“A photograph is a moment in time, not the complete truth,” says playwright and performer Martine Bannvinger as Ans Westra, of her work in photographing Māori in the early 1960s. Westra was criticised for her School Bulletin Washday at the Pā, which depicted the day of a mother and her children in Ruātoria in 1964. The Māori Women’s Welfare League were among the staunchest critics, fearing that the run-down condition of the family’s house would reinforce negative stereotypes of Māori in the minds of the nations’ children. As result of the controversy the 38,000 copies of Westra’s book were withdrawn from circulation.  

Baanvinger leads us sympathetically to this moment in Westra’s life through a well selected series of biographical details, anecdotes, telephone calls and journeys. These document the shaping of her character from a 13-year-old in Holland at the end of World War Two watching her playmates disappear from the streets around her home, to an independent woman who joins the Ngāti Pōneke Young Māori Club in Wellington. From there Westra steps in to a world of marae, weddings and tāngi that most Pākehā of the time did not know existed.

The contrast Westra sees and feels between life on one side of the fence in the home of her Dutch immigrant father, who instils the values of hard work, discipline and conformity in his daughter, and the love and freedom experienced by Māori children on the other side of the fence is depicted poignantly. This becomes a major influence on Westra’s desire to capture the life of a people that she sees becoming urbanised and detached from their rural roots.

The people shown in projected still images of Westra’s photographs during the performance seem to have just stopped for a moment as Baanvinger sets them into stories of places and times in which they were taken. This is done with a beautifully light touch, so that the images themselves have as much to say to us as Baanvinger, as playwright.

Other projections and deceptively simple pieces of scenery, designed and created by visual artist Klaasz Breukel, are cleverly used to create an astonishing number of settings in the performance. Baanvinger’s interaction with these is delightful and fresh. A clever device is used allow us to hear from Westra the artist about her craft. The performance has a pleasing depth and nuance as Baanivnger as Westra speaks to us of about her desire to tell the truth of people’s lives with respect and authenticity.

The visual elements of the production are complemented by Mark Manson’s soundscapes which resonate with echoes of the multiple worlds Westra inhabits. More of this could have been used in moments of transition, which despite their swift execution feel ever so slightly awkward.

Baanvinger’s skill in physicalising ideas for the audience is apparent in spades. Her characterisations of Westra’s parents, flatmates and a fickle Barry Crump are lively, humorous and adept.

Themes of ownership of image, and the role and responsibility of the of the artist and playwright when taking images and telling stories, are rolled around like a good wine in the mouth. Baanvinger’s own journey with these issues are explained in projected text at the beginning and end of the performance. I, for one, would not have minded Baanvinger the playwright voicing this as another layer in the relationship between viewer and viewed.

Westra wanted to use the camera to get under the skin of her subjects. Aperture gets under the skin of Ans Westra and will get under your skin too. 

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

To be in the theatre for a world premiere is an exciting thing. Even more so when the subject of the story, Ans Westra, is in the audience.  It must be strange for her as we revisit her childhood in occupied Holland, her playmates disappearing one by one.  Very sad – for Ans and for us.

In Westra’s own words and through her images, we follow her journey: the ground-breaking photographic exhibition The Family of Man, it’s influence on her choice of career and the other journey to New Zealand, and her delight as she meets  “the neighbours over the fence” – their lifestyle so different from her own upbringing.  They are Māori. She sees their beauty, loves their spontaneity, their joy in life.  Together with her trusty Rolleiflex – and this means “film not food”: an emerging artist’s choice – she is away, and nothing can stop her. 

Washday at the Pa is recognised as Westra’s magnum opus.  35,000 copies were printed for distribution to schools – and 35,000 copies were later withdrawn and destroyed.  This was in the 60s and it was thought by some authorities at the time that the family’s living conditions gave the wrong impression; never mind the love and warmth so tenderly captured in this book of images. Luckily for us, the originals survived and many feature in this production.

Deceptively simple, the set is clever and creative.  A three-sided screen turns in to a camera; a cabin on the ship; is used in many forms.  The music and sound throughout are atmospheric; back projection of Westra’s photographs is stunning and the two colourful paintings of the sea, night and day, a clever counterpoint to the black and white. 

However, this play is too long in the telling.  Stories of boyfriends, a slightly tedious sequence of life or lack of it at the stern father’s dinner table and the over-used metaphor of ‘walking a tight line’ could do with some judicious cutting. Martine effortlessly moves from Dutch to English, English to Dutch; is passionate in her delivery which, to my ear, is sometimes high-pitched and would benefit from more light and shade. She is 99% word-perfect with only the slightest slip quickly corrected.  No mean feat, especially for a very first performance. 

Aperture can only improve in the telling and is already a tour de force and labour of love from one Dutch woman to another. 

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer