Interview: Paul Moon talks about The Art of Colonisation

Professor Paul Moon holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in history and political studies, a Master of Philosophy degree with distinction, a Master of Arts degree with honours, a PhD, and a Doctor of Literature degree. In 2003, he was elected as a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society at University College London, and is also a Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts. He has written some 40 books on New Zealand, been a finalist in two international history awards, and has worked on several Waitangi Tribunal claims. In 2002, he was appointed an Officer of the New Zealand Order of Merit for his services to education and historical research. Paul talks to NZ Booklovers

Tell us a little about The Art of Colonisation.

From the outset, I had in mind a book with very high production qualities so that the reader could see how numerous individuals over several centuries depicted New Zealand by entering that visual realm and experiencing the perspectives and prejudices of those who portrayed the country in art.

The book aims to illuminate some of the previously unlit crevices of our colonial history. Information committed to text is what historians mostly rely on to understand the past.  But words can only take us so far. Visual depictions of places and events suddenly force us to see history in different ways. They also disclose the sorts of attitudes that seldom appear in writing, particularly in how colonists and visitors to New Zealand attempted to impose meaning on the country and its indigenous inhabitants.

What inspired you to write this book?

I’ve spent decades researching aspects of New Zealand’s colonisation, and came to realise that much of the art that accompanied the colonisation process evoked ideas about New Zealand that were not evident elsewhere, especially in the documentary record.  This book is far from a definitive work on colonial art, and that was never its intention.  Instead of exploring these works for their aesthetic value, I was much more interested in the way that these images reflected the mind of their creators, and then influenced viewers’ perceptions “back home” about New Zealand.

What research was involved?

Some of the artists were particularly obscure (one, for example, has only one known work, which appears in the book).  As a result, the net had to be cast widely in order to capture information that normally would be overlooked for a conventional work on colonial history. I also placed much more emphasis on the connection between the person creating the art and the image itself. I worked from the principle that all art has a motive, and discovering that motive is often important in informing how the artist saw their subject. There were also other layers of research, including getting to grips with the printing and distribution systems in Europe during the 17th to 19th centuries, and determining the extent to which artists were under the influence of certain ideas or individuals. Not all is what it initially seems in some of these works.

What was your routine or process when writing this book?

I started this book around 2012, but other projects got in the way, so I was only able to work on it intermittently.   It wasn’t until 2024 that I was able to devote more time to completing the text. As for the process of writing, it is seldom straightforward. The timing of evidence-collection cannot be planned for, and so I am often at the mercy of outside circumstances. Otherwise, I schedule writing whenever I can. It’s something I look forward to partly because it’s a way of working through my ongoing infatuation with language.

What did you enjoy the most about writing The Art of Colonisation?

All books present challenges but also open new realms of exploration. One of the more satisfying aspects of this book was crafting the text in a way that consummated that marriage between words and images. The context for these images can lead the viewer to reconsider what they are looking at.

Do you have a favourite piece of art from the book? What is it, and why is it your favourite?

One of the stand-out images for me is the Ulm Ptolemy, from 1482.  This was produced when New Zealand was outside the realm of European knowledge.  It depicts the South Pacific as just a vast expanse of rich blue oceanic emptiness.  It’s the type of image that kindled curiosity about what sorts of territories and peoples might exist in the region. This is an example of the power of pictures, because the possibilities this map suggested for new trading opportunities and new cultural and scientific discoveries propelled developments in ship-design and navigation, and created an appetite for colonisation – an appetite that grew with the eating. This image also teased the imagination of viewers, and that encouraged organisations to be formed from the 1600s in places like England, with the express purpose of exploring such unknown regions.

Also, this map offers a very European perspective of the world. It does not present knowledge of the South Pacific, for example, that people in that region had.  The map is therefore a Eurocentric impression of the world, and one which would expand dramatically as exploratory voyages got underway in the seventeenth century.

What did you do to celebrate finishing this book?

I celebrated by beginning to sketch out ideas for a new book.

What is the favourite book you have read so far this year and why?

The year is still relatively new, so I have not done much reading outside of my research work, but I have revisited John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress, which on the one hand, is a very simple allegory, yet on the other hand, has an almost hallucinogenic quality, and demands enormous self-examination from the reader. I am also getting through Edith Sitwell’s Collected Poems. “Still Falls the Rain” is one of her better-known poems, but her formidable command of language, imagery, and rhythm is evident throughout all her works.

What’s next on the agenda for you?

I am currently preparing a major book on He Whakaputanga – New Zealand’s Declaration of Independence (1835).

Ugly Hill Press