A Short Reflective Piece by Artist Malia Vaurasi on her Art Journey

By Malia Vaurasi

2 year old Malia sitting at the little table and chair that would become her drawing place for many years to come (Pencil and paper only at this destructive-creative age)

The story I hope to tell, is of my relationship with art and how it helped me find my voice as an activist.

One of my earliest memories of creating art would probably be when I was around 4 or 5. My mother would mix a black tempura like paint to an inky consistency, set up my little child sized table and chair for me to sit and paint. Now, as a mother myself, I’m certain she did so just to keep me out of her hair for a few hours. But as a child I deeply enjoyed these opportunities mostly for the praise I would receive for the art I created rather than the actual process of creating. As I grew up, I found myself spending more time trying to draw realistic portraits, chasing this thrill of parental approval. Reflecting upon this time, my identity and purpose was almost exclusively tied to creating drawings that my parents loved.

Malia Vaurasi

Now at thirty, I look back at my childhood artwork, especially one in particular of a grey sausage with little stumpy legs (hippopotamus) taking shelter from big grey blobs of rain under a tree, I know now that perhaps my parents’ encouragement and praise of my paintings clearly had more to do with their love for me than the actual quality of work.

As a teen, during the creative process I found myself questioning less of whether viewers would prefer if I drew it like this or like that. Suddenly obsessed with anime and manga, art and other creative expressions are what helped me build strong friendships that I continue to cherish to this day. I found myself more confident and willing to translate my thoughts and presenting them through my art. However, as I soon learned, I still had a very long way to go.

Moving into my tertiary education as a sociology student, I had less time to draw but I became better able to identify and question the systems that were established and that worked against us in the Pacific.

This journey came to a head in my second year as an undergrad when I enrolled in a mandatory course called Pacific Worlds that my friends and I decided to take in the winter break just to “get it over and done with” so we could have more time to focus on our core units in the upcoming semester. This flippant decision undoubtedly changed the way I viewed myself as an artist and a Pacific Islander as well as the trajectory of my future.

This course, taught by Jackie Leota-Mua, really made me take a closer look at our Pacific pasts, presents and futures. I found myself in hard reflection on concepts that I never even thought to question (At the time I was overly confident I had them all covered).

What remains with me the most is the deep emotion Jackie ignited through her use of poetry to engage us in the course material, something (both the poetry and emotion) that I had not experienced before in a university lectures.

Luisa Tuilau, Rico Redoblado and I at a Youngsolwara Pacific event organised in the University of the South Pacific of the same year (2014) in solidarity for West Papua.

When it came time for the final presentation, it is no surprise that most of us chose a creative work/project performance over a 5,000 word essay (it could have been 1,500 but as an undergraduate student it might as well have been 5,000). I decided to pair up with a high school friend of mine, Rico Redoblado, an exceptional artist! When we finally sat together and deliberated over the topic, we would create an art piece for. This was during a time when West Papua’s struggles were still strategically obscured by Indonesia from the Pacific. Rico was adamant on creating something for West Papua. I reluctantly agreed to his proposal, at the time I felt it was too charged, I cannot explain how my 18-year-old brain was functioning, but I think underlying my fear was that I questioned my ability to create something that would do justice to West Papua.

The UU204 Students that performed in 2014! Rico Redoblado and I are standing in the front row holding our painting and wearing black and red in solidarity of the Free West Papua Movement. Jacki or Ms. Jacki (as she's often referred to) is on the right next to Rico in black with sei headpiece and wearing her WeBleedBlackandRed ribbon.

I still remember how we stood outside of the theatre going over our lines, trying to remember them so we wouldn’t have to refer to our script during the presentation. When we went up and presented our artwork, the personal stories of survivors, the over half a century of oppression the people of West Papua had endured and resisted poured out of my mouth, I suddenly felt myself choke up.

From the moment Rico challenged me and viewing the other performances of students who so boldly and artistically created amazing dances, drama performances and artwork that championed West Papua’s right for freedom, I realised the true significance and impact of art as form of protest.

This presentation by Rico and I gave us the opportunity to meet more amazing artists from across the Pacific who use their creative pursuits for advocacy. Many of whom I continue to hold dear and often rely on when I am facing troubles, creatively or otherwise.

Reflecting on my experience in my undergraduate years, I know that I was floating in a sea of nihilism. Having knowledge of the many struggles but still being insulated enough by my own privileged circumstances I simply resigned myself to the chaos that surrounded us in the Pacific.

What justice can one person who has absolutely terrible speaking skills bring to the inextricably woven issues created by empire which has scarred and continues to bleed our peoples, lands and oceans? I really should have been asking myself about the abilities that I do have, and how I can use to make an active difference.

Art has the incredible power to express much more than what cold hard facts and figures can. Art can allow the viewer an opportunity to connect personally and emotionally with our sea of struggles in the Pacific as for those at the frontlines it often is the difference between life or death.

Luisa Tuilau, Rico Redoblado and I working on creating flags and banners for a march we planned for solidarity with West Papua in Suva, Fiji Islands.

I began this piece reflecting on how important art was to me because of how it made those around me feel and in return how that made me feel. It helped me create core memories and relationships with my family and friends. I mean to show how creation is an incredible gift that we all have and if you are an artist your brave talents have the potential to make a difference in challenging the oppressors’ narratives and most importantly giving voice to and comforting those that courageously resist.

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About the Collaborator

Malia Vaurasi was born and raised in the bustling city of Suva, Fiji where she still resides with her loving partner, Hagino, raising their three children. Malia is a (recently) self-proclaimed artist, activist and budding academic pursuing her PhD in Sociology. Her art, activism and research interests often converge with its focus on gender, culture and Pacific identity. In her free time Malia enjoys her time creating art and/or dreaming of a month-long family vacation in her home island Rotuma.