When I think of great union, the explosive pairing of Hone Tuwhare’s poetry with Ralph Hotere’s illustrations in Mihi immediately comes to mind. The iconic book was published in 1986, and tethered concepts of desire to line-drawn crosses of conviction and smudged, dreamy charcoal hearts. Tom Ford and Gucci in the ‘90s is another undeniable power couple. Together, designer and brand built a world of romance on the runway, natural breasts in unbuttoned silk shirts and hardware on skin that mirrored the arc of a woman’s hip bone, it was an attitude. I admire unions like these two, that encompass the multiplicity of moods within the scope of love, from the tough kind to ripe and fleshy sensuality.

Today, I would reference music and painting as the big love story in my reality. My husband, Adam, a musician when we met, has always provided the immersive textures for our home, which is also my studio. Our record player is permanently spinning with Ethiopian jazz, Analog Africa, obscure pianists, soul, or folk, collected from his travel adventures. Another constant in our relationship, side-by-side with music, is painting. At any given time, paintings are lying on the dining table, leaning on speakers, or, if they are quite close to completion, they might have made it to the wall. Adam’s infatuations enhance mine and vice versa. Our home, like our marriage, is a fluid and abundant space.

Our favourite composers such as Philip Glass and Steve Reich are historically noted for their repetitive phrases and shifting layers that gradually build up. What I find hypnotic about their records is that over time, the repeating phrases become familiar, they marry up with your nature and memory; however, the slight iterations along the way keep the journey moving forward into the unknown. This tension, routine plus alluring new ideas, sets the conditions for a relationship that has both stability and mystery. For Adam and me, artists (their work and theories) exemplify what a life full of passion and obsession can produce.

Almost 10 years ago, I put on a sheer vintage lace dress which, in the French afternoon sun, would reveal the silhouette of a young and confident bride. Wildflowers and pretty weeds were collected from behind Château de Mairy by my friends and spontaneously slid into my braided hair. The most special fashion moment of my life. Our vows, Adam’s poetry, were shared in both English and Māori with the faint sound of a live French jazz band playing in the background. Nearly a decade on, and we continue to translate our worlds for one another. We are in our rhythm, a cycle that accumulates languages, ideas, art, people and mystery. Mauri ora!

This story was originally published in VEIL Issue One. Discover this story, along with many more inspiring stories, weddings, and editorials in the full issue. Purchase your copy here.