Q1: Thank goodness for undeleted emails. How else could this book have been approached had you not had them?
The shape of John’s and my book was entirely determined by the etchings we have made together. There are over 70 reproduced in the book. Once these collaborative images were in place, we both had a strong sense of other materials that would be drawn into the book. Firstly, there were the poems we had written together or separately during the period. Then there were the visual journals which we both keep all the time — those journals wanted to be part of our conversation too. The last component in the book to fall into place was the correspondence, most of it in email form. We have written thousands of emails backwards and forwards. I started reading my way through them (yes, you’re right, I sensibly hadn’t deleted any of them). I soon realised that they told the story of our friendship and our creative work together. And they also tracked our movements — the many places we have been together over the past 16 years: Australia, New Zealand, New Caledonia, Niue, Raoul Island, Tonga, Rapanui, Chile . . .
Q2: They reach back to 2011, when your collaboration began. How well did you know each other at that stage?
We actually started making work together in 2010, the year before the Kermadec artists’ voyage. I think that the Kermadec project was the experience that consolidated our working relationship. A sea voyage is a great way of bringing your energies and personalities into some kind of productive alignment. It’s a shake-down and a shakeup, a galvanising process. A couple of years prior to that voyage, I had co-curated (with Aaron Lister) a large survey of John’s work for the City Gallery, so John and I worked together on that (and the accompanying book, edited by Nicholas Thomas). I do remember the first time we met at the Globe Hotel poetry readings in the mid-1980s. John was very much a part of that literary crowd at the time, with people like David Mitchell, Iain Sharp, Michael O’Leary and Bob Orr. John was a Force of Nature already. A lightning bolt. He still is.
Q3: On board that ship you had plenty of time to take the measure of each other. What strengths did you see in each other?
I’d like to think readers of our book will work out the relationship — the to and fro of it — for themselves. I don’t think we have ever really analysed what the other does, we just make the work. And it has always been fresh and surprising. I’d like to think we share vulnerabilities and an openness to experience/the world rather than ‘strengths’ as such.
Q4: Several artists went on the voyage to the Kermadecs. Are you the only two who went on to collaborate and maintain that collaboration?
Lots of relationships were formed during that voyage, and everyone involved is still collaborating in different kinds of ways. The exhibition ‘Always song in the water’ is one embodiment of that. John’s and my collaboration, I guess, is the most overt one. As a writer I’ve worked (and travelled internationally) with Robin White and Elizabeth Thomson. I’ve been involved in projects with Fiona Hall in Australia etc.
Q5: Over those 16 years have you pushed each other artistically, and has that bled into your own individual practices?
There is an incredible energy, vitality and momentum in John’s poetry and painting. I am in awe of it, rather than being exactly ‘influenced’ or directly affected by it. John is certainly a wise, knowledgeable person to travel with — particularly in the Pacific. One is lifted up.
Q6: Greg, what do you love about travelling to Liku and working with John?
Spending time on Niue with John (one week in 2015 and for two weeks in 2022) felt like the culmination of our friendship and our working relationship. I think this is apparent in the etchings and poems that come from those times. The book tracks these experiences on many levels (in etchings, journals, poems and photographs) and I think, I hope, that our collaborative works say everything that needs to be said about the environment, the way we Oceanians live together, the post-colonial situation and the things we care about.
Q7: Indeed, if there were no Niue to work in together, do you think the collaboration would have endured?
I think John and I are both ‘islandophiles’. We're drawn to a great many islands, from Waiheke to Raoul to Rapanui. Niue, of course, is a special place for John — as it is for me. The title of the book This Must Be the Island refers to an inner state as well as an actual landmass in the ocean. The title also refers to the book itself and the work therein: the book is ‘the island’ — this is the place we have been trying to reach.
Q8: Poetry is a big part of this book. How critical is the poet part of each of your creative lives?
Poetry has always been my first port of call. Everything comes from that. It is the source.
Q9: Was assembling the work for this book a process of rediscovery, and delight?
Working on the book, to be honest, took my breath away. I was quite taken aback. Looking at the works gathered in this book, I had the sense that John and I had managed to reach some real insight into the Pacific and our place in it. It was like a dive in the ocean. Because the works were made by both of us, in the end they belong to neither of us. They drift, sail and fly beyond our individual boundaries. They are, in essence, ‘oceanic’. They are beyond the reach of any individual. Maybe they come from a place that is more collectively held . . .
Q10: It’s a deep bond you two have. It must be deeply treasured?
I think of those Pacific tree species with the roots that grow above ground and extend outwards. And I think of the density and humidity of the Niue bush/jungle with its matrix of vines and branches and the flight paths of coloured birds. I have found myself living in such a place, as a part of that biosphere, with all that overwhelming life around me, embracing me. And I am hugely grateful to John for inviting me to be a part of this.
