Literally, tivaivai means ''patches''. But the true meaning lies with the whole, Keni Moeroa tells Bruce Munro.
In a back room of Otago Museum, Keni Moeroa is busy unfolding a stack of bed covers.
This afternoon she and daughter Christiana, with help from museum staff, will iron about a dozen of the large colourful, utilitarian works of art before they go on display in the museum's level one atrium.
These are tivaivai; lightweight Cook Islands counterpanes heavy with connotation.
''It is a bed spread,'' Mrs Moeroa, who was taught the practice as a girl on the island of Mangaia, says.
''But it has a unique place in the culture of the Cook Islands.''
Tivaivai come in many sizes, colours and patterns, but, traditionally, in a limited number of forms.
The two most common are tivaivai manu (a large, single, repeated pattern sewn on to a backing cloth) and tivaivai tataura (individual patterns, embroidered and separately sewn on to a large cotton sheet).
Other forms are tivaivai ta'orei (a patchwork of one inch squares of fabric that can take years to complete) and tivaivai tuitui tataura (embroidered squares crocheted together).
Making tivaivai is a skilled and painstaking job traditionally reserved for women in Cook Islands society.
Tivaivai manu, for instance, is created by devising a pattern and then skilfully drawing it on to one portion of the top cloth that has been specifically folded into quarters or eighths.
Then, like a giant Victorian folded-paper cutting exercise, the pattern is carefully cut into all of the folded layers of cloth, in one go.
Unfolded to reveal the repeating pattern, it is then attached, stitch by hand-sewn stitch, to the backing cloth.
''It's not easy. It's a lot of work, hours and hours.''
Typically, a tivaivai takes months to complete.
For Mrs Moeroa it is a hobby and time to relax, ''making your mind think about and enjoy the stitching of the material''.
Through the decades, she has been involved in making dozens of tivaivai.
Some women are skilled in all aspects of the process.
More often, the required skills are shared among the group.
A woman who has had a particular knowledge or skill passed down to her is called a ta'unga (similar to a New Zealand Maori tohunga).
''I don't know how to cut,'' Mrs Moeroa says.
''My sister-in-law is the expert. She is the artist ... I know how to sew it.''
Tivaivai's history is not definitive, but certainly seems to have developed in the Cook Islands (and Tahiti) after 19th-century missionaries brought crafts associated with needle and thread to East Polynesia.
''The women taught the mothers how to stitch. And that's how it came about,'' Mrs Moeroa explains.
She believes retaining and handing on the traditional knowledge and practice of tivaivai is an important aspect of maintaining the culture.
That has been eroded to a certain extent - in the Cook Islands by the advent of quicker, easier methods such as painting or spraying tivaivai patterns on to material; and in New Zealand by the demands of long working weeks and the necessity of families having two working parents.
Back in the islands, there is a movement to encourage women in the villages to teach tivaivai to their daughters.
In Dunedin, a couple of groups of Cook Islands women get together to work on tivaivai.
They are also starting to teach their daughters.
The variety of tivaivai patterns has grown with the years.
They range from hibiscus, lily and orchid designs to pineapples, crowns and mermaids.
Mrs Moeroa is cautious about allowing too much innovation by the next generation, but thinks as long as they learn the traditional techniques it could be appropriate to include patterns that represent their lives in New Zealand.
Returning to thoughts about the creative process, Mrs Moeroa emphasises the importance of selecting a cotton that is thick enough to last, and not a glossy sateen, because it is more difficult to stitch.
Colours are chosen to suit the makers' taste, the design, or the occasion for which it is being created - a wedding, a boy's hair-cutting ceremony, a 21st birthday, or even a funeral.
Because that is what tivaivai are, gifts.
They are not essentially bedspreads, but a way of honouring someone or showing love.
They are a gift of skill and time.
A gift from the whole being.
Almost all Cook Islands homes, including those in the Cook Islands diaspora, will have at least one tivaivai.
But, often, they are carefully folded and put away until a special occasion arises or a special visitor arrives.
''There is a deepness about the tivaivai,'' Mrs Moeroa says.
''When someone gifts you a tivaivai, it is a treasure which you are expected to look after.
''It's not just something you can make overnight. It's about the time and effort of mums and girls who have sat sewing it for so many hours.''
