There is a contemplation woven into every island greeting. A prayer pose at rest frames the ocean and in the shade of a tree the vista and the promise of water stage our welcome.  The dancers weave in and out of poses drawing their audience into the coloured rhythm of the island.

The yards and entrances and courtyards framed with hearts and darts of colour.  Splashes that might be considered bold yet always fading to a pastel frame for human activity.

The doorway of the house, like many entrances, not only echos an artists’ window welcome but also presents the water for foot washing and is marked with the cross as a mark of the resident belief system.

Down the street the community has been building a new church with what might be considered primitive scaffolding.  Yet in this earthquake zone it might be more malleable than the rigidity of our western ways.  Yet, here is the problem with photographs — they capture the defined, the refined and the combined — missing the gentle soul of the village.  Matakus has history, inter-generational and epigenetic lessons.  Pain and sorrow and laughter.  Next time you snap a picture pause to consider what you are stealing and healing.