The Out Takes

There have been a few tales to share during the Tauranga Arts Fest, that I could not possibly divulge at the time for fear of the repercussions. Then I decided I'd sneak them in right at the end in the form of an 'Out takes' blog.

On the opening evening, I discovered a toothpaste stain on my right breast. It would've been ok, but the dress was navy. Why does toothpaste always drop on dark coloured clothing while you're wearing it and why does it have to resemble seagull crap? I think toothpaste is secretly in cahoots with dropping toast on the buttered side down and poppy seed hiding in between front two teeth all day.

From the file of things that you don't really want to discover about your own physical appearance.... Whilst applying mascara, I found out that I have one nostril twice the size of the other. It's like one side greedily sucked the life out of the other. I'm not sure who I'm going to blame for this genetic malfunction, but I am guessing that having an over zealous nostril has enhanced my snorting while laughing capabilities.

My high school days came back to haunt me with at least one teacher at what felt like every show. I'm not sure whether the universe is trying to grade me on my life, or whether this is an evil reminder that I left school 12 years ago.

There was the guitarist who rocked back and forth while rhythmically strumming. From side on, he looked like he was making love to his instrument. Once I realised I wondered if all muso's clearly loved their performance.

I was sitting next to a woman during a play one evening. As she opened her water bottle, it spouted like a whale onto her and her friend. I bit my tongue. It's always funny when it happens to someone else.

I've been in the presence of some interesting inhalers. There have been the deep heavy breathers that sound like they are about to pounce upon you in a horror film, the nasally breathers who sound like they are awake snoring and a mutterer who had his own running review under his breath. And not to forget the laughter, anything from cackles to snorters, and hooters to honkers (including my own over-sized laughter amid the obvious quietness).

I dropped my pen during a show at Baycourt and lost it. You wouldn't normally think this was a big deal until I had to ferret around and find its replacement. Flashing pen with dangly bits gifted to me in a Korean restaurant in Hong Kong. Not the most secretive writing utensil will trying to scribe in a dark theatre.

My most favourite outfit witnessed was a grandma wearing a black sparkly number finished off with silver sequined sneakers. That woman is my elderly style icon.

There was the great flying food spectacle, as a tray of fresh fruit met its demise on the floor. I did have much empathy for that poor girl serving it. When I was a waitress, I went to serve a customer only to have their freshly battered fish fly off the plate right past the agape mouths and onto the floor.

And finally early on into the Arts Fest, I left a the Palace with beautiful music playing in my mind until I walked past a bar with karaoke being thrust upon anyone in earshot. I looked in to see a larger woman singing... Hmmm, it really was over.

Day 11 - Dame Alison Holst & the end...

All good things must come to an end - vacations, Outrageous Fortune, that dress you ruined with an alcoholic stain down the front from a great night out..... And now the Tauranga Arts Festival.

My final hurrah was taking mum to listen to Dame Alison Holst's lifetime journey of sharing her home cookery expertise. Only a pinch of males were present for this recipe of life, as the audience were appreciative female fans who had grown up to Mrs Holst's motherly cooking advice. I now have a spot in my heart for 'fondness of Alison Holst'.

I felt a little sadness upon leaving the Palace for the last time. I had created so many memories, opened my mind to so many new great pieces of theatre and music and sat in many different positions. In 11 days I have been to 25 shows whilst keeping up my day job.

I'd like to thank the crew at the Tauranga Arts Fest for this immensely rewarding opportunity. Greg the director for taking a risk by presenting me with an 'Access All Areas' pass (which I restrained myself from using it to its full capabilities) and allowing my blogging skills to grow. Katherine for encouraging me with a smile and kind words of my 'blog baby'. Jo for lending her ear when we were clearly both stuffed. Becks for lending me her 'bubble' car and making me feel most welcome at the Pacific Crystal Palace. Peter at the Palace who didn't bat an eyelid when I accidentally introduced him to my colleague as John, for greeting me everyday with "How's my favourite blogger?". All the other front of house staff for their daily smiles. My friends, family and colleagues for their support. And you, the reader for taking the time to cast your eyes over my account of the Tauranga Arts Fest 2011.

Day 10 - Ngai Tahu 32, Tahuna Breaks & The Hotel

I'd regained some much anticipated energy points with a 90 minute massage followed by an afternoon of napping. I awoke in time to prepare for my last evening at the Tauranga Arts Fest and was stoked on my first attempt to give myself a perfectly formed French Roll hairstyle.

I arrived at Baycourt Theatre in time to be seated with two of my old high school teachers. Goosebumps swept across my body as the opening scene of Ngai Tahu captured my heart. It was as though I knew a beautiful thing was unravelling before my eyes. Fluid movements of the dancers reflected the rippling of water and it's life source... powerfully hypnotic. The costumes were perfectly paired in this darkly delicate performance. With instant connection, I could feel my soul being cleansed. This experience was indeed deeply moving and it was sad to see that more hadn't witnessed this masterpiece.

Next stop was Tahuna Breaks back down at the Palace. It was refreshing to be at a show that had an audience from my age bracket. The lead singer began with a solo opening performance. It was a nice taster before the rest of the band joined to pull out some dancing tunes with hints of reggae and tones of funk. I had to leave as the second set began and my glass of wine emptied. I had to skip off one last time.

The Sebel foyer was a hubbub of chatter in anticipation for the play The Hotel. We were escorted upstairs to a room and sat around the edges like outcast goldfish in a bowl. How appropriate was it that my last evening fling ended in a hotel room. This follow on from The Salon was more edgier, like the lesbian pash on Coro the other night, with at least one character convincingly like someone you would actually know. It opened up an undercover world of what goes on behind those thin walls. I don't think I will ever enter a hotel room without thinking about what stories it could tell.

Another three down and one more day to go!

Day 9 - Tim Balme & Fiona Samuels, The Adventures of Alvin Sputnik: Deep Sea Explorer , The Sad Lament of Pecos Bill on the Eve of Killing His Wife and The Storehouse

On the ninth day I slept in until the late hour of 7am. Apparently there's a gas crisis going on. I'm not up to date with the latest news, my world right now is the Tauranga Arts Fest. Im living and breathing it. I caught a glimpse of myself in a reflection and got a fright. My current look is haggard and my eyeballs are over compensating by fighting back the lids. Thank goodness for Loreal and associates.

I'm also really embracing the festival and having a feastival. As time will not permit gym workouts and exercise, I take that as a cue to eat crap. Friday's attempt to extract some energy included a dietary input of 2 coffees, 1 coke, 2 cake slices, a Moro and a vitamin B supplement.

At lunchtime Carey and I have an outing to a script writing chat from Tim Balme and Fiona Samuels with Jeff Lealand from the University of Waikato. As creative writers we found this quite interesting and beneficial and went back to work full of baking and satisfied.

I changed for Alvin Sputnik and headed up to Baycourt. It was with 5 minutes to go that the lightbulb switched on after talking to one of the Arts Fest crew, Becks. I was in the wrong location. Becks kindly leant me her car. I jumped into the 'bubble,' took on a superhero persona and zipped across town.

When I arrived, I slipped into the wrong side of the dark theatre and sat down. The scene I fell into tugged at my heartstrings. I endeavored not to cry. But then humour jumped aboard as adults and children laughed alike at the storyline and clever puppetry that was masterfully bought to life. I asked the sole actor afterwards what his intentions were with the storyline and whether I was on the same wavelength. He gave a completely different account. It's amazing how your personal experiences can you lead you to view the world in a completely different light. Like if five people were given the same ingredients and would end up cooking different dishes.

I had time to spare in between shows and spent the interim gnawing on a chicken drumstick covered in nine secret herbs and spices. I say nine because salt and pepper are clearly not the world's biggest secret.

I arrived at the Pacific Crystal Palace to see a campfire, hay bales and the Halloween version of The Village People. The Sad Lament of Pecos Bill began with the familiar twang of Western music and a rising deceased bride. The bride possessed an appropriately haunting yet ethereal voice and Bill had captured the whiny essence of a country cowboy.

The band was perfectly in tune to the story. From the tempo that encourages cow cockies to imbibe, to the replication of desert fauna, to the guitar sounding like a heat wave shimmering on a dusty horizon. I sat in the same booth as the bride's proud parents relishing in the performance.

Once the set was quickly packed up, a dance floor was made for the next act - The Storehouse. The Pecos Bill band reemerged and began to play bluesy roots music. The audience began to let loose and trickle onto the dance floor one at a time. However caution was thrown to the wind as soon as a bit of 'Dutch courage' kicked in. At that point I realized that at no matter what age, you still kinda act the same when you're drunk. This was my moment to exit and go home to rest my weary head.

The Adventures of Alvin Sputnik is on at 1pm Saturday 29th and Sunday 30th October at The Repertory Theatre (not Baycourt).

Day 8 - On the Upside Down of the World & Pauline Scanlon

On the eighth day my handbag was a veritable shit storm of tickets, gum wrappers, leaky lip gloss, strewn unused tissues that had jumped out of their packet and my iPad. My bedroom was a cacophony of clothes, shoes and make-up (there was a least a space for me to nestle into at night). I'd eaten cereal and had a cup of coffee for dinner. I was in my own upside down world upon preparing for 'On The Upside Down of the World'.

Jolene and I walked into a newly transformed Baycourt theatre to a set of ladders in sand. The actress walked on stage wearing a costume complimenting the rigid structures and began the 80 minute show; an account of immigrating to Aotearoa in the 1800's. A thought provoking and stellar performance that struck a chord with me, somewhat a little close to home. It has been the only piece of theatre that I have ever become emotionally entangled with as I quickly wiped away a tear to prevent more from falling. I could not leave looking like I had auditioned for A Clockwork Orange.

Straight afterwards we left for the Pacific Crystal Palace to see Pauline Scanlon and arrived upon the opening duet with Pauline and the 'Irish version of George Clooney'. There's nothing like an Irish accent to make a girl weak. I've tried replicating it many a time, but always end up sounding like a pirate.

Her voice was like delicate droplets caressing a pool of water. And once the whole quartet of vocalist, acoustic, double bass and accordion were in collaboration, I pictured myself amid lush green rolling countryside with the music adding to the scenery. There were of course the festive Irish beats that you could sink a Guinness or two, in a happy pub and have the weight of the world cast aside from your shoulders. Every song told an important tale. This was definitely better than any Irish pub CDs I had heard.

Like a little leprechaun, I escaped at intermission. I really wanted to stay on, but I needed to tuck into the corner of the bed I have ready for sleeping. Perhaps I should set one up in the Palace?

Pauline Scanlon is also performing at The Landing, Katikati on Friday 28th.

Day 7 - 2 Dimensional Life of Her and The Bellbirds

Day 7 - 2 Dimensional Life of Her & The Bellbirds

In the morning I pulled out two potential outfits to wear and two pairs of shoes to match. It was indecisive Wednesday and I really couldn't face making a definitive decision for that evening's wear. Come the end of the day, I had chosen 'funeral dress'. A brave selection as I had only ever worn this to 4 funerals, in 10 months. I thought it was about time it came out on a more jovial occasion.

Outfit: Long black dress
Shoes: Favourite pair purchased on last Hong Kong trip - cream peep toes with black ribbon trim (which unfortunately the heels have wedged in a grate and are sadly damaged but still glamorous - like Marilyn Munroe)

My 'plus one' had bailed. My plus one plus one plus one plus one had also bailed. I went to the opening evening of '2 Dimensional Life of Her' in the amazing company of myself. It was dark when the audience crept in (darkness instantly makes one quiet) and the set looked like a child care centre's only toy source was in the form of an industrial roll of paper. It was strewn everywhere and looked like a lot of fun to prepare. I must buy one of those paper rolls for when I'm really pissed off. Ripping it would do wonders for the soul.

The theatre piece was like one of those ultra-intelligent kids at school. A bit edgy with many dimensions and a shot of clever wit at the end that you cannot retort.

I had a bit of a break in between shows and treated myself to my favourite Italian restaurant. I accidentally ordered dessert and I really shouldn't have had that glass of delicious Pinot Gris. I was ready to slip into bed and snug up, but I had to conjure every extra ounce of energy for the Bellbirds concert at the Pacific Crystal Palace.

I arrived early and secured a comfy booth for my pregnant colleague and I. Carey was the biggest Don McGlashan fan and I figured she should see this in complete booth comfort. After locating each other she sat down, but decided that this wasn't the best spot. So we moved to the second row from the front behind my old social studies teacher. It was off to the side and she decided that she needed to be centralized to make the most of the sound. I waited while she found the best spot available and after switching seats so she could hear me out of her good ear, we were ready. I figured it was best not to mess with the pregnant Don McGlashan fan.

The group entered and began their set. Carey cradled her baby and felt its appreciation. It was the perfect kind of music to make me feel alive, yet tune out to. Carey said "It's like Fly My Pretties for older people." I completely agreed as I realized that music is timeless and at no matter what age, you can still appreciate the beauty of it.

Each member of the quartet had their own voice as they took turns to share their vocal talents. It's amazing to think that although we all speak, we do not all posses the ability to sing (that people would want to listen to anyway).

The Bellbirds had rocked me into a state of relaxation and I left my smiling colleague at intermission to go home and rest. Her unborn child 'Apple Pip' had already kicked off its appreciation for great New Zealand music.

2 Dimensional Life of Her is on at the Baycourt Exhibition Space is on Thursday 27th and Friday 28th, with shows at 1 & 6pm.

Day 6 – Tic Tic

It’s half-way through the Tauranga Arts Fest and I am considering methods of intravenous caffeine input. I have a new found respect for people with kids; all I’m doing is going to a bunch of amazing shows in an 11 day time frame.

Tuesday was a one show special – Tic Tic at my second home, the Pacific Crystal Palace. Mum and I had found two perfectly placed seats and waited two whole minutes for the show to begin. We didn’t know what to expect, a comedy about Tourette's. The only experience I have had with this is when I watch rugby and a slew of obscenities shuffle out of my mouth at quick-fire succession. I have no control over this.

Paul Barrett opened with a piano piece and throughout the show used this as a tool for story telling about growing up with unclassified Tourette’s and being gay. It struck a chord with me because sometimes I would love to just start singing about everyday life as it happens. If I was a busker, I’d probably put a kitty in the hat to begin with so that the innocent listener could take a coin or two away for putting up with my inaudible and tone-deaf melodies.

Moments of laughter cropped up in pockets from the audience. I even heard Mum snort at one stage. Hmmm… there are some things you can’t help but inherit. Paul’s impersonations of people that had affected his life were truly memorable. As the laughter subsided, you realise that there is truth jest and he had taken this all in his stride - A true testament to his character.

As the applause waned and the lights came on, Mum said “That was different.”

I agreed. ‘Different’ is good and I was enlightened by the experience.

The final Tic Tic show is on tonight (Wednesday 26^th) at Te Puke Repertory Theatre.

Day 5 - The Salon, Berlin Burlesque, Anna Coddington & Julia Deans

I had been taking advantage of what looked to be essentially the first day of summer. Lounging about like a lizard really did suit me. I peeled myself off the mattress and got ready for Day 5 of the Tauranga Arts Fest.

Outfit: Black Grecian maxi dress

Shoes: Cute summery wedges

Once again, I made it just in the nick of time as a small collection of people gathered around the outside of The Salon on The Strand. All I knew was that this intimate show meant an exclusive audience. Upon following Greg the Director down the hidden alleyway and into the back entrance, I knew that this play was going to be something special as the show had unexpectedly begun while we were waiting to enter the premises.

I cannot expose too much about this thought-provoking piece of theatre as revealing too many secrets would be like an un-wrapped gift under the Christmas tree. You walk in feeling like a customer and leave feeling like you had privately witnessed the juiciest piece of gossip. It's a personal test of character as to whether you would expose what you'd seen. I cannot wait to see The Hotel and watch what unfolds next.

I left for the next show feeling like I had been strangely enlightened and gaining a brain cell or two. Which is very fortunate as I had usurped a few the previous evening in the form of a beer glass.

As I sat and tapped away in the foyer at Baycourt waiting for Berlin Burlesque to begin, the gathering group were greeted by stilt-walkers. Not just any stilt-walkers – splits perfoming, piggy-backing, handstand pulling stilt-walkers. Wow. My flatmate Fee had caught the tail end of it as she had endeavoured to arrive on time due to locking herself out of the house.

We were welcomed by a smokey theatre, completely transformed since the last time I had been there (just 3 nights previous). As the lights dimmed, I pictured that this was what a London stage show would be like. The set was glorious. It was essentially a cleverly crafted circus with a menagerie of illusion, strength, grace, interaction, risque humour, sexy vocals, music, body tricks and glitzy costumes in a visually stimmualting experience. I think I strained my neck from shaking it in awe of what the cast could actually do. Fee had clearly forgotten about her window jumping escapade, as she sat with her jaw dropped. And when I wasn’t wide-eyed, I was full heartedly belly laughing.

We left as the final hurrah was taking place, as we had to flee down to the next show. As we picked up our heels, the sound of Julia Deans & Anna Coddington grabbed us and pulled us toward the Pacific Crystal Palace. We snuck in to join our flatmates in a booth, when I learnt that you cannot possibly quietly creep in wearing heels.

It was essentially a great girl’s night out with melodic lullabies rocking me into a state of relaxation. A complete contrast from where we had just come. Dean and Coddington’s earthy lyrics capturing relatable moments of every day life. I completely succumbed to ‘Clandestine’ as I melted into the booth seat. It was the cream cheese icing on what had been a run of three entirely amazing shows and great to share with friends.

If it’s not sold out already, do see Berlin Burlesque’s final show tonight 7pm at Baycourt.

The Salon is on tonight through to Saturday with 2 shows per evening. The sequel ‘The Hotel’ is also on tonight through to Saturday with 2 shows per evening.

Day 4 - Tama Waipara Concert

Day 4's blog for the Tauranga Arts Fest has taken a bit more time to post than expected due to last night's rugby winning celebrations. Thank goodness for 3am cheeseburgers and blue Powerade.

I made it just in time to Tama Waipara's concert.
Outfit: inherited All Blacks jersey and skirt.
Shoes: candy-striped peep toes

As I walked in and sat down, I received two separate comments on the amazingness of my shoes. Shoe envy is one of the highest forms of flattery.

Tama and his band opened with a song that gave me goosebumps all over. A beautiful number that had been composed by the late Hirini Melbourne. In hindsight, I should've bought my nan. She would appreciate the contemporary Sir Howardness, the cheeky humour throughout the set and the fact that he slightly resembled a trimmer version of my cousin.

I floated down the gentle stream to his melodies... just laxing. Tama was modestly skilled and had rising talent accompanying him. Particularly Andrea Groneveld whose passion came alive through each strum and note.

The concert was definitely the best pre-match entertainment I had witnessed and the audience would agree. If you are ever fortunate enough to have the opportunity to go to one of Tama's concerts, I'd say buy a ticket.

Day 3 - Street Theatre, Liam Ryan, Drowning in Veronica Lake, Antonio Forcione & Adriano Adewale

Day 3 of the Tauranga Arts Fest began with what could only be classed as the mildest of hangovers and a sleep in. Amanda and I had clearly enjoyed the wine from the previous evening a little too much. After gathering my thoughts and posting Day 2's blog, I was collected by family and whisked off to the street theatre on The Strand.

We stopped at the eclectic crowd gathered around Whip Cracking Noodles Man whose humour cleverly disguised his attempts to crack a handful of dry spaghetti from his assistant's grasp. She didn't flinch. I wondered how much danger money I’d demand if I was her.

Upon returning from lets go all out and devour delicious desserts, we came back to the dance crew from Hullapolloi. They weren’t in coloured Lycra, but they did perform some cool dances when a rehearsed flash mob entered. I’m a fan of flash mobs. Aunty Di joined in, as my cousin filmed it. This was going to be ‘gold’ around the Christmas table.

Later I came back to the Pacific Crystal Palace, like a homing pigeon.

Outfit: Inspired by the senorita music of last night, a floral David Pond skirt and black cowl neck top that I had purchased 10 years ago.

Shoes: Dangerously high black stilettos with peep toes.

I was a dash late for Liam Ryan and friends, as I sat at the last empty booth right next to the stage. It was almost as though I had a curtain view from backstage where I could really see what was going on. A fringed mat that could’ve belonged in my Nana’s house 30 years ago cushioned the drum kit. An old brown music suitcase that revealed its past with its scratched ‘Fragile’ sticker stood proudly in the background. A solitary pickle looking suspiciously like a poo stared at me from under the table.

The jazzy musical arrangements were all composed online, as tunes had been emailed and their first practice together as a band was in fact yesterday. It was a sounds cape of ambient music that was classy and smooth. One dancy intro conjured up an image of a 50 year old driving off in his mid-life crisis convertible, with his comb-over flapping in the wind.

I had become a recent jazz fan and was pleasantly surprised. Greg the Director revealed his flute playing skills. My only knowledge of the flute was that it was the sister to the dreaded recorder and the bad primary school memories of selecting one from a bucket of disinfectant. I didn’t realise jazzy flute ever existed. I left for the Repertory Theatre feeling revived. If I ever got married again, I’d want Liam Ryan and his mates to play live in the background.

I was curious about the play Drowning in Veronica Lake, as I had only recently heard of her from the research for my Old Hollywood Glam birthday party. The opening scene revealed a costume that dripped with old fashioned sex appeal and clothed the entire stage floor. It was a one woman show most aptly named as the actress was limited in movement, with the humanness of a silver screen starlet stripped back and handed to you in raw pieces. Amid the humour, you felt sorry for Ms Lake as the actress made it all appear so real and now. Taboo issues such as alcoholism unwrapped and presented to you, like the family cat leaving half a dead rat on the front porch. I want to applaud the actress for her ability to convincingly switch from character to character. It definitely has left an impression on me.

Amanda had bought some more sensible shoes for me to slip into. I had forgotten that over the years the stilettos had stretched and that mile-high wedges would be a better option. Thank all the holy cows in India that she did, because as I slipped back into Antonio Forcione & Andriano Adewale’s concert again, I was only left with standing room.

It wasn’t a secret; I had fallen for the music. It was like an affair that kept beckoning for more. I actually wanted to package up the musical duo and display them as a permanent fixture in the lounge at home, performing on demand. I’d build them a fort out of couches and cushions as payment.

As promised, Forcione had worn a different shirt. The music was even more intimate on your own. The graceful hands of Adewale, cleverly changing sounds at the flick of his agile wrists. I could hear the songs speaking to so many different people. I imagined it would be perfect for lovers, hand in hand. I pictured my late husband there, embracing me and becoming even more passionate about his other wife – the guitar.

Another day of the Tauranga Arts Fest draws to a close. I cannot express how much the experience is in fact worth it. People have paid hundreds of dollars for rugby matches and here we have high calibre culture for under $50.

Drowning in Veronica Lake’s last show is on tonight (Sunday 23^rd) at 7pm. I promise you’ll be out in time for the rugby!

Day 2 - Conservatorium of Music, Tim Walker, Hullapolloi, Antonio Forcione & Adriano Adewale

It's Day 2 and I'm feeling the pressure already. In between getting up early to write Day 1's blog, physio and client appointments I had sat down to a delicious bagel for lunch. Jolene said "Haven't you got a concert on now?" I looked at her dumbfounded. Oh crap, I did - The University of Waikato's Conservatorium of Music Students. I finished my mouthful, grabbed my iPad and skated out the door trying to look as graceful as possible while not dropping my new electronic text collecting mechanism.

The violin echoed sweet tales once told, as I plonked down in a booth. The audience was the kind that that appreciates good quality classical and they were rewarded with the musicians promising potential. I admit that my ears are not tuned to the intricacies of classics, but it was a great accompaniment to my typing.

That afternoon last minute work stuff cropped up. I was on the phone and trying not to burn my face with the hair straighteners. I scooted down The Strand with my festival pass entangled in my hair and partly strangling me. I tried to discreetly enter Tim Walker's concert in the Pacific Crystal Palace hoping to look undishevelled, yet I avoided my reflection in the mirror panelling afraid of what might be staring back at me.

Outfit: simple indigo dress

Shoes: patent nude wedges

I was greeted by Greg the director and delicious wafts creeping from the kitchen area summoning my now hungry puku. I had to wait until later. I found a lone booth and became its friend.

I had never heard of Tim Walker, but was pleasantly surprised as his acoustic session was the perfect partner to the sunny Friday afternoon. Folky feel good music that soothes and speaks directly to you. A voice gently lapping at the shore, assuring you that everything will be alright. The kind of music that you would want to curl up in a Lazy Boy, with candles and a good book. Tears lay in wait; they would no doubt perform in a solitary moment. His voice had definitely tapped me on my shoulder. This was yet another album I will need to purchase.

Next on the list of things to see was the dance performance Hullapolloi at Baycourt. I was a bit peckish so I purchased some Pringles. As I sat in the theatre snacking, I hoped the amplified crunching of the chips was only in my mind. The lights dimmed, the show began and I was thirsty. I had to wait. The performance opened my eyes to a new way that people express themselves creatively, the scenes extracted a delightful couple’s guffaw from a husband and wife in the crowd and the entire Lycra body suit costumes revealed the outlines of muscular figures and abs.

Then it was down to the Pacific Crystal Palace again for Antonio Forcione and Adriano Adewale’s Concert. My flatmate Amanda and I met and entered a more packed venue than the previous evening. We found the most perfect spot that was available and Amanda accidently came back from the bar with a bottle of wine and two glasses. I ordered a noodle box with prawns, as I didn’t want to have to be fireman carried out after the show.

As the first song engaged the audience with its beat we both agreed that if our friend Jenni were here, she’d be up dancing centre stage. The musicians took control of their instruments and unleashed melodies that played off each other, like childhood friends in the school yard. At times I was mesmerized, in a trance and carried off into the distance as their instruments conversed with each other. At one stage Amanda said that “The Palace’s red tent was the senorita dancing” as it gracefully billowed from above.

I fell in love with Forcione’s ‘Night Passage’, composed during a sleepless evening in Italy under the stars and was in awe of his type writer impersonation with the guitar. He really is a master at his game.

I sincerely recommend this show for the hypnotic music that I fell for and the entertaining relationship the musicians had with each other and with the audience. I plan to come back again tonight and Forcione has promised that “He’ll wear a different shirt.”

Antonio Forcione and Andriano Adewale’s last concert is on tonight at the Pacific Crystal Palace from 8:30pm. Tickets are well worth it for the experience - only $40.

Day 1 - Grace Exhibition, Rita & Douglas and LA Mitchell

I was awoken by a text from my UK friend, which was fortunate as I needed to get up early to kick off Day 1 of the Tauranga Arts Fest with the official opening of the Grace Exhibition. The stroll down to Masonic Park reinforced exactly why I live in the beautiful Bay of Plenty - A picturesque morning with a slight spring bite to awaken the senses.

As I arrived, the gates were being thrust aside to allow the small crowd in. Greg the Director greeted me with a nice warm hug. I like hugs. It's a good way to launch a festival. If only hugs were a compulsory way to start each day.

The Grace Exhibition is quite striking in the glow of the morning sun. It calls out to you as you meander down the path toward the backdrop of the inviting Pacific Crystal Palace. It's the renowned photographer Peter Bush's work on display with enlarged rugby action shots replicated by a clever dancers from Townsville.

There are All Blacks from yesteryear which would instantly elicit reminiscent running commentary from my Dad. New Zealand vs. France photos which have a heightened sense of relevance with Sunday's foreboding final match and dancers caught mid-air in heels. As much as I trot around in my heels, I don't think I could ever leap in the air wearing a pair.

After work I raced home, applied some more make-up, ate dinner and left for the Rita and Douglas play at Baycourt. I realised in the car they I smelt a little bit like satay stir-fry. Ah well.

Outfit: An old favourite - Long sleeved hooded tui dress.

Shoes: Black knee-high boots, that have served me for 5 years.

I arrived at Baycourt and I think I was the youngest person there. Canes were the accessory of choice and patrons had donned their best attire. It reminded me of when I was a kid and you'd have that one new outfit that was worn to every outing and event (until it got stained and ended up rotation with your normal school clothes).

I called out to mum when I saw her and a few heads turned in my direction, thinking their child was summoning them. We sat down to a stage that had a mock artists studio and a lit piano. Mum was quietly excited to be there and as the first tune danced off the keys, I could feel her appreciation envelop me.

The play was a very raw and candid account of Rita Angus’ relationship with Douglas Lilund, two iconic New Zealand artists. Rita's paintings were cast on a slideshow backdrop as Douglas' music accompanied the scenes. The actor's outfits cleverly mirroring the images. Letters were verbally shared and I couldn't help but wonder what Rita would think from above. Her inner struggle lovingly exposed on the table. I felt sad for Rita, but glad I had seen the play.

I quickly kissed mum adieu from our seats and raced down the stairs to the Pacific Crystal Palace, hoping not to cause an injury along the way. As I entered the Palace, the lights dimmed and LA Mitchell's set began. I looked around for my companion who had saved a seat for me, but it was dark and all I could see was the reflection of myself in the mirrors. She was finally located and we sat beneath the grandiose chandelier in awe of LA Mitchell’s singing.

Her voice belted out from her petite frame cutting right through me and tugging at my soul, transporting me to another place and time. I closed my eyes and imagined a back alley smoky jazz club. She wore pants that Sandra D would've had envied, sung with a hint of Stevie Wonder and a twist of the late Miss Winehouse, dripped with wit and charm and had the same turning 30 crises as I had just experienced. The band was effortless, like they could play in their sleep and her gutsy performance made me wish that I could sing just a little. According to my colleague, I belong in the tone deaf category.

At intermission, my flatmate and I shared a brownie. Both suckers for all things chocolate. It didn't last long (I think I returned the plate in under 4 minutes). Nothing beats a good brownie that makes you ‘mmmmm’ out loud.Then I noticed Antonio Forcione and Adriano Adewale in the crowd, on the eve of their first concert and hoped I didn’t have crumbs on my face.

As we left the concert full of admiration, through the evening lit Grace Exhibition and past the grating tune Karaoke from a bar, it occured to me that this is an experience I am most fortunate to be a part of. It’s not often we have the opportunity to have a varied taste of culture of such high calibre right here. If you haven’t booked a ticket for a concert or show, I strongly recommend it. After all, it has only just begun!

http://www.taurangafestival.co.nz/

Student Photo Exhibition

This morning I painted my toenails in preparation for the Tauranga Arts Fest in between putting on a skirt and fixing my hair. The festival’s starting tomorrow and there was no way I was going to get away with ugly nails if I happened to be wearing cute peep toes. Now I’m really ready.

Tonight was the Student Photo Exhibition opening and prize-giving at Baycourt. This was an opportunity for local students from 10 to 18 years to enter and showcase their talents, along with being the entree to the main course of World Press Photo Exhibition.

I arrived with my colleague, Jolene, as the category winners were being awarded. Squeals of delight rung out as only teenage girls can provide. Sneaky hugs and kisses were gifted from loving parents. It was all quite heart-warming. And some names were awarded multiple times.

Upon the closing speeches, disappointed students quietly left empty-handed. It’s a hard life lesson to learn as my heart cracked a little, but we all can’t win. If only we could. Then we’d have a Rugby World Celebration of everyone who plays.

The supreme winner was very deserving with a striking yet secretive image connecting with you as you enter Baycourt’s doors. The exhibition is of a great calibre, allowing you to quickly forget that you’re amid a collection that is essentially by children.

There were some yummy treats too. I did not indulge, as I had my first game of touch for the season to play and I didn’t want to fertilise the field with sausage roll. The salmon and cream cheese triangle club sandwiches got the thumbs up from Jolene. I have a sneaking suspicion that the same caters will also be providing food at the Pacific Crystal Palace. Lucky me!

I was also given my Access All Areas pass to the Tauranga Arts Fest. It’s laminated with ‘Official Festival Blogger’ on the back and a little star. I get a star! Jolene reckons with an ‘Access All Areas’ pass, that I’d be able to go into the men’s dressing rooms. Hmmm.... I don’t think my blogs need to come with that much intricate detail, but I could test it out to see where it will take me.

The Student Photo Exhibition is on now until the 30^th October at Baycourt. Admission is free!

The World Press Photo Exhibition

A late invitation to the opening of the World Press Photo exhibition rendered a quick trip home during lunchtime to pick up a fabulous dress, heels and make-up supplies. Sometimes I like last minute off the cuff plans. It makes life exciting. I left behind the busy news reporters and camera crew in their noisy oil repellent pants and stepped out, glammed up.

This evening’s attire:

Outfit: Debut wearing of gorgeous navy blue dress, perfect for opening event.

Shoes: A tough decision, but settled on shiny snakeskin heels from Hong Kong.

Tauranga Art Gallery was a hive of activity and a sea of suits. My first port of call was for a glass of sav. I stood, then sat, then stood, then backed off to the outskirts. I’m not an experienced ‘mingler’. Greg the director threw me a life ring and gave me the low down for the evening. A lovely young graphic designer student asked if I was waiting for somebody.

“No, I’m here on my own.” I responded.

She was intrigued about my role as the official blogger for the Tauranga Arts Fest.

After the speeches, the rope was dropped and we spilled into the exhibition. I stood back and observed, took notes in a journal and contemplated an iPad purchase (which is completely justifiable as it would be an asset for my blogspertise). It was hard to gauge reactions, as there were quite a few people. I was thankful that there was such a large crowd to mask the images that could potentially make me quite emotional. I recognised and chatted to a couple of clients. Then I decided that I would come back the next day to really take the time to let the exhibition envelope me.

I visited again yesterday and I really do recommend it for many reasons. Not only are we fortunate to have a well-renowned exhibition in our own backyard that has toured the globe and been seen by over 2 million people, but for its ability to strip you back and make you feel humble and appreciative for what you have.

I can guarantee that there would be at least one image that would make a profound impression on you. From the compositions, to seeing photos from places I had never heard of, to personally connecting with and being emotionally vulnerable to the imagery. A rare moment with Kim Jong-il and his favoured son, young Irish gypsies dolled up to their nines, a Chinese oil slick that you immediately empathise with and the bravery of a woman shown by her disfigured face.

I had my own personal conflict whilst indulging in voyeurism, as I’m unsure how some of the photo journalists were able to actually take some of these images. Then I realised that it was to create an awareness and understanding. You can become almost immune to what you see in print, as it doesn’t seem real. But as I walked out of a silent smaller room that came with a sign posted warning for content that may offend, holding back tears, I knew that this exhibition would leave its footprint on me.

The World Press Photo exhibition is a must see. It’s not one of those things you think ‘I’d like to go to’ and never get around to. It’s definitely worth the trip for the experience and for the privilege you feel to have met it.

The World Press Photo Exhibition is on now at the Tauranga Art Gallery until 6^th November. Entry is $5.

The Writer’s Chair

The scene is set for my epic Tauranga Arts Fest blog-a-thon. I’ve tidied my room and cleared a space for creative ideas and fast-paced typing. The writer’s chair is ready.

I’ve gone so far as to use the big blue Lazy Boy for its intended purpose. Big Blue is usually reserved for various paper piles and as a glorified clothes horse. It’s been over a week and it’s still crap free. This is quite a feat.

So now I can park up on Big Blue, stretch my legs out, prop the laptop on my lap (I’m actually using it for its namesake), listen to some inspiring tunes and tap away. If someone walked past, there’d be a cartoon light bulb above my head and I would look intellectual. In reality I’m wearing PJ’s that look like tessellated* Space Invaders and I’m glad this isn’t a video blog.

Tonight the pounding rain is the background soundtrack to my blog writing and Big Blue is a bit too comfy. I know that as long as I’m in my new motivational and ultra-creative space that the Tauranga Arts Fest blogging will be a breeze.

*I had no idea that I was ever going to use this word beyond 3rd form maths. Just a little bit stoked.

Men and Guitars

There’s something about men with guitars. Well men and musical instruments. That’s why I stopped on the Tauranga Arts Festival booklet page entitled ‘Antonio Forcione & Adriano Adewale’. If you can masterfully strum a tune on a six string or you’re a dab hand at percussion, it’s gonna make me stop and look. Especially with exotic names involved. And with quotes like “...One of the greatest guitarists” from the Guardian, I was definitely intrigued.

I grew to love the acoustic when my late husband taught himself to play on the back porch of our Wellington flat. He claimed that he didn’t want to waste his time watching mindless television when he could be doing something more productive. So while I parked up and watched Shortland Street, the rusty chords of Bob Marley’s Redemption Song would dance through the window.

I now have an appreciation for and slight fascination of competent guitarists from different parts of the globe. The way their digits gracefully pluck away at the strings and you can see the music resonating through their soul to you as if you are the only person in the room.

I’m always keen to check out new acts of interest. So I did some research - I youtubed Antonio Forcione and Adriano Adewale. It was a bit of a tease really. Like when you take one lick of an ice cream and it drops to the ground. It’s left me curious and definitely wanting more. So I am lapping up what I can now, in anticipation of their show.

If you’re as keen as me to see a multi-award winning Italian guitarist paired with an amazing Brazilian percussionist, then I suggest getting a ticket. Nothing beats international music, live on our doorstep.

... So what's music for me? It's got to touch people across a whole spectrum of emotions; fun, deep, as many things as possible.
The process of making and performing is a huge part of me.
In the early stage of my life, I wanted to conquer the world but nowadays, I realise all that matters is honesty to what you do.                                             

Antonio Forcione

This blog is dedicated to Mr Hunia who I know will be sitting right beside me for this show and playing along his own guitar.