After two decades in industrial design, Leon Kipa returned to his roots. Now a fulltime carver and contemporary object-maker, he’s fusing customary Māori forms with modern practice – all while turning his studio into a hub for whānau and creativity.
All photos by Chevron Hassett.
On a crisp morning in Panmure, artist and carver Leon Kipa is in his garage-turned-studio surrounded by chisels, sketches and rākau. Kipa is open about his whakapapa, creativity and carving out his own path as an urban Māori artist. With a background in industrial design and a commitment to customary knowledge, his practice moves between traditional whakairo and contemporary object making, always grounded in his connection.
Can you introduce yourself and share how you began your creative journey?
Kia ora. He uri tēnei o ngā waka o Tainui, Te Arawa, Ngātokimatawhaorua, Māmaru hoki. On my mum’s side, I’m from Ngāti Toki, Ngāti Whātua ki Kaipara, Ngāti Kawau and Te Hikutū. On my dad’s side I’m from Ngāti Māhanga, Ngāti Hauā, Ngāti Rangitihi and Tapuika. I’m based in Panmure with my whānau.
I always wanted to pursue my own practice, but I took a long path. I worked in industrial design for over 20 years to build stability. But I always kept one foot in toi Māori. During Covid-19, everything shifted. I stayed home with my son, and whakairo became a healing, grounding process. That’s when I committed fully to my studio practice.
What was the turning point for you to make that decision?
There wasn’t a single moment. I always hoped my uncles would start a studio when I was young. When I was at work, I’d think about how the tools we used could benefit my own practice. Covid-19 gave me the opportunity. I carved every day during lockdown, and it just felt right. That was the moment we just said: “let’s go”.
Since that shift, what have been some of your key works?
The pou I made based on my tūpuna Rangitihi stands out. It was a way to explore my whakapapa and reconnect with the legacy of whakairo in my whānau. The original pou by Te Amo a Tai is in Auckland Museum. I studied his visual language, how he layered 13 figures to tell the story of Rangitihi and his descendants.
I was exploring the story of Rangitihi, the tūpuna of many iwi. He had four wives and eight children, and from those children descended multiple iwi across the motu. That pou became a way to visualise that whakapapa to see how we’re all connected. That was powerful for me. It helped me see how pattern and form carry whakapapa.
And more recently you’ve created the Kapua works?
Yes. Kapua came from an exhibition of object-makers. I wanted to create a fragment, something cloudlike, undefined. It draws from waka huia, our Pacific links, and the Anaweka waka fragment. The idea was to provoke curiosity and allow transformation. It could be part of a waka, a piece of furniture, or something else entirely.
How do you approach the balance between customary and contemporary?
I used to separate the two, but they’re starting to blend. Everything I make now is contemporary. It’s made through my lens, now. But I respect and study traditional forms closely. Whakairo is layered, and I want to honour that. My aim is to simplify the form without losing depth, so people can enjoy it immediately, then go deeper.
What role does material play in your practice?
It’s huge. Using native timber like tōtara or kauri connects me to our ancestors. Certain patterns just belong to certain woods, they respond in a particular way. I want to use the materials my tūpuna used, to understand what they understood, and feel what they felt in the process.
What’s your studio routine like?
It changes depending on the day. I usually have a few things going at once. I carve during the day, and do admin or draw at night. My son and I often draw together at the table, or sometimes in the workshop. The studio’s become a creative hub for our whole whānau. Since I started carving, my mum, aunties and nephew have taken up raranga. My whānau meet here for waiata practice. That’s the dream, to see our culture living and growing.
What do you hope to leave behind for your son?
I want him to know he has options. That creativity is valid. He doesn’t need to follow a nine-to-five unless he chooses to. He’s seen me carve a different path. I want him to know he can do the same.
What’s your dream kaupapa?
I’d love to help build a wharenui. And more broadly, I want to keep carving and create a self-sustaining practice that nurtures creativity in our whānau and community.
If you weren’t an artist?
If I was six inches taller, I’d play for the Warriors!
Favourite kai in Panmure?
A Korean restaurant called Wangsibli.
Tool you can’t live without?
Pencil.
Dream material you want to work with?
I already am. Kauri from the north and tōtara from the central North Island.
What are you listening to while carving?
Mostly hip-hop – Freddie Gibbs. Also disco, like The Whispers and Earth, Wind and Fire. And some reggae.
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