Pounamu in hand, gently and respectfully cupped by a lady who tilts her wrist, adjusting her hold to reveal the individual beauty of the piece. The dark and light hues playfully combine, revealing unique patterns and shades designed by nature, that draw the eye deep into the origins of the stone. As if into its soul.
"I'll have to find someone to buy it for me. Because you can't buy pounamu for yourself..."
Holding her gaze, as if toward an artist's canvas, she is drawn to the considered outline of the design and expert shaping that surrendered itself to the grain. There is an almost inevitability to the final form this taonga (treasure) would take, made complete by the deeply respectful perception of the artist and execution of his skilled hands. A work of art made possible by reverence, love, patience and millions of years. A piece of New Zealand. Carved to connect.
Standing quietly, honouring the stone and captivated by its beauty, there is a regretful curl of the lips, an exhale, and the piece is surrendered...
But does it need to be this way?