It’s quite remarkable. The time disappears. It’s like a meditation.
“Whatever I do in the arts is just for the love of people, for the love of community, for the love of humanities, more than anything else,” he said.
“In many occasions, it’s more than an object, you know? It goes deeper.”
Ovalle has numerous pieces lined up for restoration and this is because it is a time-consuming process. He can spend up to two weeks on a single taonga. “I think it’s fair for me to dedicate as much time as needed for every individual piece there is to restore,” he said.
“As an artist, as a carver, as a jeweller, I want to help express love. I think this is probably one of my missions in life.”
With the broken tiki cradled in the palm of his hand, Ovalle’s eyes trace the break. His brain begins working out how he will reunite the broken pieces.
And while Ovalle works to heal the breaks in the pounamu, the pounamu has healed the fissures in his life. It has reconnected him back to his people, connected him to the people of Aotearoa, and connected him to his life’s purpose.
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