“It needed to be captured”. That's what debut feature director and longtime Wiftie Chelsea Winstanley knew deep in her heart when she began to document the Toi Tū Toi Ora exhibition at the Auckland Art Gallery. That journey would take her all the way to the Venice Biennale where the Mataaho Collective won the prestigious Golden Lion.
Winstanley's TOITŪ: Visual Sovereignty opens in cinemas across Aotearoa on November 13 after sell-out sessions at the Whanau Marama New Zealand International Film Festival.
Your lucky ole Wift E-News Editor managed to pin her down for an illuminating kōrero on what it meant for her to capture the art — and the artists — before some of them left us, and her process crafting a story of whakapapa, wairua, and wāhine Māori making history.
Kate Rodger (KR): Chelsea, first of all — that film is beautiful. Truly. I loved how circular it felt: a wāhine Māori filmmaker telling the story of Māori storytelling. How nourishing was this project for you?
Chelsea Winstanley (CW): It was incredibly nourishing. In a way it took me right back to why I came home to start it. I’d come back under a bit of a cloud, feeling a bit of shame and all the rubbish that comes with that, and then I got to sink my teeth into something that was actually how I started out.
My very first job out of uni was at Kiwa Productions with Rhonda Kite and Libby Hakaraia — WIFT members from way back. I’d met them at a WIFT event because I was that annoying, keen-as student. I was a solo mum at the time, 24 or 25, studying communications because I’d heard that in third year you actually got to make a proper film with a real crew from TVNZ. I thought, “That’s me.”
KR: Love that. Hustling early.
CW: Totally. And one of the first people to come and talk to us was Tainui Stephens. He was the first Māori I’d seen in that space, introducing us to films, talking about our stories. I probably hassled him far too much because eventually he goes, “You should come to this WIFT event,” which I think was partly him trying to palm me off to the women — but honestly, WIFT was instrumental for me. That’s where I met Rhonda and Libby. They said, “When you finish uni, come and see us.”
The little uni film I made was about my whānau down in Ōpōtiki Te Puna (Tauranga Moana) — my cousins who were studying full-time at uni and also running a tourism venture on their marae, keeping the culture alive. That film won a Media Peace Award, and that was the seed for me: I can be in charge of the storytelling. I can direct. I can back myself.
So when this doco opportunity came along, it felt like I was returning to the thing I loved before I drifted into producing.
KR: You said you “fell into producing” and your real love went quiet for a while. This film feels like you reclaiming director energy?
CW: That’s exactly it. I’d been directing for a bit at Kiwa, and then suddenly we didn’t have a producer, so I started producing. You just naturally find yourself in situations where people say Then people go, “Oh, you can do that? Cool, can you do the next one?” And then when Merata Mita Mitam asks you to come under her wing and produce Saving Grace — a really important film about our own kids dying at the hands of our own — and of course I said you say yes. She was my number one mentor.
And then years go by and you realise the thing you wanted to do has been sitting at the back while you were helping everyone else. So when this project came up, and I needed to be home, it was the perfect thing to start with again.
KR: Let’s talk about access — because it was extraordinary. You were right there as Nigel was building this massive, history-making exhibition. When did you actually start following it?
CW: I was coming back and forth from L.A. and I caught up with Nigel (Borell) around 2018. That was the first time I heard him talk about what he was putting together. By 2019 it got serious. He’s describing this huge show — hundreds of works, satellite sites shows, whole-entire gallery takeover — and I’m thinking, “Is anyone documenting this? Because this is huge.”
He wanted it to be like a modern-day Te Māori — something that would showcase our art to the world and inspire the next generation. Then I had a Zoom with the gallery team and they basically said, “You’ve got the keys — if you want to follow this, go.” That’s rare. They saw me as an artist too, which was really generous.
Then, of course, Black Lives Matter happened, then COVID, and I just thought it’s time to leave LA, “I’m going home and I don’t think I’m coming back.” I did MIQ, landed, and hit the ground running. Nigel gave me everything — who was which artists were confirmed, what people were working on — and then I had to make the hard decision: I can’t follow everyone. Whose processes do we absolutely have to see?
KR: One of the things I loved about the doco is that it shows the sheer physicality of the work — taking up space, literally. And you had to make that all hang together as a film. Where did you even start?
CW: That was the hard part. Every artist was pouring everything into their work, but then it all had to talk to each other, and I had to make a narrative on top of that. Then, on top of all the creative glory, we had the politics — the institutional dynamics, this underbelly of colonisation and the history of Māori authorship. It was not only playing out in the artworks on the walls, but also within the gallery space itself sitting in the room, who gets to decide what sits on the wall. A lot of people who’ve seen it have said it resonated because it was about institutional power — so people could see their own workplaces in it, not just the art world.
KR: I also really felt the female lens. I think it was about 60% wāhine artists in the show. Was that something you consciously leaned into in the film?
CW: I was lucky — Nigel already had 60/40 in mind. And like he said, it wasn’t theoretical, it was because those women deserved to be seen. Te Māori — incredible as it was — didn’t showcase some of the most amazing fibre work. I don’t know all the politics behind that decision but I assume it was partly sexism, partly the times. And to also see this show give someone like Emily Karaka the biggest space in the gallery — boom. That’s the curatorial version of “I see you.”
And Nigel can do that because he’s inside the community. You can only curate like that if you’re of the people you’re curating for.
KR: At what point did you realise, “Oh, this isn’t just behind-the-scenes content, this is actually a taonga — a document of a moment in our art history”?
CW: Honestly? Not at the start. At the start I just thought, this needs to be captured. That’s what I love about documentary — you think you’re making one thing, then you start shooting, then you edit and realise, “Oh, it’s this.”
It was only once people started telling me how they viewed it or could see themselves were accessing the film - using it — especially teachers — that it really landed. One kaiako said the bilingual wall texts from the show, and then the bilingual book, were already an incredible resource because there’s so little at that level in te reo. And then the film comes along and gives you a living document. That’s when I thought, okay, this is bigger than I had initially imagined, it’s for us, as nation and as a country because we will look back on this project just like we have with Te Māori and now there is a film that has documented the process behind it all.
KR: Let’s jump to the NZIFF premiere. You sold out. How did it feel sitting there watching it with the people who were actually in it?
CW: Terrifying! The scary part was the artists being there. I’d shot way more than I could use — of course I had to cut people — so I was nervous about how that would land. But the vibe was beautiful. People were laughing in places I didn’t even realise were funny. People were cheering when their aunties came on. That stuff you can’t fake.
And afterwards, even the artists I’d had to cut were kind. I think because the whole film is a celebration, nobody felt like it was about exclusion or just one artist.
KR: The ending is so satisfying — you hold the film until Venice, and then the women win. That’s the dream doco ending. Did you always know you were going to wait for that?
CW: I knew I didn’t want to end it on Nigel leaving. That wasn’t the right note. So I waited. And because we self-funded most of it, I had the freedom to wait. We didn’t take funding at the start because I just wanted to make the thing. It was only at the very end — when I realised, “Okay, now I have to go to Venice and that is not cheap” — that I brought an investor on.
I went to Venice basically with my iPhone, a dodgy tripod and my backpack. Classic guerilla filmmaking.
KR: You also hit something really moving in the final credits, acknowledging the artists who’ve passed since the show. That gave it real weight — the sense of legacy.
CW: Yeah. I’m in awe of artists. They’re brave and ahead of their time, and they say things the rest of us are too scared to say. To be able to honour those who had passed by the time we finished — that made it feel like a proper homage.
And the Auckland Art Gallery staff seeing it — that was emotional too. Some of them said they had a bit of PTSD from that period. Watching the film together was healing for them. That meant a lot.
KR: Okay, let’s do the practical plug because it’s a good one. You said you’re making the screenings affordable and accessible for everyone to see the film?
CW: Yes! I just wanted people to see it. We’re doing a special price for a limited time at Silky Otter Cinemas throughout the country (in 8 locations) for $10 — all tickets.
KR: Even for the Q&A?
CW: Even for the Q&A on opening night (Thursday 13 November, Silky Otter Ponsonby) It will be small and intimate and I’ll be there. If Nigel’s around I’ll try grab him too. We have a few special Q&A sessions planned around the country.
Check out the website www.toitufilm.nz for details and to find your cinema.
If you want to see the film in your region but it’s not playing let us know and we can organise a private screening with a cinema. Perhaps what people don't realise is that cinemas create and publish their screening schedule well in advance (often 1.5 weeks ahead) so if you don’t pre-book and always rely on just a walk up then cinemas think there is no appetite for the film, so our films often miss out on being in the cinema the following weeks. We have to almost treat the cinema-going experience like a concert and make sure we book in advance because if cinemas know there is a true desire for the film to be seen, they will keep it on. I’m hoping that by making the tickets affordable enough, the full theatres will show cinemas that kiwi audiences support local content. We have to show up for one another as much as we can so we can have a healthy industry and keep telling our stories.
ENDS
A huge ngā mihi to Chelsea for chatting to Wift E-News! Once again, I find myself in awe of our wāhine storytellers. Chelsea and Desray Armstrong's film is just beautiful and demands to be seen on a BIG screen. It’s art history, Aotearoa’s history, the mana of Māori storytelling and a love letter to the gifted Māori artists who took part in the exibition and the film.
TOITŪ: Visual Sovereignty opens November 13 across the motu - GO SEE IT.