Reviving black tapa - traditionally reserved for Tongan royalty

In 1953, Queen Sālote Tupou III of Tonga attended the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in London, famously riding through the rain in an open carriage.

This act, as many recall, “won the affection of the British people”. 

Tongan-born artist Kulimoe’anga Stone Maka views Queen Sālote’s gesture as a moment of lasting significance, one he now honours in a new work on display at Tāmaki Makaurau’s Gus Fisher Gallery, part of the exhibition ‘What We Choose to Remember’.

The work revives ngatu tā‘uli, black tapa, a form of tapa cloth traditionally reserved for Tongan royalty.

Maka names Queen Sālote the Kuini of the Rain, and includes her own words spoken during the coronation: “If the people could get wet in honour of England Queen, so could I. For in the Tongan customs, one would never seek comfort in the presence of majesty.”

“She did not shelter herself from the rain; she wanted to be a part of that,” Maka told RNZ's Culture 101.

Maka also reflects on Queen Elizabeth’s reciprocal visit to Tonga, where she participated in local customs, including eating on the ground alongside commoners.

He describes the gesture as proof of the mutual respect between two sovereign nations and monarchs.

These stories have shaped Maka’s artistic vision across his career, including in earlier works exhibited at the 2020 Sydney Biennale.

Born and raised in Tonga, Maka grew up in a household immersed in traditional Tongan craft. His father was a carver, and his mother a tapa maker.

Ngatu (tapa) is traditionally made from the inner bark of the mulberry tree (hiapo), which is stripped from the stem and beaten with a mallet to create the fabric.

“Tapa is… part of my life,” Maka says.

“My family… was like a tapa factory. We as boys, we grow them and then look after them for three years, and then we harvest them and bring them back home… with my mum and sisters, it's more like, my family was a tapa factory.”

Now living in Ōtautahi Christchurch, Maka still sources his tapa directly from Tonga and family. 

“My family… my sisters. I buy material from them. They are still my supplier, my tapa supplier from Tonga,” he explains.

Maka’s work is deeply rooted in tradition, but pushes the boundaries of tapa into the realm of contemporary fine art.

Using smoke residue, ink, industrial materials, and even harvested spiderwebs, Maka has pushed boundaries.

At the centre of his practice is ngatu tā‘uli, a form of black tapa once created only for Tongan royalty.

“Black tapa is (from) the ancient times, we only created black tapa only for the royal family,” he says.

“Now, times change and everybody has a black tapa.”

Though its use has expanded, Maka is interested in reasserting its sacredness, and political importance. 

He also recognises its visual language as distinctly abstract, connecting it to global conversations in contemporary art.

“I was looking at the form of the Tongan black tapa. And I was interested, because it's an abstract art form... I wanted to take the tapa out of handicraft to a level of fine art.”

For Maka, the symbolism of blackness in tapa carries deep meaning.

“I look at the blackness in tapa. It’s talking about power,” he says.

“Sometimes, I always wonder, why do Tongans paint the black tapa like that, why the form is like that. Compared to modern art, I was thinking, why do they do it like that?”

He connects this to the historical role of the king in Tongan society.

“The only man who runs the country is the King. So, the tapa only belongs to the King, they paint it, and it only belongs to the royal family.”

“The king is like God. He ruled life and death.”

Over time, black tapa also absorbed new layers of meaning, particularly through contact with English missionaries. Motifs of lions, eagles and Norfolk trees became part of the visual language.

“So, they saw how we paint those black tapa… only for the royal family. I am sure they suggested, if they put lions in it, it represents a king's power. If they put the eagle as the strongest bird in the world, the Norfolk pine tree(deleted as it is factually incorrect)… represents the king.”

Maka’s materials carry similar complexity. 

Drawing on traditional methods, he collects smoke residue from burning candlenuts, mixing it with coconut oil to create pigment.

“Traditionally, we collect the candlenuts seed, and then we burn them and collect the smoke residue from the burning... mix it with coconut oil... mix that with the smoke residue, it creates a very rich black.”

He has also experimented with modern materials like Indian ink and tyre paint, describing them as “very dark, and rich".

Maka’s path has not been without difficulty. For years, his work was overlooked by galleries.

“I walk into two galleries with my work, and they shake their heads. You know, in a nice way... I was struggling with my work... It felt like all the established artists were up there. It is more like a brick wall for us to climb.”

To support his family, he returned to factory work and paused his art practice.

It wasn’t until 2019, when curator Brook Andrew invited him to the Sydney Biennale, that things changed.

“After seven years, I did not want to accept it anymore. I realised that I can still do my art.”

Since then, Maka has exhibited widely and, in 2022, was awarded the Pacific Contemporary Artist Award at the Creative New Zealand Arts Pasifika Awards.

Through his reimagining of ngatu tā‘uli, Maka is making moves as he shifts Tongan cultural memory into contemporary dialogue.

'What We Choose to Remember’ is on display at Tāmaki Makaurau’s Gus Fisher Gallery until 13 December.