The first time I exchanged a memorable hongi was with a very distinguished maori gentleman at the Wellington Art Gallery (during a private showing of a Goldie exhibition). He looked uncomfortable standing in a line-up top heavy with
I love that it ain’t over till it’s over. There’s something wilfully satisfying about being able to thumb your nose at the doom and gloom-sayers. It’s quite a delicious feeling infact, something smugly satisfying about proving them wrong.
It’s been balmy and blustery over the past few days but I never seem to mind the wind when it’s warm. I must say though that when it’s blustery some unknown something takes hold of my sensibilities and blows them all out the window.
The notion that one’s popularity in a herd is interesting to me. How does one get to be a big kahuna then? Something as absurdly knee-deep as bigger is best? As insalubrious as mere good looks? As lofty-minded as self installation? How exactly? I find popularity contests