The walls are covered in prints and originals; Toi's art and that of others. He's created Tikiland, which has a price tag of $3000 dangling down the side. There's a piece from Samoan artist Fatu Feu'u ($1800 without the frame) and rising urban artist Brad Novak ($895). Hirini Katene - a ta moko artist in the new wave Toi has generated - has done something startling with a skateboard.
Toi looks around at the art on the walls in his gallery and points at the entrance to the shop: "A lot of the locals, they kind of stand in the door wondering if they can come in."
And they do. There's an older Maori man talking up a storm at the shop counter and Toi is saying: "I agree wholeheartedly with you brother." The man replies, "This is culture", waving an arm around until Toi emphatically declares: "Our culture!"
Over the past three years Toi has developed merchandise around the House of Natives brand. He has published books, toured internationally (and is off to Amsterdam for a month this week) and has been widely recognised for his work. "Having a gallery is ... it's kind of time to come out of the closet and make a stand. We will be in control of our destiny, where it ends up."
Toi started carving aged 11 and graduated in 1983 from the New Zealand Maori Arts and Crafts Institute in Rotorua. In 1995, his focus turned to ta moko. It was never a sure thing, he says. There's people he thinks who helped him stay focused: "I'm totally blessed to have these people in my life."
He grew up in Otara but has been in Mangere Bridge 20 years. It is home with wife Yvanca and child, and the family's base, which is why the gallery is here.
"I love Mangere Bridge so much I thought if I ever did have a shop, the Bridge is it. If anyone is going to open up a [gallery] in Mangere Bridge, it will be me. This is my turf. Respectfully."
The gallery is quite a contrast with the main street. A Pakeha woman who walks in for a look worked here during the shop's 52-year life as stationery shop. "It's nice," she says. "We should have different things. I'm getting a bit tired of the food shops all the time and $2 shops." There's a lot of bakeries, cafes, imported junk and occasional useful things.
The community wasn't too sure what was being given back until the doors opened. Hearing a tattooist was opening up a shop raised concerns about gangs and low-lifes. "And I wanted to do something to just switch it up," he says. "There was almost a feeling of dread." As it turned out, it was not what they expected.
A woman is visiting to talk tattoos. "I was thinking about this shape," she says, scribing a pattern with her finger when Toi cuts her short. "Hey," he says, "do you go to the mechanic and say 'fix my car like this' or to the dentist and say 'fix my teeth like this'? Let me worry about what shape it is." He's the artist. He will create the art to fit the canvas.
Toi gets out a killer smile for those who visit, and plenty do.
The gallery operates "without that commercial feeling" but makes a sale every day. There aren't many other galleries who could make that claim, he reckons.
"I've always believed the product we can create as artists will be enough to hold us above water, and have a lifestyle choice. Our art is good enough to survive on its own."
