The documentary 'Signed, Theo Schoon', which premieres today at the NZ International Film Festival Whānau Mārama, takes up the job of allowing the artist to be heard, finally, over the cacophony of controversy, in the past and more recently, three decades after his death. Review by Hamish Coney.
Polarising yet pivotal, the genie that emerges from the bottle is both charismatic and unclassifiable – a multi-media, maverick figure who, over a five decade career, attracted acolytes, fans, critics and doubters in equal measure.
But as director Luit Bieringa makes crystal clear, via assiduously researched archival footage and Schoon’s own prodigious correspondence, this ‘cat sniffing around in a strange warehouse’ was on a mission, from the 1940s, arguing for (frequently loudly) the vitality of Māori art as the only worthwhile game in town.
Right now is a great time to see this documentary. The gut punch impact of the Covid era should provoke some insight into the global forces that swept Schoon, reluctantly, onto our shores. Change, massive change, jack-knifed the course of world events and Schoon was buffeted by these winds in our direction. In 1939 he, made it to Aotearoa, fleeing the impending conflict of WWII. Schoon arrived as a young man on the make after a comfortable, privileged life in the bubble of pre-war Indonesia, where his family formed part of the Dutch colonial elite. He also landed with a Bauhaus flavoured art school education acquired in Rotterdam. Dislocated, dashing and decidedly different is a good description of the 24-year-old Schoon who appeared, first in Christchurch and then Wellington, and set about taking a wrecking ball to the status quo.
Schoon became fascinated by Māori carving and tā moko and soon charted a course inland to study what he called “New Zealand’s Oldest Art Galleries” amongst the limestone caves and bluffs of South Canterbury. This is where the film begins, with dreamy aerial shots over this sculptural and dramatic country where Schoon camped in the 1940s documenting the rock art of iwi dating back to the Moa hunter period.
It quickly becomes clear Schoon did not do things by halves. Archival footage of the artist fording the Waitaki River in an inflatable dinghy and scrambling around sheer cliffs in search of rock art are spectacular and speak to an unquenchable enthusiasm for his quest. No obstacle external or indeed internal got in his way. Throughout his life, he displayed a chameleon like ability to adapt to his environment. Whilst Bieringa as narrator ruminates on the challenges of the immigrant’s life choices, Schoon’s own words reveal a plucky sense of humour and far more self-knowledge than later commentators have given him credit for. Schoon describes his approach to the grim realities of being an artist in the field, “at the age of 28 I thought I was an extrovert and discovered I would make the perfect hermit”.
In what could be a Michelin guide for any artist striving to articulate a singular voice, Schoon also speaks cogently about his decision to set aside his western art training, and embark on his own personal journey. Schoon’s powers of divination, his ability to envision a new direction, be it gourd or pounamu carving, his radical ‘Mudpool Modernist’ photography or his ‘discovery’ of the well of creativity in the unconscious in the work of psych ward patient Rolfe Hattaway in the 1950s present today as almost miraculous examples of intuition. His was a life conducted with breathtaking commitment and a calculated disregard for societal norms. Schoon camped rough or lived and worked in sawmill settlements, couch-surfed and took a job as an orderly at Oakley Mental Hospital. At every juncture Schoon’s radar was alive to the possibility for artistic self-realisation.
The potency of this documentary invariably intensifies whenever the artist is in shot. New Zealand art followers will not be able to look away from 1980s footage of Schoon in his later years propped up on a bed in the artist Tony Fomison’s lounge, dragging away on an omnipresent Camel ciggie and holding forth to an eager crowd of artists and writers. Here the central question of Schoon’s engagement with Māori sources is posed and he freely admits that initially he did not think about questions of protocol in his early forays into Te Ao Māori.
But soon after he did just that. Some of the most fascinating passages of Signed, Theo Schoon are the accounts of the recently departed curator and collector John Perry, former director of the Rotorua Museum and Art Gallery, together with members of the family of the famous Guide Rangitiaria Dennan, discussing Schoon’s close relationship with Guide Rangi during his time in Rotorua in the mid 1960s.
Further context is provided soon after in a conversation between Bieringa and Te Papa curator Modern and Contemporary Māori and Indigenous Art Megan Tamati-Quennell. They discuss a passage from the 1966 Encyclopedia of New Zealand written by the then director of the National Art Gallery, which reads ‘No Maori artist of stature has yet arrived. The process of integration has isolated the Maori of today from the living meaning of the arts of his forefathers, and his culture must, from now on, be one with that of his European neighbours.’ Whilst clearly a complete fallacy, this was the official position of the day.
At that very point Schoon was at work in the garden, cultivating and carving his hue. The footage of the artist tending his ‘children’ amidst a thicket of trellis and gourd vines in his Grey Lynn mara is a complete delight. Schoon was again ahead of the curve, rebooting one of the most distinctive of Māori art forms, carved hue. But he did not do this work in isolation, having sought out the company and instruction of the master carver Pine Taiapa on the East Coast, of whose skills Schoon, the avid craftsman, was in awe.
The list of Schoon’s fellow artists, collaborators and points of contact reads like a who’s who of art in Aotearoa from the 1940s to the 1980s. Beginning with his early connections with the Christchurch scene in the 40s including Rita Angus and her circle, to his (often tetchy) friendships with Gordon Walters, Colin McCahon, Len Castle, Dennis Knight-Turner, Douglas McDiarmid, Tony Fomison, Robert Ellis, Helen Mason, Kees and Tina Hos and Professor Michael Dunn. Seeing each of these dramatis personae appear in context becomes a recurring theme of the documentary: Schoon was hard-wired into so many different spheres of influence. And as we hear first-hand, his impact on many of these key figures, was decisive, even if Schoon the personality was a prickly pear, as Len Castle notes,” You had to be careful not to step on his toes, which extended quite some distance from his body.”
What gives this documentary contemporary currency is the fact that clearly Schoon’s legacy, his aura, continues to be a conceptual player today. Michael Parekowhai’s 2018 exhibition Detour at Te Papa placed Schoon front and centre amongst a roll call of fellow ‘influencers’ that included McCahon and Marcel Duchamp.
As recently as a couple of months ago I spoke with the artist Reuben Paterson whose regard for Schoon as a mentor, as both a gay man and as an explorer into enduring Māori visual themes such as kōwhaiwhai, remains an enduring source of inspiration.
That thorny question of appropriation is not shied away from in the documentary. Schoon hit the headlines in 2019 when his career survey at the City Gallery, Wellington was interrupted by protesters denouncing Schoon as a racist for his use of Māori imagery and also, perhaps, some of his more outré comments on the Māori and Pākehā artists of his day.
But Schoon should be taken at his word. His regard for and his commitment to rigorous field research is set out by the man himself in some wonderful ‘80s footage from the TV arts programme Kaleidoscope. Seeing such footage highlighted the importance of this documentary for this viewer. The directorial and producer team of Jan and Luit Bieringa have created another legacy documentary that will be viewed for many years into the future. Signed, Theo Schoon adds to a body of work that includes documentaries on photographer Ans Westra (2006), seminal Wellington gallerist Peter McLeavey (2009) and educator Gordon Tovey (2016).
Director Bieringa, himself a Dutch émigré, brings plenty of nuance to the table from his many public gallery directorial roles and his own correspondence with Schoon. It’s Bieringa’s voice that guides us through Schoon’s at all times complex journey and he brings empathy, balance and compassion to this role. That Schoon was a difficult character is freely acknowledged by Bieringa and by Schoon himself. But as this rich and at times riveting documentary expounds, Schoon, to quote long-time friend and supporter John Perry, “… gave more than he took, bringing our cultures together.”
Signed, Theo Schoon premieres at the New Zealand International Film Festival on November 6 at the Embassy Theatre, Wellington. The complete schedule can be viewed at https://www.nziff.co.nz/2021/wellington/signed-theo-schoon/ as is all ticketing information.
