Land of the Long Dark Cloud

In Land of the Long Dark Cloud: the Good the Bad and the Ugly Anthony Davies looks at groups and gatherings across New Zealand through the perspective of the immigrant artist. Inherent in this position is a sense of detachment, of being forever ‘outside,’ but what grows for Davies in this space between himself and his new country is a kind of fascination, allowing for work that is curious and non-judgmental.

Davies’ images give me that feeling of being out for a walk, and maybe it’s dusk - the sky is darkening and you go past a house lit warm, where a family is eating dinner with their curtains open. As the observer you imagine what it’s like to be inside that house, to be part of that family, but aware you can never actually know how it feels. That other life will always remain behind the window - somehow just out of reach but completely foreign. Through his work Davies seems desperately to want to understand, but also, I think, to be understood. He would like for someone, maybe the mum or one of the kids, to look up from the dinner table and to see him there, and to have the opportunity to see themselves as he does - beautifully grotesque, strange - strangers.

Printmaking is considered one of the great traditional fine art forms. Combining artistic vision with high-level technical mastery, Davies works within a lineage of politically engaged printmakers such as Käthe Kollwitz, whose work centred on ordinary people and working-class life, and Francisco Goya, who described some of his own images as representing ‘the innumerable foibles and follies to be found in any civilised society,’ and ‘the common prejudices and deceitful practices which custom, ignorance or self-interest have made usual.’

Throughout history printmaking has also functioned as an accessible form of communication - a way of disseminating ideas and social commentary, both celebratory and critical. The photographs that Davies borrows from to create the details in his images line his walls like little windows onto the world. But seeing Davies creating his prints, what strikes me most is the physicality of the printmaking process; not how one generally imagines an ‘artist,’ and more like watching a mechanic or tradesperson at work. That physical relationship to his medium feels inseparable from the subjects his work returns to again and again.

Through these images depicting the devastation caused by Cyclone Gabrielle, Davies invites the viewer to consider the meaning of home.

An estimated 10,000 people throughout New Zealand were displaced as a result of the tropical cyclone in 2023, and for many this meant losing not only their shelter but huge parts of their identity - the house they grew up in, their belongings, their family land - landscapes irrevocably altered. What is particularly striking within these prints, as in many images documenting post-disaster scenes, is the time it takes to comprehend what one is seeing. The inside is now outside - a lamp is on the lawn, a cupboard door is in the driveway; the whole world turned upside down.

Davies’ figures sort through the aftermath, seemingly searching for how to make sense of what has been lost. These scenes are especially interesting to consider through the lens of the immigrant artist. When Davies departed Northern Ireland for New Zealand in 1994 he left all his belongings behind to start fresh in a new country, meaning he has long considered the questions posed by these images: how does one go about making a new life, a new home? What can we take with us, and what must we leave behind?

— See the full 'Cyclone Gabrielle' series here

A hot topic in community Facebook groups, 'boy racers' are much-maligned - seemingly flying in the face of common decency and the appropriate use of public spaces. Generally missing from any conversation about ‘boyracers’ however, is any say or perspective from the ‘boys’ themselves: faceless, voiceless - they’re a monster that sounds like a loud car engine, that smells of tyres burning, setting out to upset the peace and quiet of the neighbourhood. But I remember as a teenager driving around on Friday nights in the Mount and Tauranga with my car-loving boyfriend. He and his friends would find streets in industrial areas where they could race. We were young and they were just having fun. They spent thousands on their cars and wanted to enjoy them. The intention was never to hurt anyone.

Davies’ images represent the kind of satisfaction in finding a place where one feels like they belong; building a sense of identity among people who share a common interest, working towards some common goal. It’s messy and grimey, but it’s interaction and movement and camaraderie; it’s life.

— See the full 'Boyracers' series here

The 2022 anti-mandate and anti-lockdown occupation of the grounds of Parliament House in Wellington is such a perfect illustration of how easy it is for people to ‘other’ a group, a protest, a cause.

I think that when we don’t understand something, or someone, it can be intimidating, particularly in a time of social-political turmoil. It can seem like the easier, safer option to reject ideas out of hand than give any weight to the unknown. But Davies’ work in these images explores how curiosity is a great antidote to this fear, showing how when you really look you can see how a gathering is made up of small, comprehensible parts. The details in these pictures give insight into what was happening inside this protest: there are individuals with their own stories, people are working together, sharing, standing side by side, holding each other up. Here are individuals who believe in their cause so strongly they’re taking months away from home, from work - risking their jobs and their relationships. My sister was an incredible, passionate, kind, midwife who was dismissed from her job because she refused to be vaccinated. This had a huge impact on her small, close-knit community, where many of the mothers she was working with - due to their own beliefs in the negative health effects of the covid vaccination - didn’t want to be under the care of a vaccinated midwife.

Davies is taking the time to look, attempting to understand the people and the motivations behind the ideals, and in doing so he’s encouraging the viewer to think about the complexities within the cause, as well as the social climate which made dissent necessary in order to defend personal freedom.

— See the full 'Anti Vax Demonstrations Beehive' series here

The darkest collection in Davies' New Zealand series, the images in ‘Destiny Church’ highlight the ‘Us vs.Them’ mentality within cults which is so critical to protecting the group’s ideology.

The clothing in these images exemplifies the outwardly unified voice of the Church, all sharing the same messages like ‘Man Up,’ ‘Real Men,’ and ‘Enough is Enough’ - language which pushes others away but also limits the individual’s ability to express complex, nuanced, or critical thoughts, forcing members to conform, to stick to the group’s narrative. The notable absence of any women within the images is representative of the patriarchal views of the church, which promotes a "biblically compliant" model where men are the ultimate leaders in the home and church.

Here there appears to be no sense of the individual - the faces of church members share expressions which are simultaneously menacing and fearful, and bodies seem to merge into four or eight-headed hydra, making them monstrous, greater than the sum of their parts, and seemingly impenetrable to any outside influence or understanding.

— See the full 'Destiny Church' series here

Fittingly, the images in ‘Gangs’ are the most inscrutable from the series. For most people living in the middle classes, interaction with gangs is little to none. Before I moved to Whanganui I was given warnings about the prevalence of gang activity in the town, but other than seeing a car get smashed in on the main street by some guys all with baseball bats and all wearing the same jackets - the only gang activity I ever witness is guys on loud bikes.

Because gangs only reside in particular areas and communities, middle classes tend to see them as these sorts of outside groups, but in the communities in which they live they’re part of the fabric: they're cousins, they're uncles, they're neighbours. I think that while it can be difficult to understand why people would choose to be in a gang, it’s comparatively easy to understand why an individual would be seeking some kind of belonging, and how they might find that here. The characters in these images are dressed the same, they’re performing the same actions, standing side-by-side. It’s a powerful display of strength in numbers.

— See the full 'Gangs' series here

In ‘Rainbow Communities’ Davies’ images celebrate the rare group that strives to be welcoming and inclusive.

Throughout his New Zealand series Davies work is interested in ideas of belonging. Where so many groups are exclusionary - membership depending on conformity in terms of dress, following rules set from the top, owning certain items - in the LGBT community it’s the differences in the individual that are appreciated and magnified. Unlike most of the figures across this body of work, the people in these images are generally facing the viewer, looking out toward us, inviting us in.

It is an especially optimistic note in the collection that a group which is composed of individuals so marginalised by society can rise up in the face of oppression and maintain such a positive ideology. It’s like: come in, here anyone can belong.

— See the full 'Rainbow Communities' series here

Of all the images in The Good the Bad and the Ugly series, ‘Ram Raiders - Dairy Assaults’ most epitomises the ‘ugly.’ I remember when these store lootings seemed to be happening with incredible frequency, on what felt like a nightly basis, becoming really worried for the dairy at the end of my street. It was owned by a couple with five kids under the age of 10; they lived out the back of the shop and the parents worked every day of the year. Often one of the kids would be manning the counter if it was outside of school hours. It seemed so clear to me at the time that the bad guys in this story were the people committing these crimes, but of course it isn’t that simple.

In 2024, 19-year-old Eryka Kiri (who was arrested at age 14) gave a submission before the justice select committee on the Ram Raid Offending Bill, saying: “I want you to hear us and really see us. We’re going to suffer because no one wanted to raise us properly. No one wanted to see us and no one wanted to hear us but we get punished for it. You are the Government. There’s so many things you could implement to help our generation. We are your future regardless of whether we’re in jail or not – we are still your future. My clothes were never ever washed, there wasn’t even soap and stuff, no hot water. The house was infested with roaches and rats, there was always crackheads in and out at all times, and no one cared about me. So I just found it better to be out there on the street and I’m not sure if you’ve heard them talk about a sense of community, but it’s there and it’s so twisted.”

Davies’ images of smashed windows, broken glass and hooded figures holding weapons are claustrophobic and dark. These prints, depicting violent and seemingly senseless crimes, are difficult to look at. Yet the conditions that produced this kind of criminal activity were themselves born from a wider social refusal to look — to acknowledge what we create when we choose not to see.

— See the full 'Ram Raiders - Dairy Assaults' series here

People are terrible and they’re wonderful. Land of the Long Dark Cloud; The Good, the Bad and the Ugly comprehends not only the existence of horrific leaders and groups capable of incomprehensible decisions, but also the quieter moral failures contained in ordinary life. Within each of us there exists the capacity for harsh judgement, for tiny everyday cruelties and small acts of complicity.

Davies is not trying to convince the viewer of anything. Instead, his work offers a darkly funny and deeply observant perspective on the world. With this collection, he seems simply to be saying: look up. Look outside your window. Look beyond your own front door.

Just the act of looking, of seeing, is political. To pay attention — seriously, closely — is a form of social commentary that Davies is sharing through his printmaking. It’s his response, somehow both ugly and beautiful, pessimistic and hopeful, to a complicated and unjust world.

Abby Stewart is a Whanganui-based writer and photographer with a Master’s degree in Creative Writing from the International Institute of Modern Letters. Her work often explores memory, relationships, and finding (or making) magic in the ordinary and everyday. She has been writing for twenty years across fiction, poetry, essays and arts writing.