I managed to get up really early on Saturday in order to make it up to New Plymouth for the SCANZ 2009 symposium. I left a dark and quiet Wellington at 05.00 and arrived in New Plymouth at 10.00 after a non-eventful journey. My planned meeting with old school friend Tim didn't work out. We have rescheduled and, in retrospect, I am rather pleased I didn't have to drive for 5 hours still suffering from 'the night before'.
This trip was my first chance to meet some media artists and scholars from New Zealand as well as a few familiar faces from elsewhere. One of these was Andrew, a doctoral student from the Media Lab Helsinki, who has been taking part in the SCANZ artist residency in Taranaki (the region where New Plymouth is situated) for the last two weeks.
The small world syndrome gained extra weight when I discovered that my tent was pitched next to the somewhat larger tent occupied by Andrew's parents at the local camp site.
They are over here on holiday, touring for a month or so. The weather was lovely on Saturday and Sunday and it was great to be able to enjoy the cool night air in my new tent, under the stars. The Belt Road camp site gets high recommendation and only set me back about 16 euros for the weekend, including use of showers and other services there.
After a full day of media art performances and 'paper presentations', that included a full spectrum of both well thought and totally over my head theories, standpoints and descriptions of allegiances (as well as a truly classic dysfunctional Skype teleconference with a lady in Brazil) we attended the opening of the exhibition in the Govett-Brewster Art Gallery in the same premises.
Then most people met up at the dinner in a rather elegant Indian restaurant in the main street. I walked back to the camp site contented after the pleasant company and enjoying the feeling of a stomach full with tasty Indian delicacies that, for once, I hadn't had to prepare myself.
Sunday's symposium continued with more paper presentations and performances then, after lunch, there was a session devoted to presenting the artist in residents' projects and another couple of 'rounding up' and 'feedback' sessions which were probably more interesting for those who had taken part in the activities than the few of us who had only attended the weekend symposium.
In the evening I met up with Andrew and some of the remaining artists for fish and chips on a local beach. When the sun went down we said our farewells and they drove off in their minivan. I prepared to leave back to the camp site in the, now famous, arse rocket but my negative comments have obviously been registered somehow within the vehicle's artificial GT-intelligence. The car was going nowhere - it had immobilized itself completely. A quick call to the rescue service guaranteed I didn't have to leave it there in the deserted car park and to walk the 5 kms or so back to my tent on the other side of town. About one hour later the rocket was delivered from the back of the recovery truck to the yard of an auto electrician company and then I was, luckily, delivered back to the camp site.
The coincidence of living next to familiar faces was really a happy fate and Andrew's father was quick to help me get over to the repair shop early on Monday morning, to be first in the queue of jobs, and also to help me later shift the tent and all other belongings over there too. When we asked for an estimate of the time to repair the good old, faithful arse rocket we were told, 'let's see, it's Monday'. I assume this was early Monday morning uncertainty on the part of the manager as to whether any workers would actually show up that day after the excesses of their weekends. Having wandered the town and sampled the coffee shops I ended up sitting on a wall with a taxi driver as we both waited the delivery of our repaired vehicles. At 13.00 I was eventually free to escape New Plymouth for further adventures in Taranaki and beyond. For despite the looming rain clouds I had long planned to return to the Republic of Whangamomona, which we'd visited with Tarja and Tessa briefly a year ago.
My intention was to use the potential of the faithful and trusty arse rocket to speed me over 63 kms of the most beautiful and motoristically challenging Forgotten World Highway, to the semi-famous East Taranaki Micro-Nation of sheep shearers and possum skinners, in order to buy a passport and enjoy a few pints of beer in the wonderfully preserved Whangamomona Hotel.
This trip was my first chance to meet some media artists and scholars from New Zealand as well as a few familiar faces from elsewhere. One of these was Andrew, a doctoral student from the Media Lab Helsinki, who has been taking part in the SCANZ artist residency in Taranaki (the region where New Plymouth is situated) for the last two weeks.
The small world syndrome gained extra weight when I discovered that my tent was pitched next to the somewhat larger tent occupied by Andrew's parents at the local camp site.
They are over here on holiday, touring for a month or so. The weather was lovely on Saturday and Sunday and it was great to be able to enjoy the cool night air in my new tent, under the stars. The Belt Road camp site gets high recommendation and only set me back about 16 euros for the weekend, including use of showers and other services there.After a full day of media art performances and 'paper presentations', that included a full spectrum of both well thought and totally over my head theories, standpoints and descriptions of allegiances (as well as a truly classic dysfunctional Skype teleconference with a lady in Brazil) we attended the opening of the exhibition in the Govett-Brewster Art Gallery in the same premises.
Then most people met up at the dinner in a rather elegant Indian restaurant in the main street. I walked back to the camp site contented after the pleasant company and enjoying the feeling of a stomach full with tasty Indian delicacies that, for once, I hadn't had to prepare myself.
Sunday's symposium continued with more paper presentations and performances then, after lunch, there was a session devoted to presenting the artist in residents' projects and another couple of 'rounding up' and 'feedback' sessions which were probably more interesting for those who had taken part in the activities than the few of us who had only attended the weekend symposium.
In the evening I met up with Andrew and some of the remaining artists for fish and chips on a local beach. When the sun went down we said our farewells and they drove off in their minivan. I prepared to leave back to the camp site in the, now famous, arse rocket but my negative comments have obviously been registered somehow within the vehicle's artificial GT-intelligence. The car was going nowhere - it had immobilized itself completely. A quick call to the rescue service guaranteed I didn't have to leave it there in the deserted car park and to walk the 5 kms or so back to my tent on the other side of town. About one hour later the rocket was delivered from the back of the recovery truck to the yard of an auto electrician company and then I was, luckily, delivered back to the camp site.
The coincidence of living next to familiar faces was really a happy fate and Andrew's father was quick to help me get over to the repair shop early on Monday morning, to be first in the queue of jobs, and also to help me later shift the tent and all other belongings over there too. When we asked for an estimate of the time to repair the good old, faithful arse rocket we were told, 'let's see, it's Monday'. I assume this was early Monday morning uncertainty on the part of the manager as to whether any workers would actually show up that day after the excesses of their weekends. Having wandered the town and sampled the coffee shops I ended up sitting on a wall with a taxi driver as we both waited the delivery of our repaired vehicles. At 13.00 I was eventually free to escape New Plymouth for further adventures in Taranaki and beyond. For despite the looming rain clouds I had long planned to return to the Republic of Whangamomona, which we'd visited with Tarja and Tessa briefly a year ago.
My intention was to use the potential of the faithful and trusty arse rocket to speed me over 63 kms of the most beautiful and motoristically challenging Forgotten World Highway, to the semi-famous East Taranaki Micro-Nation of sheep shearers and possum skinners, in order to buy a passport and enjoy a few pints of beer in the wonderfully preserved Whangamomona Hotel.
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