Dedicated to and inspired by John Green (1944-2006)

Let me die, working.
Still tackling plans unfinished, tasks undone!
Clean to its end, swift may my race be won.
No laggard steps, no faltering, no shirking:
Let me die, working!
S. Hall Young

John Green died on 11 December 2006, leaving behind a studio anticipatory with wet clay arms, legs and torsos, paintings, a short story and a book that were never destined to be finished, a guitar in the shop being mended. He had a massive heart attack on the way to hospital, just a few giant moa steps away from his beloved Huia.
Clay artist, potter, painter, cartoonist, musician and poet – every creative act of a 30-year career was rooted in love, humour and zing. His hand built, high-fired fantasy figures had that unmistakeable John Green “signature”. At his 50th solo exhibition Bird is the Word opening at Signal Gallery last year, art lovers were almost having punch-ups in the queue for the counter, to buy the piece they had their heart set on. It was a sell-out.
Being born in a bomb shelter in London near the end of the war explained a few things about him, John used to say. His family migrated to Auckland in 1952 and he lived in Glenfield and Waiheke Island as a boy, before running away to sea in the merchant navy at 15. Rarotonga stopped being exotic after the 15th visit, so he apprenticed as a butcher and owned his own shop for 12 years, but a childhood dream of going to art school still pursued him so John gave up meat for the magic of clay at the age of 31.
John threw pots initially (none of them at his wife Jean and daughters Acushla and Savanah, I hasten to add), on a 10-acre lifestyle block in Albany, in a three kiln studio. He was the archetypal 1970s longhaired potter in bare feet. By 1980 he had turned entirely to handbuilt hollow sculpture, inspired by ‘Faery Artist” extraordinaire Brian Froud. A TVNZ Kaleidoscope feature on his first solo show kick-started his career. His work was selected for the Fletcher Challenge Awards many times, and the Auckland War Memorial Museum bought two pieces for their contemporary ceramic collection. He exhibited at galleries around the upper half of the North Island, including Albany Village Pottery, Masterworks Gallery, Pots of Ponsonby, and more recently Corbans Estate Gallery.
A move to Anawhata signaled a new chapter in John’s life, with Lynda Libeau and her son Logan. He continued to stock galleries around the country with his work, and to teach handbuilding techniques. One of his most eagerly anticipated annual teaching sessions was on Great Barrier Island, with a special bunch of kids. A day spent with kids brought out the playful child in John, which was never far from the surface anyway. Cheeky telephone messages, double-headed coin tricks, and an ongoing game of sneaking up on Sovann in the local Huia Store were all part of having John as a cherished friend. As one friend wrote at his passing, “Snarley Salt-Snap has tears in all his eyes! Thanks so much for everlasting delight".
To meet John was to instantly feel you had made a friend. He was a man of huge generosity, much loved. You daren’t say you liked a piece of his art in case it was thrust into your hand! John could throw his arms around another man and say, “I love you”. He taught men to embrace one another. He lived a Buddhist, Jewish, animist embrace of religions, and a beautiful, loving life with his much-cherished Helen Giacon for the past seven years in Huia. John was a trustee of the Titirangi Music Festival the past two years, with friend Dave Parker. He said he knew how much Helen loved him because, when there wasn’t a TFM t-shirt big enough to fit him, Helen cut the logo off a smaller one and sewed it onto a larger, plain black t-shirt. His heart brimmed over with a quiet pride and a deep feeling of joy.
A world without John Green in it feels unimaginable, unjust, and although his imagination lives on, his passing leaves an enormous hole in our community and our hearts. John’s presence in west Auckland has been like the rain, it soaked in and grew new branches and roots wherever it touched and connected. He’s gone now, like the character in his unpublished story, The Mermaid Egg, who came out of the tiny studio and, as she walked towards the ocean, lighter, free, licked the salt from her fingers, blew through her gills and slipped into the wet silk sea.
John’s funeral was held at the Huia Hall on 14 December, attended by 600 people. He was cremated in an apple green coffin, handpainted with messages of love.

Jade Reidy
January, 2007