Māori Identity and Reflexive Ethnography in Research on HORI’s Art

Abstract

This article presents a multidimensional analysis of the work of the Māori artist Hori from postcolonial, cultural, and autoethnographic perspectives. Drawing on the researcher’s experience as a visitor in Ōtaki, Aotearoa/New Zealand, an environment deeply rooted in Māori heritage, the text demonstrates how Hori’s art becomes a field of negotiation over identity, visual decolonization, and dialogue with global currents of socially engaged art. Particular attention is given to Matariki, the Māori New Year, as a context for cultural renewal, community strengthening, and the emphasis on values such as whakapapa (genealogy) and whenua (land). Through the author’s autoethnographic reflexivity, interpretation emerges as a relational process that takes into account local meanings, universal experiences of resistance, as well as the ethical and epistemological challenges involved in researching Indigenous cultures. In effect, Hori’s work appears as a transnational visual language in which aesthetics intertwines with politics and local epistemologies engage with global discourses on power, memory, and identity.

1. Introduction

Contemporary artistic practices of the Indigenous peoples of Aotearoa/New Zealand, particularly those rooted in Māori traditions, have attracted the attention of scholars from a range of disciplines, including postcolonial studies, visual culture studies, and the anthropology of art, as well as, in my case, pedagogy. These practices are often analyzed through the lens of multidimensional models of Māori identity, encompassing notions of group belonging, sociopolitical awareness, and cultural efficacy. Such frameworks are essential for understanding how Māori artists navigate the complexities of postcolonial contexts, reflecting on their cultural heritage while simultaneously engaging with contemporary issues. Sibley and Houkamau (2013) and Houkamau and Sibley (2018) emphasize that these identity constructions are not static; they evolve in response to internal and external pressures, allowing Māori artists to express their cultural narratives within a globalized world (Waitoki and McLachlan 2022; Davies et al. 2022). Marques et al. (2020) discuss how a sense of place and belonging is integral to Māori identity, stressing that artistic expression is often tied to ancestral connections and specific environments. Mikaere et al. (2023) further explores the impact of globalization on Māori art, noting that while external influences may pose threats to traditional practices, they also offer opportunities for innovation and the recontextualization of Māori artistic expressions (Alexander and Tudor 2023).

The role of Māori art extends beyond aesthetic expression, with these practices serving as a platform for engaging with sociopolitical issues such as struggles for sovereignty and the reclamation of cultural narratives. Employing Indigenous frameworks that incorporate the knowledge and perspectives of Indigenous peoples underscores the necessity of decolonizing the production of knowledge (Wana 2022; Rameka 2015). This aligns with a broader social movement in which Indigenous communities legitimize their histories and heritage through research grounded in their own experiences and values, as well as through artistic expression that challenges dominant, colonial narratives (Genevieve and Spiers 2021; Merson 2020).

Numerous scholars emphasize the importance of visual expression in challenging colonial narratives. Pauly (2016) points to the role of counter-narratives in artistic practices, while Steinman (2015) stresses the significance of Indigenous identities as forms of ongoing resistance against the cognitive foundations of settler colonial societies. Edd (2020), in turn, highlights the value of Indigenous art as a carrier of decolonial knowledge essential for understanding the complex experiences of Indigenous peoples in contemporary society.

Research on Māori art, like that on other Indigenous artistic practices, reveals a close connection between visual expression, communal well-being, and the cultivation of resilience. Tabor et al. (2023) note that art can contribute to improving the well-being and strengthening the agency of Māori youth in educational environments, which are spaces historically burdened by colonial oppression. Erueti and Palmer (2013) explore similar issues in the context of sports, showing how various areas of life, including physical activity, become arenas for the expression of Māori identity and culture. On a global scale, as Kelly (2021) has demonstrated in studies of rock art in northern Australia, Indigenous art continues to serve as a form of resistance and memory, linking the experiences of historical colonial encounters with current survival strategies. Similarly, Navia et al. (2018) analyze how Indigenous youth use creativity to construct their own narratives and identities within the context of settler colonialism.

Māori art thus functions as a form of activism and resistance, highlighting historical injustices, illuminating questions of identity and belonging, and thereby empowering Indigenous societies (Webber and O’Connor 2019; Watene et al. 2023).

The complexity of artistic messaging, integrating Indigenous as well as contemporary symbols, codes, and metaphors, facilitates a multifaceted analysis of identity within a postcolonial context. This process reveals how Indigenous artists negotiate cultural belonging, visibility, and recognition in an increasingly transnational world (Ashcroft et al. 2013; Martineau and Ritskes 2014; Cunneen 2017). The convergence of local and global artistic idioms fosters a dialogue that re-evaluates the ways in which identity is represented and constructed, underscoring the potential of art to act as a medium for decolonial resistance and cultural affirmation (Sheikh 2020; Sharma and Alexander 2023).

Within this broader discourse on Indigenous art, the work of Hohepa Thompson, known as Hori, a Māori visual artist who combines local traditions with the global language of activist art emerges as a particular case. His artistic practice is situated in the context of a reflection on how the identities of Indigenous communities are currently shaped and articulated, especially under conditions of intense global flows and the growing importance of digital visual culture (Borell et al. 2019; Matelau-Doherty 2019).

An important element of Hori’s inspiration is the aesthetic and sociopolitical message of the American artist Shepard Fairey, known for the “Obey Giant” project and the “Hope” poster (Arnon 2009). By elevating street art into the realm of global political discourse (Mäkelä et al. 2011), Fairey creates a bridge between local aesthetics and international forms of “artivism”. Thus, Hori not only references his Indigenous heritage but also actively participates in the broader movement of socially engaged art, combining Māori motifs with globally recognizable forms of expression (M9 Aotearoa 2024).

By placing Māori traditions in dialogue with international “artivist” influences such as Shepard Fairey’s global interventions (Arnon 2009; Mäkelä et al. 2011), Hori’s work demonstrates how Indigenous artists reshape critical art discourses to emphasize their own cultural sovereignty. In this process, a new visual language emerges, wherein art becomes a catalyst for decolonization and identity reinforcement (Sharma and Alexander 2023; Demos 2013). This interpretive lens aligns with an interdisciplinary approach that acknowledges not only the anthropological and artistic dimensions of Māori art but also its pedagogical significance, particularly in how it can foster critical awareness, cultural resilience, and transformative learning experiences.

The methodological foundation of this article draws on visual research, especially a semiotic perspective (Barthes 1977), and the concepts of encoding and decoding cultural messages (Hall 1980) to interrogate the multilayered meanings carried by visual elements such as colour, composition, iconography, and text. This framework resonates with previous discussions on Māori identity (see Sibley and Houkamau 2013; Houkamau and Sibley 2018; Waitoki and McLachlan 2022), highlighting the dynamic negotiation of cultural messages among the artist, the viewer, and the broader social field. From a pedagogical standpoint, this perspective is crucial. Understanding the ways in which Hori’s practices, incorporating covered faces, juxtaposing Māori motifs with global slogans, and recontextualizing Indigenous symbolism, function as tools of decolonizing and identity formation offers valuable insights into how art can be employed as a medium for social, cultural, and educational change. These artistic strategies align with scholarship that underscores Indigenous art’s capacity to address sociopolitical complexities, reaffirm cultural sovereignty (Butts 2003; Marques et al. 2020; Mikaere et al. 2023), and cultivate critical consciousness within and beyond the Māori community

2. Theoretical Context

Postcolonialism, as understood in the spirit of works by Edward W. Said (1978), Frantz Fanon (1963), Homi K. Bhabha (1994), and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (1988), is not merely a reflection on the consequences of colonialism. It also involves contemplating the processes of creating and negotiating identities in relation to dominant narratives and power structures (Ashcroft et al. 2007, 2013; Young 2003). From this perspective, postcolonial theory seeks to illuminate how former colonies and Indigenous communities reclaim voice, agency, and cultural sovereignty in the aftermath of historical domination. As Bhabha (1994) points out, these identities are often shaped through hybridity, whereby local traditions intersect with, transform, or resist global discourses imposed by colonial or neo-colonial forces.

In the context of Indigenous art, postcolonial concerns become especially pressing, given that artistic expression frequently serves as a key site for rearticulating memory, regenerating cultural knowledge, and affirming collective subjectivity (Simpson 2017; Tuck and Yang 2012). Rather than remaining static echoes of “traditional” forms, Indigenous arts can actively challenge the hegemony of Western aesthetics by foregrounding local epistemologies and modes of visual communication (Diaz 2024). This is evident in many Pacific and Māori contexts, where artworks operate simultaneously as carriers of genealogical ties, markers of land-based identity, and platforms for political or environmental advocacy (Nishitani 2018; Somerville 2012).

Moreover, these postcolonial processes often unfold within a multilayered dynamic between local tradition and the global circulation of culture, and between the memory of the past and contemporary forms of visual representation (Stacey 2019; Appadurai 1996). For Indigenous artists, engaging with this dynamic may entail negotiating between historically grounded symbols such as whakapapa (genealogy) or tā moko (tattoo) and globally circulating idioms like street art or popular media. The resulting hybridity can give rise to a critical dialogue that questions colonial power relations while also forging new, transcultural spaces of meaning (Clifford 1997; García [1990] 2005).

Research by Linda Tuhiwai Smith (2012) and other scholars engaged in decolonizing research methodologies (e.g., Wilson 2008; Kovach 2009; Simpson 2017) emphasizes the necessity of incorporating conceptual frameworks and priorities inherent to Indigenous communities. In practice, this means that interpreting the work of Indigenous artists requires grounding the analysis in perspectives that account for local knowledge, symbolic patterns, and narratives meaningful to the community (Ellis 2016; Adams et al. 2013; Ellis et al. 2011). Integrating categories such as whenua (land), whakapapa (genealogy), and mana (spiritual force and authority) is essential for moving beyond a Eurocentric discourse on art toward an analysis founded on Indigenous epistemologies (Brown et al. 2024; Rogoff 2002).

A further key dimension arises from the concept of relationality, central to many Indigenous worldviews. This encompasses a holistic understanding of the relationships among people, non-human beings, ancestors, and the environment (Wilson 2008; Smith 2012). A decolonizing, postcolonial approach to Indigenous art thus not only looks for symbolic or aesthetic innovation but also attends to how artworks foster or reflect ongoing responsibilities, obligations, and ties within Indigenous communities (Pihama 2010; Simpson 2017). Consequently, any rigorous examination of Māori art, for instance, would need to consider the significance of marae (community spaces), iwi (tribal) structures, and the continuing legacies of Te Tiriti o Waitangi in shaping both the production and reception of visual works (Orange 2015).

By foregrounding the lived realities, historical grievances, and aspirational visions of Indigenous peoples, such an approach challenges reductive readings of Indigenous art as “exotic” or “traditional”. Instead, it underscores the potency of these creative practices as actively negotiating cultural survival, political agency, and collective memory in an ever-evolving postcolonial world.

2.1. Visual Culture and Hybrid Identities

By enriching these perspectives with insights from visual culture studies (Mitchell 2005; Berger 1972), one can conceptualize Māori works of art as active communicative agents co-creating discourse. Here, visuality is not regarded as a passive reflection of reality, but as a field of forces in which symbols, colours, inscriptions, and aesthetic forms function as vectors of meaning negotiated through processes of perception and interpretation (Rancière 2009; Lippard 1984). This idea resonates with Stuart Hall’s (1980) encoding/decoding model, suggesting that audiences may approach a message in dominant, negotiated, or oppositional ways. Māori arts, situated at the intersection of local and global cultural orders, can thus be viewed as polyphonic visual texts. Their interpretation may vary according to the viewers’ cultural, ideological, and geographical contexts (De Cauter et al. 2011; Clifford 1997; Ginsburg 1994).

Roland Barthes’s (1977) semiotic analysis further aids in distinguishing between denotation (what is depicted) and connotation (the cultural, symbolic, and ideological meanings an image evokes). Coupled with autoethnographic reflexivity, such an analytical framework underscores the importance of positioning oneself as a researcher by acknowledging personal experiences, biases, and epistemological limitations (Ellis et al. 2011; Adams et al. 2013). By adopting an autoethnographic stance, one concedes that the research process is not neutral but instead shaped by the scholar’s own cultural background. This reflexive awareness can be especially relevant in a postcolonial context, prompting a more cautious and respectful interpretation of Indigenous visual forms.

2.2. Integrating Mauri into a Postcolonial Visual Discourse

The theoretical context outlined above provides a conceptual foundation for examining how Indigenous art can function not merely as an aesthetic artefact, but also as a site where tradition, resistance, identity, and global art languages converge. Recognizing that a Māori artwork may be approached as a living subject, rather than a purely symbolic artefact, opens the door to deeper engagements that extend beyond semiotic decoding. The concept of mauri invites one to consider how art “acts” in the world forming connections with viewers, shaping collective memory, and participating in ongoing cultural dialogues (Mead 2016). This relational perspective aligns with broader postcolonial debates about power, resistance, and the capacity of Indigenous art to carve out alternative spaces of agency (Tłostanowa 2024). It also resonates with autoethnographic sensibilities, wherein the researcher’s emotional and experiential encounters become integral to understanding the artwork’s dynamic presence.

By clarifying Hori’s background, noting his self-branding as HORI, and situating his creative output within Māori epistemologies (including the pivotal notion of mauri), this present study aims to illustrate how an Indigenous artist negotiates both local cultural imperatives and international activist idioms. In subsequent sections, these frameworks will serve as the basis for analyzing specific visual strategies and potential interpretive outcomes, thereby illuminating a multifaceted dialogue between Māori traditions and transnational currents of resistance.

2.3. Historiography, Resistance, and Cultural Transformations

Māori culture in Aotearoa/New Zealand is distinguished by a rich and multifaceted history grounded in strong ties to the land (whenua), extensive genealogical networks (whakapapa), and spiritual and social values (mana, tapu). As the first inhabitants of these islands, the Māori developed a unique system of knowledge, mythology, and artistic practices anchored in their relationship with the natural environment, familial bonds, and a shared historical memory.

The earliest Māori–European contacts date back to the late 18th century, and 19th-century British colonization initiated a complex process of social, political, and economic change (Orange 2015). The Treaty of Waitangi (Te Tiriti o Waitangi) of 1840, though regarded as the nation’s founding document, became the subject of enduring interpretive and legal disputes. These disputes led to imbalances in access to land, resources, and social opportunities for the Māori (Ward 1999; Belich 2001). Postcolonial realities in Ao-tearoa/New Zealand involve a multigenerational Māori effort to restore agency, cultural sovereignty, and the preservation of language and traditions.

Contemporary movements are aimed at revitalizing Māori culture, such as the revival of the te reo Māori language, a renaissance in the visual arts and crafts, and endeavours toward equitable settlements of land issues, provide the backdrop for situating Hori’s artistic practice (Thomas 1999). Narratives of ancestors, complex genealogies (whakapapa), and enduring relationships with the natural environment (whenua) influence the artist’s creative process. In his works, one can discern both the need to be rooted in the local community and a willingness to engage in dialogue with global forms of visual protest and activist art languages.

2.4. The Cultural Significance of Land, Genealogy, and Spiritual Values

In the Māori worldview, the land (whenua) is not a resource to be exploited but a living space closely intertwined with the community’s identity and spirituality (Kāretu and Milroy 2018; Harmsworth et al. 2013). Whakapapa genealogy is the key to understanding relationships among humans, non-human beings, and the natural environment. It is a structure that links ancestors, present members of an iwi (tribe), and future generations in an inseparable network of interdependence and obligations. The concepts of mana and tapu, in turn, express conceptualizations of spiritual power and authority, as well as the sacredness of certain places, objects, or practices. Contemporary Māori art including street art, graffiti, and various visual projects often references these concepts, using them as a starting point for narratives of resistance, memory, and cultural regeneration (Ellis 2016; Pihama 2010).

Operating in Ōtaki, a locale known for its strong commitment to Māori education, heritage preservation, and cultural development, Hori draws on this reservoir of symbols and narratives. Although firmly grounded in the aesthetic of contemporary visual art, his works remain in close dialogue with the local context.

Rather than seeing his paintings, murals, or installations as mere representations, a Māori framework invites us to consider them as living entities capable of “speaking” and interacting with both local and global audiences (Morgan 2006). This relational view of art deepens my understanding of how artist practice sustains and regenerates Māori cultural values by creating visual expressions that do not simply depict Māori symbols but also activate them as vibrant components of ongoing community life.

Ōtaki, with its Māori university, community institutions, and a historically significant church, constitutes a space where tradition, spirituality, and postcolonial issues intersect. In this environment, Hori himself can combine elements drawn from Māori culture with influences from global artistic movements (Beri 2019; Ruru 2008).

2.5. Matariki and Contemporary Socio-Cultural Identity

Festivals and rites of renewal such as Matariki, which is the traditional Māori New Year celebrated upon the appearance of a particular constellation, play a significant role in shaping contemporary Māori identity. During Matariki there is heightened reflection on heritage, ancestral history, and intracommunity relationships. This is a time when values such as manaakitanga (hospitality, care for others) and kaitiakitanga (responsibility for protecting the environment and cultural heritage) are particularly emphasized. During this period, in Ōtaki, one can see how the artist’s practices intertwine with the living traditions of the community. The influence of the celebrations, symbols, and narratives associated with Matariki on Hori’s work helps us to understand how deeply local cultural contexts shape the forms and meanings of his art.

Art as a medium of visual decolonization (Beri 2019), through which Indigenous communities assert their presence, knowledge, and rights, can simultaneously express opposition to policies of domination or assimilation. In Hori’s case, the presence of Māori symbols, references to local history, and the emphasis on relationships with the natural environment go hand in hand with the reworking of global codes of activist art, such as the inspirations drawn from Shepard Fairey or the aesthetics of street art, placing them within the framework of Indigenous identity.

Which is why from a Māori standpoint the cycle of renewal embodied by Matariki can be linked to the idea that each artwork carries its own maurian autonomous capacity to inspire, challenge, or converse with those who encounter it (Mead 2016).

3. Methodology

3.1. Postcolonial Methodological Frameworks and Decolonizing Perspectives

At the initial stage, I familiarized myself with postcolonial literature (Bhabha 1994; Spivak 1988; Smith 2012) and works dedicated to the decolonization of research methodologies (Wilson 2008; Kovach 2009). I analyzed the tenets of these publications to understand how to avoid imposing Eurocentric interpretations on the cultural phenomena of an Indigenous community. I emphasized the significance of categories such as whakapapa, whenua, and mana, understanding them not as exotic curiosities, but as integral elements of Māori epistemology. This perspective provided a starting point for incorporating local contexts, paying due respect to the internal frameworks of meaning in Hori’s art.

Furthermore, reflecting on Indigenous frameworks entails acknowledging that a Māori artwork can be regarded as having its own mauri an intrinsic vitality or life force (Mead 2016; Salmond 1978). Recognizing mauri shifts the researcher’s stance from a purely objectifying perspective (subject–object) to a more relational one (subject–subject), in which the artwork is not just a static cultural artefact but an active participant in the research process. In practice, this implies that while I aim to avoid Eurocentric or exoticizing interpretations, I also strive to engage with Hori’s pieces as entities capable of “speaking” within their local context. Such a perspective is consistent with decolonizing methodologies that foreground Indigenous ontologies of connectivity and relationality (Henry and Wofgramm 2015; Smith 2012).

I prepared notes from selected theoretical texts, creating a list of key concepts and principles to keep in mind while interpreting Hori’s works. I related these concepts to possible symbols in his pieces (for example, themes of land, genealogy, or spiritual authority). In practice, this means that a researcher or viewer does not remain an external observer but rather enters into a relational encounter with the piece, recognizing it as a subject rather than an inert object. Such an approach also resonates with decolonizing methodologies (Smith 2012), which stress the importance of embracing Indigenous ontologies, foregrounding the interconnectedness of people, environment, and artistic expressions.

3.2. Visual Analysis an Interdisciplinary Approach

The central tool in my study is visual analysis, synthesizing approaches from visual culture studies, semiotics, and cultural communication theory. I employed visual analysis strategies proposed by Roland Barthes’s (1977) semiotics and Stuart Hall’s (1980) encoding/decoding theory.

The works for analysis were selected during a visit to Hori’s gallery in July 2023. They feature Māori symbols and elements indicating inspiration from Shepard Fairey. I first conducted a denotative description of the chosen works, considering composition, colour, form, and the presence of text. Next, I identified cultural and symbolic connotations, linking Māori art motifs with references to global practices of “artivism”. For instance, when I observed an image depicting a face covered by a red cloth with the word “OBEY”, I asked myself what meanings might lie behind this motif in the context of postcolonial resistance. How would those outside the Māori culture interpret this, and how would members of the local community perceive it?

Applying Barthes’s (1977) concepts of denotation and connotation allowed me to build a bridge between a surface-level observation (what is in the picture) and an interpretation grounded in a specific cultural and historical context. This revealed how local identity codes and international strategies of visual protest interweave in Hori’s works, making meaning subject to ongoing processes of reinterpretation both within the local environment and in the transnational circulation of socially engaged art. Having compiled a list of possible meanings, I examined how they might be encoded by the artist and decoded by various audiences:

Dominant reading—How might someone unfamiliar with the Māori or postcolonial context interpret this image? Would they detect the criticism of power, or see it primarily as aesthetic experimentation?

Negotiated reading—How might a member of the local community, familiar with Māori contexts, partially agree with the artist’s message while adapting it to their own experiences?

Oppositional reading—Who and why might completely reject the message in the work, treating it as irrelevant, too radical, or incomprehensible?

While my visual analysis relies on semiotic and cultural communication theories (Barthes 1977; Hall 1980), I remain mindful that Māori art cannot be fully encapsulated by models of encoding and decoding alone. In line with the Māori concept of mauri, the artwork holds a relational agency, prompting me to consider not only what the piece “means” but also how it acts or “addresses” viewers (Morgan 2006). Thus, each stage of the denotative and connotative analysis is accompanied by a reflective awareness of the artwork’s capacity to elicit interaction rather than merely submit to interpretation. This approach steers me away from a rigid, static reading and closer to a dialogical mode of engagement.

3.3. Reflexive Autoethnography

A one-month stay in Ōtaki, direct encounters with the artist, and conversations with the local community created conditions conducive to a more sensitive and reflective analytical approach. Although my perspective shares certain features with autoethnography, specifically the integration of personal experience and emotional insight (Ellis et al. 2011; Adams et al. 2013), I do not position myself as an insider studying my own community. Rather, I adopt a reflexive ethnographic stance that acknowledges my position as an external observer who, nonetheless, brings a personal history shaped by Poland’s experiences of cultural resistance.

As someone who grew up in Poland, a country marked by centuries of resistance, assimilation, and efforts to preserve identity I approach Hori’s works through a lens coloured by my own biography. During Poland’s solidarity movement, for instance, I personally witnessed expressions of protest, hope, and collective agency that resonate with certain themes in Hori’s art (though the cultural and historical contexts obviously differ). My emotional and intellectual responses to Hori’s works therefore emerge from a cross-cultural encounter rather than an insider perspective (Burns et al. 2024).

This reflexive approach means I recognize that my interpretation is shaped by my positionality, and that my values, emotions, and cultural context are analytical resources, not obstacles. At the same time, I remain aware that I am not a permanent resident of Ōtaki or a member of the Māori community. Hence, this study does not constitute a full autoethnography as described in works like Ellis et al. (2011), where the researcher explores their own lived reality from within. Instead, I integrate elements of autoethnographic reflection such as disclosing personal background and subjective resonance with the artwork into a broader ethnographic framework that respects the distance between myself and the community under study.

Reflexive autoethnography also encourages critical reflection on ethics and research responsibility. In examining Hori’s art, I ask myself how I am using knowledge about Māori culture, whether I risk exoticizing it, or if I am perpetuating power inequalities embedded in the global discourse about Indigenous peoples. Aware of these dangers, I strive for an ethical, respectful engagement, acknowledging my own epistemic limitations, adopting a stance of epistemological humility (Smith 2012) and appreciating the dialogic nature of interpretation in a postcolonial context.

By treating the artwork as capable of “speaking” in line with the notion of mauri, I enter into a relational dynamic that can challenge or reshape my interpretive frames. This resonates with critical, decolonizing principles (Smith 2012; Kovach 2009), which stress humility, reciprocity, and respect for Indigenous visual knowledge, even (or especially) from an outsider’s viewpoint.

3.4. Triangulation of Sources and Theories and Quality Control of Interpretations

To maintain the credibility of the results, I employed triangulation, combining various theoretical approaches and sources: postcolonial literature, studies on Indigenous art, visual culture theory, and my own field research notes. I compared interpretations arising from semiotics and encoding/decoding theory with insights drawn from postcolonial perspectives and from my observations in Ōtaki. I also checked for publications on Māori art and similar creative practices (for example, in the Journal of New Zealand Studies) to confirm that my interpretations align with conclusions reached by other researchers or with artists’ own accounts. When I encountered discrepancies, I revised my interpretations, incorporating new data as needed.

I analyzed each image following a structured approach:

• A denotative description.
• Identification of symbolic, cultural, and political connotations.
• Comparison of visual codes with local and global contexts.
• Reflection on my role in the interpretation process, examining how local knowledge and global artistic influences shape the reading of the work.

3.5. Ethical Considerations

Ethical considerations were a priority throughout the research. In line with decolonizing methodologies, I strove to respect cultural property, avoid instrumentalizing local content, and remain sensitive to community concerns (Williams et al. 2018; Simpson 2017). My approach rejects the exploitation of Indigenous cultural representations purely for academic purposes, aiming instead at dialogue and mutual respect. Whenever possible, I sought guidance from local interlocutors, particularly Hori, regarding acceptable ways to present and discuss his artwork. I also ensured that he was informed of my scholarly intentions and that he consented to my photographing of certain pieces for this study.

Such an approach does not preclude critical analysis. Rather, it forms the framework within which one can appreciate the multiplicity of meanings emerging from Hori’s works. Moreover, by integrating mauri into the interpretive process, I recognize that triangulation involves more than simply cross-checking sources: it also demands openness to the artwork’s agency and potential to shape the inquiry (Henry and Wofgramm 2015). My goal is not absolute objectivity, but a responsible, reflexive negotiation of meaning that acknowledges both the local logic of symbols and my external positionality.

I am aware that such a reflexive, postcolonial approach cannot guarantee complete neutrality. The greatest challenge lies in achieving a deep understanding of Māori cultural codes and avoiding over-interpretation, particularly given my outsider status. Nevertheless, by practicing reflexivity, triangulation, and referencing reliable scholarly sources, I endeavour to minimize these risks and create the most ethically sound and contextually sensitive environment for analyzing Hori’s work.

4. Hori and Māori Cultural Heritage

Background and Branding Hori

While the theoretical perspective provides a broader postcolonial and decolonizing framework, the artistic context itself remains crucial to this study. Hohepa Thompson, widely known by the pseudonym Hori, is a New Zealand artist, activist, and educator of Māori heritage. He was born and raised in Ōtaki on the Kāpiti Coast, where he had early exposure to the te reo Māori language. Although his upbringing took place within a community strongly rooted in Māori traditions, his school years in a setting dominated by Pākehā (people of European descent) were marked by a lack of acceptance and a sense of alienation due to his background. As a result, in his fourth year of high school, he decided to give up both his te reo Māori studies and his participation in a traditional kapa haka group (RNZ 2023b).

Only years later, after leaving his hometown and travelling extensively abroad, Thompson realized that Māori culture sparked considerable interest and admiration outside of New Zealand. This prompted him to return to his roots and rebuild his cultural identity (RNZ 2023a).

A significant thread in Thompson’s biography is his adoption of the pseudonym “Hori”. During his school days, this term was used pejoratively and disparagingly to describe Māori students. Today, Thompson deliberately reclaims it as his artistic moniker, transforming its negative connotations into a tool of expression and social provocation (RNZ 2023a, 2023b). In doing so, he undertakes a process of “reclaiming” his identity from rejection and shame to pride in belonging to the Māori culture. This process culminated in 2012 with the founding of the HORI brand, which combines art, design, and clothing to draw attention to key social issues affecting both the Māori community and all of New Zealand.

From a research perspective, this is a pivotal phenomenon because it illustrates how adverse experiences can be reformulated into creative force and socio-cultural engagement. For analyses focused on Māori identity, the reclamation of a derogatory nickname as an artistic emblem serves as an example of decolonizing not only the public sphere but also one’s own mindset. The transformation of the word “Hori” into a positive symbol underscores the ongoing processes in contemporary socially engaged art, aimed at recovering both language and cultural heritage.

In February 2022, with the support of the Māori Economic Development Fund, Thompson opened a new creative space, The Hori Gallery, along with The Church Café in Ōtaki Beach. This venue is dedicated not only to artistic activities but also to the active involvement of the local community through practices grounded in tikanga Māori. Thompson notes that the café is an integral part of the gallery, established to foster a sense of community, share Māori culture, and provide an opportunity for direct engagement with the creative process. Some of the activities here operate on a koha (gift or donation) basis, breaking away from a purely commercial model and enabling local residents to learn about Māori culture in a less formal environment (Ōtaki Today 2022).

5. Analysis of Selected Works by Hori

5.1. Art as a Tool for Social Change

From a Māori perspective, interpreting art requires acknowledgment of mauri, an inner life force or vitality that endows an artwork with its own agency (Mead 2016). This outlook challenges purely objectifying approaches, which regard artworks solely as texts to be decoded or visual documents to be analyzed. Instead, Māori epistemologies view the artwork as an active participant in cultural life, capable of “speaking” and interacting with both creator and audience (Butts 2003).

By employing diverse forms of artistic expression from graphic design and installations to performance and a social media presence, Thompson sparks discussion on key social phenomena in New Zealand. His artistic activities focus particularly on issues of colonization, Māori–Pākehā relations, and the challenges associated with co-governance.

One example of this practice is the show “The Māori Elite Show,” in which Thompson addresses co-governance, a concept often misunderstood or deemed controversial in New Zealand’s public discourse. The artist emphasizes kotahitanga (community) and the importance of collective decision-making among different social groups, especially regarding land and water resource management. He describes this stance as a process of “decolonizing the mind,” wherein colonial narratives are set aside in favour of a perspective rooted in Māori values. The performance responds to anti-co-governance sentiments voiced in public debates, while also aiming to inform a broader audience about the necessity of collaboration between governmental institutions and Indigenous communities.

Another example of Thompson’s active artistic engagement occurred in 2021, when the Kāpiti Coast District Council received a complaint about te reo Māori stickers placed on trash bins in Ōtaki. According to Thompson, the creator of the stickers, the core issue was not graffiti but entrenched racist attitudes (RNZ 2023a, 2023b). This case illustrates how art can serve an educational and mobilizing function, drawing public attention to social inequalities and fostering collective action.

In 2022, Thompson took part in TEDx Kāpiti, where, drawing on his personal experiences of reclaiming cultural identity, he highlighted the power of art as a tool for social change (TEDx Kāpiti 2022). This conference allowed him to reach a diverse audience, both within New Zealand and internationally, spotlighting the need for intercultural education and the importance of values like dialogue and community.

In June 2023, Thompson carried out an art project in which he created footballs in the colours symbolic of tino rangatiratanga (Māori sovereignty). Through this unconventional mode of communication, he called attention to the risks posed by the political instrumentalization of Māori culture, while also opposing the commercialization and use of its elements without a proper understanding of their cultural context (YouTube 2023).

Then, in July 2023, Thompson (Hori) appeared at the M9 event, where his talk, “He toi whakairo, he mana tangata Without Māori art, who are we?” explored the significance of Māori art in shaping cultural identity. He stressed that art not only reflects culture but also reinforces a sense of belonging and pride among the Māori community. He further highlighted the need for collective action to preserve and promote traditional art forms, which are an integral component of Māori heritage (YouTube 2023).

These examples demonstrate how art ranging from performances to public interventions can be utilized to educate, combat prejudice, and initiate dialogue across diverse social groups. In Māori thought, each artwork possesses its own mauri, serving as a foundation for perceiving art as an active participant in cultural and social processes. Thompson’s artistic practice is firmly situated within this concept, merging traditional Māori values with modern activism.

5.2. “Shot Bey vs. Obey” the Metaphor of a Covered Face and the Visualization of Resistance

One of Hori’s most characteristic works features the artist with a partially covered face, holding a self-portrait. The poster depicts a face covered by a red cloth bearing the inscription “SHO” (vertically) and “BEY” (horizontally), a transformation of the word “OBEY,” which is strongly associated with Shepard Fairey’s oeuvre (Figure 1). This device situates the composition in a dialogue with the global language of activist art, while allowing Hori to introduce local cultural codes.

The aesthetic of the work, based on the dominant colours of black, white, and red, draws from the tradition of posters and street art (Fairey 2010). The simplified colour palette facilitates memorability of the motif and supports the reproduction of its ideas in various contexts. The composition, featuring a centrally placed face and a rectangular frame, evokes formats employed by Fairey in his “Obey Giant” project, among others. This resemblance establishes a bridge between the local message and a globally recognizable style, granting the piece an additional layer as a transnational communiqué.

When I first saw this work, I was struck not only by its formal similarity to well-known critical political posters around the world, but also by the intense, almost hypnotic gaze behind the cloth. This gesture creates tension between what is visible (the artist’s eyes, the gaze) and what is hidden (the lower part of the face, literal identity). In the postcolonial context and the lived experiences of Indigenous communities in Aotearoa/New Zealand, covering the face can be interpreted as a visual metaphor for protecting one’s identity from colonial surveillance and symbolic control. In this way, the work becomes a field of negotiation between a history of domination and oppression and the need to assert subjectivity. Viewed from this perspective, Hori’s piece fits into practices of visual decolonization, wherein art functions as a tool of resistance, narrative reclamation, and the creation of alternative symbolic spaces.

In the context of Indigenous communities’ art, colonial experiences, and visual decolonization practices, covering the lower part of the face can be understood as a symbol of safeguarding identity, resisting external control, and attempting to break free from imposed representational frameworks. This tactic also appears in Hori’s other works, though in less literal forms. In pieces featuring children (described elsewhere in this article), identity is not covered but rather emphasized through simple slogans and gestures that foster a sense of agency and hope. In “Shot bey vs. Obey”, however, we see a more direct challenge to dominant visual codes: covering the face not only protects against the colonizing “other’s” gaze but also forces the viewer to reflect on whose perspective has historically been silenced.

Intense eye contact with the viewer compels a confrontation with the artwork’s message. The gaze from behind the covering can convey determination, resistance, and an ironic question: “How do you interpret my message?” as well as “Do you understand the relations of power and the historical conditions that have shaped me?” Depending on the cultural competence and knowledge of the viewer about Indigenous communities, this confrontation can be understood in different ways.

The “OBEY” inscription, deliberately distorted into “SHO BEY,” serves as a semantic key. Fairey used “OBEY” to comment on obedience, consumerism, and the power of media messaging. By modifying this slogan, Hori references a globally recognizable code while simultaneously giving it new, locally grounded meanings. This gesture suggests a refusal to succumb to uniform patterns and reinforces the idea of visual decolonization: a global symbol of authority and control is reclaimed and transformed into a medium of individual and collective emancipation.

The meaning of the piece varies depending on the viewer’s background and interpretive competencies. Someone unfamiliar with the local context may see a universal commentary on the forces shaping obedience and rebellion, whether in the context of global power relations or common patterns of consumerism. On the other hand, a viewer aware of the Māori colonial experience might read the covered face and the altered slogan as an ironic and sophisticated act of resistance rooted in the specific postcolonial realities of Aotearoa/New Zealand.

At this point, it is worth returning to my perspective as a visitor and researcher interested in Hori’s work, because I could not free myself from associations with my own cultural history. In Poland, we have a long tradition of resistance against external domination, multiple partitions, struggles for national liberation, and periods of restricted freedom. Growing up in an environment where the memory of lost sovereignty and ongoing efforts to preserve cultural identity were pivotal, I do not perceive Hori’s artwork merely as an exotic message from a geographically distant context. Rather, I see it as a universal manifestation of the concern for maintaining one’s own language, symbols, and narratives. Given my awareness of Polish historical experiences, engaging with Hori’s works constitutes a special kind of emotional and cognitive dialogue. Images of Polish underground cultural activity and oppositional posters from the communist era spring to mind—subtle symbols that expressed dissent against imposed narratives. I perceive not merely an exotic communiqué from a distant world; I hear echoes of Polish history, including covert opposition activities, the cultural sustaining of community spirit, and the quiet and overt struggle for the right to self-determination.

From my viewpoint, Hori’s image becomes a metaphor not only of Māori resistance but also of a universal concern for preserving one’s own language, symbols, and values. In this way, Hori’s art transcends local boundaries and connects with other social experiences, including my own. As a result, the analysis is not purely theoretical research into a distant culture, but also a deeply authentic experience in which collective memory intertwines with the narrative contained in the Māori artist’s works. Hence, I am convinced that Hori’s image functions as a polyphonic text open to negotiated readings. It constitutes a space for dialogue among various cultures, histories, and epistemologies, from asking universal questions about power and identity, through the Māori colonial experience, to analogies intelligible to observers from other parts of the world.

Hori’s art underscores that visual communication is not one dimensional. The covered face reminds me of situations in which artists and dissidents in my own country had to conceal their identities or encode their messages in order to survive and continue expressing their dissent against domination. The inscription “SHO BEY”, as I understand it, is a bold gesture: a signal that a globalized slogan (OBEY) can be redefined mockingly and critically dismantled before being reintroduced into circulation. In this way, Hori exposes the illusion of the inevitability of obedience and shows that art can serve as a tool affirming the existence of alternative symbolic orders.

The diversity of interpretations highlights the power of art as a medium capable of provoking reflection and building bridges between local and global experiences, historical and contemporary contexts, as well as aesthetic and political realms.

5.3. Motifs of Children, Hearts, and Nature Strategies of Affective Communication

Another group of Hori’s works clearly differs from the compositions rooted in visual decolonization through strong, confrontational symbolism (as in the case of the covered face). Here, children take centre stage, and their representations convey a simple yet powerfully affirming message. In the analyzed depictions (Figure 2), we see on the left a boy holding a sign reading “B O You have heaps of potential,” and on the right a girl dressed in traditional Māori attire raising pennants that carry a straightforward message of kindness and acceptance. These seemingly banal messages which utilise linguistic shortcuts and direct, positive phrases become vehicles of cultural values, a visual incarnation of care, nurturance, and responsibility.

On the denotative level, these images are simple and clear: a neutral background, a frontal perspective, and the absence of elaborate scenery. The minimalist form directs the viewer’s attention to the children themselves and the words accompanying them. On the connotative level, however, the presence of young protagonists takes on a deeper significance. In Māori contexts, children symbolize the future, the continuity of lineages (whakapapa), and the responsibility to pass on knowledge, values, and relationships with the whenua (land) to subsequent generations (Rarere 2022). In this sense, the boy holding the sign with an affirming message is more than just an educational slogan as he embodies a locally grounded call to recognize the potential inherent in the community and its young members. Similarly, the girl with pennants not only expresses kindness but also evokes the values of manaakitanga (care, hospitality) and kaitiakitanga (responsibility for the environment and ancestral legacy), emphasizing that interpersonal relationships and our attitude toward nature are key to a harmonious future (Smith 2012).

The simplicity of the message, the image of children, and the legible statements attract not only local viewers, but also audiences unfamiliar with Aotearoa/New Zealand. These motifs do not require specialized knowledge of local history to evoke emotions; a sincere smile, an innocent gaze, and simple words can operate at an affective level, invoking universal associations with hope, care, and growth (Ellis 2016). At the same time, an awareness of the postcolonial context reinforces the impact of this message.

In this guise, Hori’s works are not merely posters with a positive tone, but part of a continuous process of negotiating identity and cultural sovereignty. Just as the covered face in the previous analysis served visual decolonization, here the depiction of children and their potential becomes a form of “soft” cultural education, reminding us of the need to transmit values, build lasting relationships, and support the younger generation in resisting colonial narratives.

In my own cultural context, the innocence of children and the message of supporting the younger generation remind me of a long tradition of education through art, literature, and symbolism. I recall how, during Poland’s period of political transformation, posters, books, and educational programmes emphasized the need to build a different future, free from the oppressive past. Hori’s works speak to me because I recognize in them the same hope and belief in the power of grassroots initiatives, which begin with the youngest shaping their imagination, character, and social responsibility. This is a profoundly emotional experience for me as these images bring back memories of conversations with my grandparents, who spoke of difficult times in Polish history and the necessity of passing on values and care to subsequent generations. In this sense, Hori’s art is not merely an exotic visual curiosity from a distant country, but a catalyst for memories and reflections on my own heritage. This encounter between Māori culture and my Polish experience shows that the ideas of care, responsibility, and shaping a better future can form a common language, understandable across geographic distances and historical contexts.

In this way, Hori’s art becomes a link connecting worlds that are geographically distant but close in terms of ideals and emotional resonance, encouraging reflection on how visual strategies from the metaphor of a covered face to images brimming with warmth shape our sensitivity to other cultures, histories, and futures.

Referring to the literature on Indigenous communities and decolonization (Smith 2012; Kovach 2009; Simpson 2017), one can see that representations presenting children presented as active carriers of values integrate visual culture with knowledge-making practices and relationships founded on respect. In Māori concepts of cultural heritage, the young are not only the future but also active participants in the present, to be cared for and trusted, as cultural continuity is placed in their hands. All this means that simple slogans like “You have heaps of potential” are not merely motivational encouragements, but part of a deeper narrative about intergenerational relationships rooted in epistemologies of resistance and care.

In Hori’s works, the children, hearts, and references to nature form a strategic affective message that is both accessible to a broad audience and deeply embedded in local concepts of social and ecological responsibility.

5.4. The Significance of Matariki, Niho, and the Postcolonial Context

Matariki, the appearance of the Pleiades cluster in the sky is a special time in the Māori calendar, has been officially recognized as a public holiday in Aotearoa/New Zealand since 2022. This period, filled with spiritual renewal and reflection on the relationships linking past, present, and future, as well as the emphasis on ancestral ties (whakapapa) and the land (whenua), is not merely a theoretical category for me. This year, I had the opportunity to personally participate in Matariki celebrations, experiencing the atmosphere of a festival that harmoniously combines contemplative silence with the power of collective affirmation. It was an encounter with culture and with my own emotions, for during this special time I felt how crucial it is to redefine one’s relationship with the past in the name of shaping the future.

In Hori’s work, Matariki becomes a catalyst for visual and symbolic strategies that highlight the need to strengthen the position of Māori communities in dialogue with state institutions. In conversations with the artist, the key term that emerged was niho (teeth), invoked in the context of taniwha mythical beings personifying power, protection, and agency. Kaua E Noho Puniho (“let us not hide our teeth”) here signifies a call to abandon cautious reserve. From a postcolonial perspective, in which art serves as a tool of visual decolonization, this is an appeal to boldly articulate one’s own expectations and visions of the future. “Showing teeth” is thus not merely a symbol of aggression but a metaphor for stepping out of defensiveness and making a courageous declaration of subjectivity.

While contemplating the “Ngā Niho Ō Matariki” series, I could not help noticing that the black-and-white, geometric aesthetic and the repetition of motifs evoke deeply rooted cultural codes. In Māori tradition, visual symbols, including ornamentation and tattoos (tā moko), have been and remain carriers of history, genealogy, and their worldview (Ellis 2016). Tattoos, unlike more ephemeral forms of expression, constitute a permanent record on the body, underscoring one’s belonging to an iwi (tribe), one’s relationships with ancestors, and the knowledge passed down through generations. Contemporary artistic practices, such as Hori’s art, often reference the significance of tā moko; ornaments, lines, and shapes transferred onto paper or canvas become a visual extension of what was once inscribed directly on the body. Of course, images do not replace tattoos, but in a certain sense they recall them, suggesting that historical and cultural memory can also be preserved through other media while still remaining a form of commitment to one’s ancestors.

As an outsider, I find the visual references in the pennant (Figure 3) evoking traditional Māori tattoo patterns and ornamental symbolism deeply moving. During Matariki, as I observed people participating in ceremonies, I noticed subtle details and ornamental fragments on clothing, jewellery, and sometimes on their skin in the form of contemporary tā moko. In these moments, I understood how strongly visual symbolism is intertwined with identity, history, and values. These tattoos are like archives, records of knowledge and relationships, reminding us that each member of the community is a bearer of narratives encoded in both body and memory.

Analyzing Hori’s works in the context of Matariki, niho, and the longing for sovereign identity makes it impossible not to relate them to my own experiences. I come from a country where local culture’s voice has often been silenced by imposed external frameworks and power structures. My memories return to images and stories of resistance, where symbols, though not in the form of tattoos but rather secret signs, posters, graphics, and slogans, played a key role in maintaining a sense of distinctiveness and sovereignty. This parallel ensures that Hori’s art is not merely an exotic curiosity for me, but a profound emotional and cognitive experience. By combining the Māori metaphors of niho, taniwha, whakapapa, and whenua with the concepts of Matariki, the artist succeeds in creating a universal language of empowerment and challenge that also resonates with my own Polish experiences of seeking freedom and self-determination. Just as tattoos record history on the skin, participation in Matariki celebrations, engaging with Hori’s works, and an awareness of Māori concepts of resistance and ancestral bonds leave a lasting imprint on my experience as a researcher and as someone attuned to cultural subtleties.

The visual aspects of the works shown in Figure 3 are characterized by a black-and-white aesthetic featuring prominently geometric, symmetrical forms. This stylistic approach references the Māori tradition of ornamentation, in which abstract motifs, though devoid of explicit landscapes or ancestral figures, carry culturally coded meanings. These patterns can be interpreted as symbolic records of ancestral ties, confirmation of local values, and affirmation of epistemological independence. Their repetitive nature (for instance, on printed fabrics or flags) transforms these compositions into not just the artist’s individual creation, but also a collective declaration of identity and unity. In this way, Hori’s art constructs a space not for passive reception, but for mobilizing and consolidating the community, particularly in the context of Matariki which is a time of renewal and reflection.

Invocations of niho and taniwha, as well as the call to “show teeth” to the government, can be read through a postcolonial lens of visual analysis as a strategy of visual decolonization (Riwai-Couch 2022). Like in his other works, Hori reclaims control over visual and symbolic language, employing both local cultural codes and the season of Matariki to signal the necessity of strengthening the position of Māori communities. In this perspective, art becomes a tool for negotiating identity and power, a place where viewers regardless of their own origins can perceive a multilayered dialogue between local needs and the global discourse on the right to self-determination.

From the standpoint of an external researcher, aware of both local realities and universal themes of resistance to hegemonic power, Hori’s works during Matariki take on the character of a dialogue, a struggle for freedom, and the preservation of cultural heritage. Coming from a context shaped by Polish historical experiences, I find in these works a voice that recalls the value of maintaining a firm stance against dominant narratives, revealing art’s universal potential as a means of cultivating and strengthening sovereign identity.

Ultimately, Hori’s “Ngā Niho Ō Matariki” series expands the existing image of Hori’s oeuvre, merging local codes and global forms of visual protest into a powerful, multidimensional message. Through metaphorical references to teeth (niho), the power of taniwha, the significance of Matariki, and the concept of wero (challenge), the artist motivates active confrontation of political and symbolic domination. As a result, Hori’s art emerges not only as a continuation of Māori traditions, but also as a transnational language in which resistance, identity, and reflection on the past come together in a coherent yet open-ended communicative act.

6. Discussion

The analysis of Hori’s work from postcolonial, visual, and autoethnographic perspectives reveals the complexity of interpreting artistic creations situated within a specific cultural and historical context. In this study, the key factor was the combination of visual analysis with attentiveness to meanings rooted in Māori epistemology, such as whakapapa, whenua, and mana, as well as references to postcolonialism, visual decolonization, and artistic strategies aimed at preserving, strengthening, and negotiating the identities of Indigenous communities. Within this framework, Hori’s art proved to be both a carrier of local codes and an element of the transnational discourse of socially engaged art.

The inclusion of an autoethnographic dimension confirmed the importance of disclosing the researcher’s position and understanding how their own experiences, history, emotions, and beliefs influence the interpretive process. Recognizing this fact played a crucial role in avoiding a naïve universalism that could lead to exoticizing Māori meanings or reducing local cultural codes to superficial exemplifications. Instead, the autoethnographic perspective enabled a deeper understanding of the dialogic nature of interpretation as a process in which the researcher is not an arbiter of meanings but a co-creator, responding to historical, cultural, and personal contexts.

Incorporating a Polish historical–cultural perspective highlighted the universal dimension of concepts such as resistance, identity negotiation, and agency. The encounter with Hori’s work demonstrated that although it is rooted in a Māori context and entangled in the postcolonial realities of New Zealand, this art can engage audiences from beyond that region, bridging different narratives and experiences. Such transnational intertwining allow one to see Hori’s creations not only as examples of local, socially engaged art but also as an important part of the global discourse on cultural sovereignty, memory, power, and responsibility.

The theoretical and methodological tools employed, such as references to semiotics (Barthes 1977), encoding and decoding theory (Hall 1980), postcolonial studies (Bhabha, Spivak, Smith), and autoethnography (Ellis et al. 2011), proved effective in capturing the multilayered nature of the interpreted material. They demonstrated that art can function as a dynamic medium of negotiating meanings, a battleground of various epistemologies and values, as well as a space reflecting tensions between tradition and modernity, local and global contexts, and aesthetics and politics.

In the context of discussions about the role of contemporary Indigenous art in decolonization processes and the construction of cultural identity, the analyses presented here confirm that Hori’s work is one of many voices in a broader chorus of artistic practices. These practices are not limited to paintings but also encompassing performance, installations, street art, and participatory activities often contribute to creating alternative historical and symbolic narratives. Art becomes a tool for redefining power relations, formulating demands, and affirming Māori culture within a global circulation of ideas.

This discussion thus leads to the conclusion that the interpretation of Hori’s art, when subjected to autoethnographic reflection and placed within interdisciplinary theoretical frameworks, not only reveals the works’ ambiguity but also underscores the active role of art in contemporary socio-cultural processes.

Hori’s creations, whether portraits featuring the word “OBEY” or depictions of children, are based on a dialogue between local cultural codes and the global languages of protest and activist art. Visual analysis reveals that Māori codes (patterns and references to genealogy and land) do not function in isolation here but are reworked within a global context, in which a name like Fairey has become a reference point for artistic commentary on politics, identity, and power (Kester 2011; Thompson 2012).

Hori develops his own visual strategy, combining Māori epistemologies with universal motifs of activist art. The resulting visual language is subject to constant negotiation from the two following perspectives:

• For local audiences, it can serve as a reminder of the need to strengthen identity and resist historical and contemporary hegemony.
• For global audiences, these images can function as examples of the transnational circulation of protest ideas and socially engaged art, in which Indigenous perspectives are used to challenge dominant narratives (Clifford 1997; Mirzoeff 2023).

Hori creates works that can be “read” in different ways depending on the viewer’s cultural capital, their knowledge of Māori history, postcolonial power asymmetries, and the global art market. The artist does not impose a single interpretation; instead, he constructs a multilayered structure of meanings, encouraging viewers to reflect. This polyphony is a key aspect of postcolonial art. The works are not final products but arenas of meaning exchange, identity negotiation, and expressing resistance against domination (Bhabha 1994; Smith 2012). Rather than treating these artworks as static signs or purely aesthetic products, we may understand them as evolving sites of meaning-making, reflective of both collective aspirations and individual acts of artistic agency. As a result, Hori’s work emerges as a testament to art’s power to bridge apparently distant contexts like Poland and Aotearoa/New Zealand through a shared language of resistance, memory, and hope.

Hohepa Thompson’s life and artistic journey exemplify how the process of losing and subsequently reclaiming Māori identity can stem from specific educational and social experiences. Renouncing one’s heritage at school for the sake of assimilating into the dominant culture, and later returning to one’s roots, reflects not only Thompson’s personal story but also a deeper phenomenon affecting many Indigenous communities living in a world dominated by colonial narratives.

From a reflective autoethnographic standpoint, where the identities of the researcher and the artist intersect, it is crucial to capture both personal motivations and the broader cultural context. The term “HORI” plays a particularly significant cultural and social role here. It is a deliberate provocation, breaking away from its former derogatory meaning and transforming it into a statement of artistic expression and pride. As a result, Thompson’s work reveals the potential of performative and conceptual art to foster dialogue and effect changes in public attitudes.

This discussion thus confirms that Indigenous art, exemplified here by Hori’s oeuvre, is far from monolithic. It is a dynamic arena for the expression of resistance, the rearticulation of heritage, and the formulation of new cultural imaginaries.

In this light, interpreting Hori’s art is not about concluding a single reading but about recognizing a spectrum of possible engagements, the language of which becomes a flexible medium that can appeal to different audiences. Locally, it affirms Māori sovereignty and continuity. Globally, it contributes to an expanding network of activist art that questions hegemonic norms.

7. Summary and Conclusions

Hohepa Thompson, known as Hori, is a distinctive figure in the contemporary New Zealand art and activism scene. His work constitutes a decolonizing voice, emerging from the intersection of personal experience and wider social challenges. The analysis presented here of Hori’s art reveals the multifaceted nature of Indigenous creativity in Aotearoa/New Zealand and its pivotal role in shaping, negotiating, and reinforcing cultural identity. At the outset, the discussion employs postcolonial thought, visual studies, and semiotic approaches to demonstrate how Hori’s works function not merely as aesthetic objects but also as active participants in a global discourse on memory, power, sovereignty, and the decolonization of knowledge.

In a postcolonial context, Hori’s art serves as a form of visual decolonization. It draws upon Māori epistemologies encompassing concepts such as whakapapa, whenua, and mana as well as Matariki, local symbolic codes (e.g., niho, taniwha), and artistic strategies that empower communities to reclaim their own historical narratives. Simultaneously, the artist incorporates globally recognizable forms of activist art (for instance, references to Shepard Fairey), integrating them into a local cultural milieu. The resulting visual language is hybrid, emerging from a dialogue between the local and global, the traditional and the modern, and aesthetics and politics.

Conclusions

• Hori’s art must be interpreted in relation to local epistemologies, historical memory, and postcolonial processes. At the same time, its transnational dimension and the capacity to resonate with audiences beyond its original cultural setting should not be overlooked.
• Approaching Hori’s work with sensitivity to its cultural contexts helps prevent oversimplified or exoticized readings. The interpretive process is shaped by both the artwork and the observer’s cultural vantage point.
• The pieces examined confirm that Indigenous art is far from a passive form of expression. Instead, it functions as an active political–cultural practice, enabling the negotiation of meaning, the redefinition of power relations, and the fortification of cultural sovereignty.
• References to Shepard Fairey and street art illustrate how local identity codes intersect with global modes of protest, creating a hybrid language capable of challenging dominant narratives.

Ultimately, Hori’s creative output demonstrates how art can facilitate encounters among diverse epistemologies, values, and historical experiences. Rooted in Māori perspectives, yet open to broader cultural interpretations, this dynamic, dialogic, and critically engaged role of Indigenous art positions it as a potent medium for decolonization, collective memory work, and the ongoing negotiation of identity. Future research could build on these findings by comparing Hori’s approach with other Indigenous or marginalized artistic movements worldwide, further illuminating how visual culture can promote cultural sovereignty and nurture transnational networks of resistance.