For The Time Being

I am speaking out because after eight years, I no longer know where else to turn.

A year ago, when the Supreme Court decision was released, I believed this long process was finally coming to an end. Instead, it marked the beginning of yet another chapter. The case was sent back to the Family Court to divide the assets — my copyright, my artworks, the house, and other property — with what I understood to be clear guidance, and finally the end.

Yet after an entire year, we have gone nowhere. It has been marked by incessant and repetitive filings, exaggerated and unfounded valuations, flooded with hundreds of pages of trivial matters, and what I can only describe as fabricated claims demanding delays. And now I got the news that as a result of this kind of muddying the waters, a multi day hearing is now having to be set— a hearing that may not even take place for several more years.

For nearly a decade, I have been trapped in an ongoing legal battle within the New Zealand justice system—one that has not brought resolution, but instead prolonged distress, uncertainty, and harm to every part of my life. This is not just about a dispute between two people. It is about a system that, in my experience, has failed to provide fairness, accountability, or protection.

I fought for my copyright all the way to the Supreme Court that in civilised countries automatically belongs to the creator alone. The fight was not for financial gain, as it holds none, but for my safety, to stop the ongoing abuse, control and interference into my life, career and identity continuing into the future. The emotional, financial, and psychological toll has been immense.

I have faced a repeated and deeply troubling pattern: relentless unsubstantiated claims made against me, forcing me into the impossible position of trying to disprove allegations without access to the evidence I need to defend myself, because when my former spouse left, he removed my access to over 20 years of digital records—my emails, my website, my client correspondence, my business history. These were not just documents. They were the foundation of my professional life. Without them, I have been left trying to respond to accusations about artworks, sales, and finances that I can no longer access.

At the same time, my former spouse has continued—despite a protection order—to extract images of my historical artwork from my website and social media, using them to construct claims that are not grounded in reality. Paintings that were sold during the marriage, from which he benefited, are now being claimed to be hidden or undisclosed, compensation demanded .   Works that never sold—rolled up in my studio—are being assigned delusional values.  My private artworks, created as a diary of my life and intended for my children, never to be sold,  are being treated as if they hold commercial value, and compensation demanded. All this without any real evidence.

My copyright has been assigned values by my former spouse as high as three million dollars — figures that are not merely exaggerated, but entirely detached from the reality of my practice and my actual income. This stands in direct contradiction to the Supreme Court’s clear position that any valuation must be based on how the copyright was actually used during the marriage. I have provided concrete evidence showing that print ventures generated losses, and that my livelihood has always depended on the sale of original works. Yet, despite this, the courts continue to allow speculative and hypothetical figures to be put forward as if they carried weight.

The Supreme Court recognised that I , as the creator, have the right to categorise my work: commercial, private or unsuitable for publication.  And yet, even this clarity has been undermined with hundreds of pages of unsupported counterclaims—filled with inflated, imaginary values and re-interpretations of what is “commercial” and what is not—despite the Court clearly stating that this decision rests with me. All of this, volumes of material, has forced the matter back into prolonged litigation.   So I am left asking—what was the meaning of those  decisions?   If even the smallest recognition of my ownership over my own work can be endlessly disputed—and allowed to be disputed—then where does it end?   When does it end?

Meanwhile, I have been left without even the most basic protections. Property was removed without my consent — including deeply personal items — and my access to essential business records was never restored, leaving me without the documentation needed to defend myself. Yet I am the one expected to provide proof.

Most disturbingly, my artworks have been used as instruments of intimidation, with threats of sale or destruction. My own work — central to my livelihood and identity — has been weaponised to pressure me into baseless financial concessions.

This is not justice. This is coercion, enabled by the courts over time.

I have also witnessed misleading and false statements being presented under oath in court—some later disproven—without any apparent consequence. Court orders have not been complied with, including orders requiring the release of artworks for valuation, yet no enforcement action has followed.

False accusations, even when disproven, seem to leave a lasting shadow—continuing to influence proceedings.

Only my assets—my artwork—have been relentlessly pursued, while the other party has not been held to the same standard of disclosure.

I have tried to find resolution. I have even proposed that everything of potential commercial value be sold—the house (which should already be on the market), the paintings (for which I have already arranged an auction house), and even the damn copyright, since its worth so much—the entire lot. I have done this without demanding anything from “his” side, simply to bring this to a fair and final end.

But resolution requires agreement. And there can be no agreement when claims are built on delusional figures.  It is hard not to feel that this refusal to agree is not about fairness, but about avoiding the truth—that in reality, the old unsold works and the copyright hold very little financial value. That facing that reality would mean letting go of inflated expectations, and therefore compensation.  Instead, the process continues—driven not by resolution, but by the pursuit of something that does not exist. Hearing after hearing. Delay after delay. With future court dates stretching years ahead.

The outcome is exactly what what my former spouse appears to have intended: more delay, more hearings, and more time for him to remain in the house while my assets remain tied up. I was led to believe the house would be sold to free up the equity so that we could both move on. Instead, I was effectively pushed out, and he moved in—now claiming everything possible, including illness and even homelessness, while attempting to position himself to buy me out using vastly inflated fictional values of $3 million for copyright alone + another half of mil on top for good measure.

Some of the accusations I have been forced to respond to verge on the tragicomic. I have not only faced claims for wildly inflated and entirely delusional valuations, but have even been accused of stealing paintings under the noses of my former spouse and three courtroom staff members—while all were present, inside the courtroom itself. I have been accused of hiding works that are not only accounted for, but publicly documented—such as the painting “Naomi” sold to a Museum of Modern Art  decades ago, with records anyone can access. And this is not just one or two claims—there are dozens like this, each one as absurd as the other. 

But it doesn’t stop with the artwork. The accusations reach into every corner of my life—into the condition of my home, into my personal life, even into my mental health. The protection order being disputed and used as a bargaining tool. Nothing feels off limits.

The proceedings have also been marked by repeated delays, some bordering on the farcical. Leave has been granted on the basis of a claimed concussion suffered by my former spouse, allegedly rendering him incapable of attending court or securing alternative accommodation. Yet, during the same period, he has evidently had both the means and the capacity to undertake what he describes as “major improvements” to the very property for which he now seeks compensation.  This was then followed by his lawyer also being unable to attend, citing the same reason. At times, it is difficult to avoid the impression that even these disruptions have become part of a broader pattern.

And with every single claim, no matter how absurd, I am the one who has to respond. I am the one who has to research, to prove, to explain. I am the one running around trying to gather evidence for things that should never have been questioned in the first place.

It is exhausting. It is overwhelming. And it pulls the focus away from what actually matters—bringing this to an end.

Instead, I am trapped in a cycle of defending the trivial, while the bigger picture is lost in a flood of noise.

And then I am told to “be reasonable”, and to hush up about this in my social posts or in the media.

I have tried—again and again—to be reasonable. To find a fair way forward. To bring this to a close with dignity, behind the holy court room doors.   But being reasonable in a situation like this does not lead to resolution. It only seems to open the door for more.  At some point, it stops feeling like a legal process—and starts to feel like something designed to wear a person down.

And the option of walking away from this craziness?  Would that mean the courts would accept those delusional claims? Leaving me in dept by millions and leave me facing bankruptcy?

I strongly believe I have been subjected to prejudicial assumptions—because I am a woman, because I am a foreigner, and because I am an artist.

As a woman, I have been presumed to carry responsibility for the home and children, while his lack of contribution has not been meaningfully examined. My own contributions—financial, domestic, and creative—have been minimized.

As a foreign national, I have been treated as though I must have been dependent, despite clear evidence of my independence and ability to support my family.

As an artist, my profession has been dismissed as unstable or insignificant, despite being the very foundation of our livelihood.

At the same time, my former spouse’s claims have been afforded credibility that I have had to fight to earn. He has been positioned as authoritative figure over my own work—despite having no factual or professional basis to be so.

This imbalance has distorted the truth.

And so here we are again — at the start of yet another prolonged process, this time in the Family Court, facing the real possibility of years more litigation. Years more of being held in place, while my life continues to pass within a system that seems unable — or unwilling — to bring this to an end.

This is no longer just a legal process. It is a life being worn down.

I believe the system is being used as a tool for continued coersive control and post-separation abuse. I believe I am being kept in this process until I can no longer endure it.

And I am asking—how is this allowed to continue?

How can someone be forced to defend themselves without access to their own records removed by the other party?

How can false claims persist without consequence?

How can threats, intimidation, and non-compliance go unenforced?

How can resolution be expected when one party is allowed to construct an alternate reality, and the other is left to dismantle it piece by piece?

I am not asking for sympathy. I am asking for fairness.

I am asking for accountability.

I am asking for this to end.

Because no one is winning here. Not me. Not him. Not my children. Not the integrity of the system itself.

There must be a point where truth matters more than persistence. Where evidence matters more than accusation. Where a person is allowed to move forward with their life.

I am asking for help, for visibility, and for someone—anyone—to recognise what is happening here.

Because I cannot do this alone anymore.

—————

In this image, I am overseas, beginning a new body of work — the work that has carried me through my entire life. This is not just what I do. It is who I am.

And yet, I am still not free.

After all these years, I should have been able to move forward. Instead, this ongoing legal process follows me wherever I go — a constant shadow over my life, my work, and every attempt to rebuild.

I believe I deserve the freedom to move on. But it feels as though that freedom itself is being resisted.

Despite the separation, I remain under constant scrutiny. My online presence, my work, my movements — all are monitored, searched for crumbs that can be twisted and used against me in court. Every step for freedom is met with vengeance. Every attempt to rebuild is met with something that seeks to pull me back.

It is difficult not to see a pattern in this.

It feels as though my independence — my ability to exist and succeed outside of that past relationship — is what is being contested. As long as I remain entangled in this process, I am held in place. Unable to fully live. Unable to fully create. Unable to fully move forward.

There is a deep bitterness in this—an inability to let go, to allow me to exist outside of what once was. A need to continue benefiting from my work, my effort, my life—long after that should have ended.

And in that, there is a quiet cruelty.

Because this no longer feels like a process aimed at fairness or resolution. It feels like something designed to continue — to keep me here, indefinitely.

And yet, I continue.

I continue to create. I continue to rebuild. I continue to hold onto the belief that this will end — that there will come a time when I am no longer defined by this process.

That one day, I will finally be free.