Song
Barane Iererita, 2025
112Х109cm, acrylic on canvas
Betio, Kiribati
112Х109cm, acrylic on canvas
Betio, Kiribati
How does the traveller see it?
(Fragment of a post from a Facebook page)
A Dutch auction––Kiribati style.
I don’t buy paintings; I buy stories.
I ask my local guide, George, to find an artist. I know one, he says. But his stuff is very expensive.
How expensive?
Thousands of dollars.
Okay, let’s go to his studio.
In other Micronesian nations I simply haven’t found original artwork; it’s not quite the islanders’ thing. Anyway, that evening George meets me in the hotel with three works of art––the artist, he says, is busy. One of the works piqued my interest: it contains a story, something like a girl’s initiation ritual. How much does it cost, I ask.
10,000 dollars.
Are you kidding?
Maybe even 20,000, said the guide. I’m not exactly sure. He’s the best artist in Kiribati.
Alright then, I say.
Tomorrow I’ll go see him. I was already intrigued and what’s more, taking a photo with the artist while buying their work has become an indispensable ritual for me.
And there I was the next day with the artist.
Do you have any other works?
No, just those three.
And where are they?
With your friend George.
My friend? I just met him! Let’s go to George’s place.
We arrive and I’m looking at the paintings: the year 2017 is written on two of them. I exclaim:
You haven’t sold them in eight years and now want 20,000 dollars for one??
Yep, that’s what I want. And here’s the third: I haven’t finished it, so I can sell it to you for cheaper.
How much cheaper, I ask with a grin; I didn’t have my hopes up. We begin to haggle.
For 300 Australian dollars, he says. I can’t go lower than that.
Here’s 200, I say. The painting you’ve been working on for eight years will enter into my gallery, then you’ll become famous and sell the remaining two works for 20 thousand apiece!
I don’t buy paintings; I buy stories.
I ask my local guide, George, to find an artist. I know one, he says. But his stuff is very expensive.
How expensive?
Thousands of dollars.
Okay, let’s go to his studio.
In other Micronesian nations I simply haven’t found original artwork; it’s not quite the islanders’ thing. Anyway, that evening George meets me in the hotel with three works of art––the artist, he says, is busy. One of the works piqued my interest: it contains a story, something like a girl’s initiation ritual. How much does it cost, I ask.
10,000 dollars.
Are you kidding?
Maybe even 20,000, said the guide. I’m not exactly sure. He’s the best artist in Kiribati.
Alright then, I say.
Tomorrow I’ll go see him. I was already intrigued and what’s more, taking a photo with the artist while buying their work has become an indispensable ritual for me.
And there I was the next day with the artist.
Do you have any other works?
No, just those three.
And where are they?
With your friend George.
My friend? I just met him! Let’s go to George’s place.
We arrive and I’m looking at the paintings: the year 2017 is written on two of them. I exclaim:
You haven’t sold them in eight years and now want 20,000 dollars for one??
Yep, that’s what I want. And here’s the third: I haven’t finished it, so I can sell it to you for cheaper.
How much cheaper, I ask with a grin; I didn’t have my hopes up. We begin to haggle.
For 300 Australian dollars, he says. I can’t go lower than that.
Here’s 200, I say. The painting you’ve been working on for eight years will enter into my gallery, then you’ll become famous and sell the remaining two works for 20 thousand apiece!
And what do you think?