With these four self portraits (Acc. nos 2004.289–292), Greg Semu confronts the colonial photographic archive on Samoa in a direct and personal way. Semu underwent the painful and deeply spiritual process of Samoan full-body tattooing (or pe'a) at a young age. Translating as 'flying fox', the pe'a also refers to the deep, blue-black colour of the tattoo. A sharp, comb-like instrument is dipped in ink and hammered into the flesh, puncturing it. Repeated fast tapping creates fine lines that produce intricate designs or large expanses of black space, but which contrast the different parts of the pe'a.¹ Originally, the tatau (tattoo) was an etched armour for Samoan warriors, but today its main purpose is as an emphasis and visualisation of strong cultural affirmation. As an initiation ritual, the pe'a is a mark of deference to one's elders and customs. An unfinished tatau brings shame on the bearer, his family, ancestors and unborn children.

Inscribed across Semu's flesh are the genealogies of Samoan families, the story of their navigation across the Pacific and the various existing landmarks. Semu has also chosen to wear extended versions of the taulima, or armband, which is the most visible and common identifier of Samoan youth in the diaspora.

The respected Samoan writer Albert Wendt has elucidated on the porosity between the act of tattooing and the fertility of the land. The metaphor reflects Samoans' dependence on the land for existence; for those in the diaspora, the idea still links metaphysically to the homeland:

Our words for blood are toto, eleele and palapala. (Toto can also mean to plant.) Eleele and palapala are also our terms for earth/soil/mud/earth. We are therefore made of earth/soil. Our blood, which keeps us alive, is earth. So when you are 'tatauing' the blood, the self, you are re-connecting it to the earth, re-affirming that you are earth, genetically and genealogically.²

Art historian Nicholas Thomas has commented that Semu's compositions appear to be modelled on the plates accompanying one of the early accounts on Samoan tattooing, Carl Marquardt's Die Tatowierung Beider Geschlechter in Samoa (1899).³ In this seminal text, as well as in many other depictions of Pacific tattooing by European explorers, subjects are often presented as specimens observable from every angle, with their heads excluded by the frame. The collusion of imperial expansion and ethnography is well documented. By choosing to directly replicate these poses - these colonial remnants of representation - Semu creates new meanings for the tattooed Samoan body. Using his body as a human canvas, the finely chiselled and intricate lines mark Semu's personal and cultural narratives. The bearer being identified, the discourse on the reasons for the endurance of such excruciating pain, and what such armour might signify today in Semu's own local context of Auckland, and more recently Paris, becomes paramount.

The three studies of his 'headless' pe'a are profoundly personal, physically placing Semu within the cultural fabric of his ancestors. The photographs were shot in his bedroom using a calico backdrop — this intimate setting marks the distinction between this work and the rest of Semu's portraiture, which so often emerges from the streets.

For Semu, the three works are an ode to the creator of his pe'a, master tattooist Su'a Sulu'ape Paulo II. Tragically murdered in 1999, Su'a remains a revered figure who is credited with broadening the appreciation of Samoan tattooing among Samoans and others alike. Controversial for having tattooed non-Samoans, such as the notorious New Zealand artist Tony Fomison as well as a number of other Europeans, he caused much anger amongst the Samoan community by questioning the very function of the pe'a and its significance.

In the fourth photograph, Semu appears crucified and in doing so addresses the ubiquitous presence of Christianity in Polynesia. Permeating every aspect of social and cultural expression, religiosity is explored for its potent symbolism and, at times, negative repercussions for already heavily ritualised societies. Semu does not portray himself as Christ and omits the stigmata. He represents the common crucified man. He says of the image that 'it is a marriage of two icons — the religious and the cultural. It's an illustration of colonisation and its embracement. We have come this far to be crucified again — it is really the crucifixion of cultural difference.'⁴ This is a modern crucifixion, imaged in South Auckland on the site of a demolished train station, the oppressive, dense grey sky in sharp contrast to Semu's illuminated and peaceful face.

Maud Page, former Deputy Director, Collection and Exhibitions, QAGOMA.

Endnotes

1. Sean Mallon, Samoan art and artists, O Measina a Samoa, Craig Potton Publishing, Nelson, New Zealand, 2002, pp.104–19.
2. Albert Wendt, 'Tatauing the Post-Colonial body, http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/authors/wendt/tatauing.asp, viewed 29 October 2004.
3. Nicholas Thomas, 'Marked men', Art AsiaPacific, no. 13, 1997, pp.66–74.
4. Greg Semu, telephone conversation with Maud Page, 29 October 2004.