Chloe Reweti knew at sixteen. A careers expo, a brochure, and something about graphic design that just landed. At school it was art and te reo Māori that held energy — everything else was background noise. She's been following that signal ever since.
Of Ngāi Te Rangi, Ngāti Ranginui and Ngāti Porou descent, Chloe is a Wellington-based designer whose Māori culture isn't a layer applied to the work — it's the framework the work is built from. She brings an extra layer of discernment to every project: are clients genuine in their engagement with Māori culture, or performative? Whose voices do they centre? The questions matter as much as the brief.
Can you tell us a little about your first few steps in your career. Was there a moment or experience when you realised this was what you'd do as a career?
When I was sixteen I went to a careers expo. Rows of stalls from universities and polytechnics. People handing out brochures about what you could become.
Something graphic design landed. I remember thinking — this is it. I was lucky. Some people search for years before they recognise the direction of their life. I felt it early.
At school the things that spoke to me were art and te reo Māori (native language). The rest didn’t hold the same energy.
Recently my friends and I were talking about how our generation (millennial) was encouraged to follow passion. Now younger people often think first about financial strategy. Neither approach is right or wrong. They’re just different ways of navigating the world.
What lessons from your career have most shaped your style and approach?
Style reveals itself slowly. It’s the residue of years of making (and failing). It shifts depending on what you’re absorbing at the time...art, culture, people, ideas etc.
One of the most important lessons I learned was: if someone doesn’t like your work, it doesn’t mean the work is bad. It only means it doesn’t align with their taste. There will always be people who doubt what you’re doing. Their opinion only becomes powerful if you accept it.
You get to decide which voices matter.
Tell us about the core values or philosophies that guide your creative practice.
An artist I admire once told me something I saved in my phone years ago and I still come back to it: “Forcing yourself to create what you think people want only blocks the possibility of real connection.”
I try to chase alignment, I try to work with people I feel are genuine in what their doing, who exercise values that align with mine. Because I incorporate culture in my work I add an extra layer of discernment when it comes to what I work on and what they are promoting - e.g: are they genuine or performative in their engagement of Māori culture? Who's voices do they centre and celebrate? How do they exercise their values in their daily practice as opposed to when in the spotlight?
What needs to change, so emerging and under-represented creative professionals have more opportunity, are seen and heard?
Creative industries often function like a closed room. The same references circulate. The same voices echo - mostly because familiarity feels safe. Real change comes from inviting unfamiliar perspectives into the room before they’ve been validated by the industry’s invisible standards. It sometimes feels that the people who get to define what good taste is, advocate for and promote people that look and and act like themselves.
New voices rarely arrive speaking the language the industry expects. They come carrying different ways of seeing, different cultural frameworks, different priorities. I think that’s where the real energy is.
The goal shouldn’t be to smooth those differences out or translate them into something mainstream. The power is in allowing them to exist exactly as they are.
How important is it that creative professionals find their unique voice?
Your voice comes from what you notice. What you love. Where you come from. But comparison makes it easy to lose. The real work is removing the layers that hide it — fear, imitation, expectation. When those fall away, what’s left is something honest.
When someone is working from that place, you can feel it. The work carries a kind of gravity. It draws people in. It has energy. It feels alive. And it becomes unmistakably theirs.
Looking ahead, what do you think are the key factors that will influence change for creative professionals?
Technology will continue to shift how creative work is made and distributed as tools become more accessible. The real challenge becomes learning how to stay grounded in the work itself.
Roles are changing too. I’m already seeing positions that merge marketing, coordination, graphic design and social media into one role. It’s often framed as efficiency — a way to save budget. But it also shifts what is expected of creative professionals and how their skills are valued.
How much does your city influence your work?
Wellington has a particular rhythm. Small studios, independent galleries, Hand-drawn signage and posters and political graffiti layered on street walls. It’s a place where ideas move quickly because the city is small. But it’s dense enough that those ideas collide.
There’s also a strong Māori and Pacific presence here. Public art, activism and politics sit right alongside everyday life. Creative culture here feels active - that’s something I value deeply.
How much does your culture influence your work?
I am Māori, my iwi or tribes are Ngāi Te Rangi, Ngāti Ranginui and Ngāti Porou. Māori are Indigenous to New Zealand and the way in which we design and make is quite different to western practice. My culture isn’t something I add to the work. It’s the ground it stands on.
When you’re working within a cultural framework, you’re drawing from systems of knowledge that have existed for generations. They’re connected to land, language, environment and people. That depth is something I’m constantly learning from.
Māori art — both traditional and contemporary — informs the narratives and aesthetics I explore, the visual language I use and the way the work is presented. There’s strength in knowing these practices continue to be revived and carried forward.
For me, the goal isn’t simply visibility. It’s seeing Māori designers producing thoughtful, high-quality work. Work that stands strongly in any creative context — not just because it’s Indigenous, but because it’s excellent.
Tell us some of your favourite, creative professionals and inspiring places in your city!
Art is a constant presence in my design practice - it’s where I return to again and again. There are Māori and Pacific artists whose work I consistently return to, whose voices feel resonant; Robyn Kahukiwa, Sandy Adsett, Arnold Manaaki Wilson, Mataaho Collective, Filipe Tohi…But inspiration comes from all kinds of places, and it shifts all the time.
Sometimes it’s nature, sometimes it’s fashion, ceramics, graffiti, or illustration. These influences come and go, but they all find their way in. I think part of being a maker is staying open to that - letting your references evolve as you do.
We have a gallery and museum here called The Dowse. It’s one of the places I return to often. What I admire about it is the clarity of its vision. Over time it has stayed deeply committed to craft, to experimentation, and to presenting work in thoughtful ways.
In my view, it consistently pushes further than many other institutions here. You can feel that intention when you walk through the space. It creates environments for the art to be experienced.
What should emerging creative professionals keep in mind as they begin their design career?
If you’re working somewhere, pay attention to who you’re learning from. Look beyond the website and the HR language. Ask yourself: do these people represent where I want to go? Can they help me grow? Or is this a stepping stone? The wrong environment can shrink your sense of what’s possible.
Another thing I wish I understood earlier is the importance of shaping a narrative around your work. If you accept working for exposure, if you allow your work to go uncredited, if you constantly discount your value, you quietly teach others to do the same. It becomes a difficult cycle to escape.
And be careful of dynamics where the client begins to see themselves as the creative and you as the executor. You’re not there to operate the tools. You’re there for the thinking.