#005 — Bonfires and Blackberries.

 

 

 

 

 

 

How can such a small change in the air pull you somewhere else in a split second?

A memory you haven’t thought about in years.

A person.

A season.

A version of yourself you forgot was still there.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how certain smells have the power to make us feel instantly connected to home.

Scent seems to hold onto emotion in a way other things don’t. It lingers quietly in the background, then washes over you like a wave.

Even now, it’s quietly attaching itself to the moments we don’t yet realise we’ll cherish one day.

The aroma of rewana baking in the oven.

The faint smoke from a bonfire on a summer's night.

That sharp, fresh smell of picking juicy blackberries in summer, with stained fingers to match.

Or the salty breeze on a drive along the coast to visit whānau.

Somehow these things stay with us. Give us room to exhale.

And maybe that’s why I keep coming back to scent when I think about Kāinga.

Nothing overpowering.

But the softer, more subtle things. Familiar things. Smells that feel like home in a gentler kind of way.

It has the power to transport us back in time. Back to home.

I think that’s what I want Kāinga to feel like.

Not so much scent, but a feeling of home.

Memory.

Nurturing.

The exhale — ki roto, ki waho.

Ritual.

Connection.

A subconscious return to something familiar.

I’m noticing more and more how scent shapes the atmosphere of home. Even now, that calm feeling when you start to wind down. Or the ahhhh moment when you finally run yourself a bath, pour yourself a wine, or make a hot chocolate at the end of the day.

And maybe that’s why this process has felt so personal.

Because creating home isn’t only about what smells nice.

It’s about creating feeling.

Kāinga is starting to show me its shape, and I think scent is becoming one of the clearest ways I know how to express what home feels like to me.

— From the studio.