I have just read, cover to cover, An Eccentric History in Batik – The Art of Dinah Priestley and Tony Burton. It was entirely unexpected.
Author, Dinah Priestley says in her introduction: ‘Art, like music, doesn’t translate into words’.
She is right.
So, I do not want to describe this book; I do not want to attempt any explanation or find appropriate words of praise even though tempted to steal some from others. I just want you to read it. Yes, you, that is, anyone who is actually reading this magazine article.
I accepted this unorthodox book reluctantly having already committed to featuring another artist. Nevertheless, I was intrigued; I needed to see if denying it for the November issue would be a mistake.
It certainly would have been.
For those with little knowledge (or even interest in art) and even less appreciation of batik, this book should not be discounted either for its pre-conceived content or its name for ‘eccentric’ it is and wonderful for it.
This is not just a book about Dinah Priestley and Tony Burton’s collaborative work; rather, it also encapsulates their views (and facts) about New Zealand, its people, places and events, depicted with humour, perception and passion.
There is much featured within this book that I can personally recall. Who of my era can forget the protests surrounding the 1981 Springbok rugby tour which divided much of the nation?
I identified with the section labelled Nightclubs and smiled at Sporty Types for, like Priestly, I was never sporty but, in fact, follow many sports (on the TV!). In Money Matters Priestley writes, “it was great fun to uncover the surprising stories behind these New Zealand corporate giants.”
It is also great fun perusing these particular pages. Works commissioned by the former Government Life Insurance company, The NZ Post Office and Wellington stockbrokers intrigued me no end.
There are the wonderful sketches and caricatures of many well-known New Zealand authors; I had intended to say, “authors known to so many book-loving Kiwis” but then I recalled a passage which amused me but perhaps not others.
Overheard by the author at a passive protest outside Athletic Park during the Springbok tour were the shouted words of an old Maori lady as someone stumbled over protestors legs:
‘“Call yourself a Kiwi!” Then she muttered, “Dunno why we call ourselves Kiwis after such a dumb bird. It can’t see, can’t even get its bum off the ground to fly.”
Surely readers must laugh? I did. Priestly and Burton’s works provide insight and commentary on our history, our politicians, our people.
They made me aware that too many of we ‘dumb Kiwis’ know little of New Zealand’s history; these batiks are a fascinating reminder of that, providing compulsion to learn more.
Now, see what has happened; I’ve said far more than I intended about this book so I won’t say a lot more. I just can’t do it justice.
However, what I felt on almost every page was the love story behind this book and the impact of Tony Burton in life and in death. Priestley’s loss left me profoundly sad and a bit angry at life. I did not want the deep emotional connection between these two people to have ended as it did. It seemed improper.
Therefore, I’ll just say I want you to read this book and marvel at it. I’m sure it will arouse many emotions and thoughts. And, perhaps like me, as you turn the final page, you will cry.