Chapter Three #2
I shift in my chair. I know she’s referring to men like Orson, Kingi, my father, and Spencer of course.
She’s right that they’re all rich, successful men whose confidence borders on arrogance.
I’m hardly poor, though, so it seems a bit hypocritical to criticize them for having money.
And the whole point of the Midnight Club is to donate the proceeds to worthwhile causes, so it’s not as if they’re all cruel, greedy guys who don’t give a fig for other people.
But I can’t deny that her philosophy is inspiring. As much as I don’t want to put men down, it’s difficult at times to ignore the feeling I am sometimes overlooked because I’m a woman, and a Māori one at that.
Genevieve is still talking about Lumen, explaining about how membership of the club provides access to its facilities, which include meeting rooms, offices, a top restaurant and bar, a gym, and what she describes as a ‘coffee house’—a place to meet other women during the day to network and build business relationships.
Should I join the club? I haven’t yet decided where I’m going to settle down.
Connor and I shared an apartment in Wellington, but I moved out of that when I discovered he’d been cheating on me.
I stayed in my father’s house—the family home—over on Waiheke Island until I went to Europe, and I’m thinking of traveling again in a month or so, so I don’t know how much use I’d get out of the club.
I don’t consider myself a businesswoman per se.
But maybe I should. I want to sell my work, after all, don’t I?
I like the idea of supporting Genevieve and other women, so I might still sign up.
“I invited you here today for a specific purpose,” Genevieve says. “Lumen is going to be holding an Empowerment Auction.”
My eyebrows rise, and similarly, the other women glance at each other, curious and puzzled.
Genevieve smiles. “I can see you’re all wondering what I’m talking about.
Well, this is going to be a high-profile art and culture auction where influential female artists will offer an experience centered on their passions.
The auction is for the privilege of their time and talent, not for the artists themselves—that’s important to note. ”
A buzz of excitement runs around the room, and it’s impossible to stop a similar sense of anticipation rising inside me.
“The money raised will support women-led artistic projects,” Genevieve continues.
“We have lots of ideas here at Lumen, including some we’ve already started.
” The presentation shows a series of slides with women in the process of exercising their creativity.
“These include a sustainable fashion label that merges traditional textiles with contemporary design; a grassroots, mobile film-making workshop that travels to rural communities and teaches wahine Māori how to script, shoot, and edit stories; and the production of a community quilt, stitched by women, and including personal stories that represent sisterhood, land, and legacy. Men have always been the curators of our success… until now. It’s time for us to be the architects of our own adventures. ”
She’s a force of nature; there’s no doubt about it. She practically glows with enthusiasm, and her energy makes me feel as if I can take over the world, too.
“I’m hoping that each artist will design a unique experience,” she continues.
“I’m happy to talk over ideas, but I’m thinking of things like the following.
” She flicks up a new slide illustrating each option.
“For the artists among you: an afternoon painting lesson in your studio. For writers: an evening book club experience held at a local vineyard, where you talk about your writing process alongside a wine-tasting session. For musicians: a personal performance given at a curated dinner party, or a visit to your recording studio. Hopefully you get the idea. Crucially, it’s important to note that you would retain full control.
We would make it clear that the artist can decline any winning bidder, and that she sets the terms of the experience. ”
My mind is already working furiously. What could I offer?
I suppose someone might be interested in a painting lesson.
But that wouldn’t appeal to anyone without artistic talent.
What would a stranger be interested in bidding for?
A piece of artwork commissioned by them, tailored to their business or their hobbies?
Or how about a portrait of them? A private studio session where they would get to sit for a portrait? I could make it a real experience; I have a small studio in the family home that would make them feel as if they’re visiting my sacred workspace. Mmm… that might work.
“I’m thinking of holding the Empowerment Auction in just under two weeks, on Saturday April the Fifth,” Genevieve states.
“It’s not too long to wait, and gives us the perfect amount of time to build a buzz.
The local press has promised to cover the auction with plenty of fanfare, and I’m sure that women across the city will be pleased and excited to help us spread the word. ”
She gestures at the woman with the dark bob standing next to her.
“This is my assistant, Carly. She’s holding a pack with all the details I’ve just related, plus an application form.
Feel free to take one, and to contact her if you’d like to book a meeting with us to discuss anything further.
All applications need to be in by midnight this Wednesday, the 26th please.
I know that only gives you three days, but it will give us time to produce the program which is going to be published on Kōrero this Saturday.
” It’s the biggest news website in Auckland.
“We’ll also begin circulating and promoting the program in the local community.
I’m hoping all of you will feel inspired to take part, and I value each and every one of you. ”
As she speaks, she looks directly at me and smiles.
I warm through at being in her spotlight.
I’m incredibly flattered to think she’s noticed me.
Although my piece of stained-glass artwork wasn’t hanging in the lobby, it is being displayed in a prominent place where women walk past it daily, and that’s without me being related to her.
I’m heartened that she feels my work is worthy of attention.
“Now,” she says, “I’m sure you must all have questions, so please, speak up if there’s anything you’d like to ask.”
A smattering of questions follow, and then she ends the meeting. Everyone starts talking and moving forward to take a pack, and I do the same. It’s very professionally produced, and I study the application form, then return to my seat, take out a pen, and start filling it in.
A shadow falls over me a few minutes later, and I look up to see Genevieve standing there, smiling.
“I’m impressed,” she says, gesturing at the form on my lap, which is half filled out. “And so excited!” She lowers onto a chair beside me. “What are you thinking of offering?”
I describe my idea of a private studio session, where I would paint a portrait of them, with a background inspired by their job or something else important in their life.
“I love it,” she says, “I’m tempted to put in a bid myself!”
“How many people are you expecting to attend the auction?” I ask curiously.
“I’m hoping for a few hundred. We’ll hold it here in our function room.
I have a few friends in the press who are going to give the auction lots of attention, and I think the fact that we’re pushing it as a high-class charity auction to help women will really get people interested.
Not just other women, but men who believe that being seen encouraging women is good PR for their businesses. ”
I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or just telling it like it is.
I’m sure she’s right. Orson has said openly that his plan to give local iwi or tribes better access to the Waiora healing pool is good PR for the Midnight Club, so I know the guys aren’t blind to ways to improve public relations.
If they feel they’re under scrutiny for not representing women better, helping to promote the auction is one way they can make themselves look as if gender equality is important to them.
“Helen has asked me to call her after this meeting,” I reply.
“If you like, I’ll ask her to mention the auction to the Midnight Club.
I know strictly speaking they’re your competitor, but I’m sure they’ll help to promote it for that reason.
” I wonder whether Spencer would want that?
And how he knows Genevieve? Is it just through business?
“That would be great,” she says enthusiastically. She hesitates, then glances across the room. “Look, I know you want to finish your form, but I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
“Oh… okay.” I slip the form back into the folder, rise, and follow her across to a striking Māori woman who’s reading through some of the promotional material in the pack while she sips her coffee.
She’s probably in her fifties, with gray in her curly brown hair. She also has a moko kauae on her chin.
“Hariata,” Genevieve says, “I’d like to introduce you to Marama Davis, a local artist. She created the stained-glass artwork that hangs in the corridor.”
“Oh, the one of Papatūānuku?” she asks. When I nod, she says, “I loved it. It was so beautiful and imaginative.”
I blush. “Thank you.”
Genevieve says, “Marama, this is Hariata Pere. She’s the managing director of Te Whaihanga Toi Foundation.” It’s a prestigious and respected organization, and I know it well. It funds and mentors projects by Pacific artists, and it offers numerous grants and residencies.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, shaking Hariata’s hand.
“Marama has just finished a collection of landscapes,” Genevieve says.
“I’ve been traveling across Europe,” I explain. “They’re mainly watercolors.”
“Very different from stained glass,” Hariata says. “Do you enjoy working in other mediums?”
“I do, and it was interesting to visit famous galleries and see some well-known artworks.” I pause, wondering whether to admit the thought that has been at the back of my mind over the past few days.
“I was thinking of traveling again… but I have to admit that I’m feeling tempted at the moment to create a series that weaves together pūrākau wahine .
” It means ancestral stories told from a woman’s perspective.
“And to illustrate atua wāhine.” I refer to female spiritual beings.
“Oh?” Hariata’s ears prick up. “Tell us more.”
I’m not going to get a better opportunity than this, and I decide to open up, which I rarely do.
“I don’t just mean goddesses like Hine-nui-te-pō,” who is the goddess of death and transformation, “or Hineteiwaiwa,” the goddess of creativity, weaving, and childbirth.
“I mean our kuia ,” our elder women, “and our tipuna ,” our ancestors, “and the way their mana still shapes us. Maybe it could involve doing portraits of important women in our community, like yourselves,” I gesture at the two of them, “portrayed as modern-day atua wāhine .”
“That sounds amazing,” Genevieve says. “In what medium?”
“Probably acrylics for the richness of the colors.”
“I’m very interested,” Hariata says. She checks her watch. “I have to go now, but I’ll be at the auction, and maybe we can talk more about it then?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you.” I watch her walk away, then smile at Genevieve. “Thank you so much for introducing us.”
“I’m glad I could help. That’s what Lumen is about—women helping other women.” She touches my arm. “Don’t forget to finish your application!”
I return to my seat and fill the rest in, my heart racing with excitement. I’m so glad I came here today and met both Genevieve and Hariata. Genevieve is right—it’s important for women to help other women.
Briefly, I think about Spencer, and how when I told him I was coming here, he said Just don’t believe everything she tells you .
I think he was being very unfair to her.
Is it possible he’s jealous because she represents the future?
Hmm, I wonder whether it’s more personal than that.
Was he interested in her, and she rebuffed him?
That might explain why he seemed so resentful.
I think about the way he dismissed me so easily, hurting my feelings and embarrassing me. I’ve never made it so clear to a man that I’m interested in him, and I won’t be doing it again anytime soon.
I don’t need a man to complete me. Talking to me as if I was a child. I don’t need a man at all. For now I’m going to concentrate on my art, and forget all about how he promised he’d eat me alive.
My eyes glaze over. Then, crossly, I sign the bottom of the form and stuff my pen back in my bag. I’m not going to give him another thought.