New Plymouth
Art, sculpture, more special gardens and an assumption-challenging performance
We so enjoyed our visit to the gardens in Hamilton that we decided to continue with the theme when we got to New Plymouth.
The first garden we visited was a smallholding. Raised vegetable beds marched down the northwest-facing slope (the sunny slope here in the southern hemisphere). The black-painted wood contrasted with the green of the plants. The plants were familiar - all crops we would grow in the UK. Two flocks of chickens added some noise and movement at the bottom of the hill, and an orchard brought us back up to our car. The chicken manure, dung from their two small cows (in an adjacent field) and green waste are composted in a series of heaps before being sieved and used for potting. It’s a well-organised operation, with only one minor downside - it’s only open to the public during the city’s open gardens fortnight. Luckily for us, the owners didn’t seem to mind that we turned up out of the blue, having found the garden on Google Maps!
Tūpare Gardens was next on our list. These gardens, planted around 100 years ago, are owned by the council and are always open, free of charge. From the car park, the path winds down through garden woodland to a colonial house designed to look like an English cottage. A tennis court stands to one side of the house, flanked by more woodland and cottage gardens. A small stream cascades down the site to a river. Specimen trees, including English oak and beech, are grouped around the flood meadow, providing shade for picnickers and barbecuers and making us feel at home. Having said that, I don’t think we have anything like this in the UK, as the council gives free access, allows overnight parking for campervans, and provides toilet and barbecue facilities to support people who stay. If you know of anywhere in the UK like that, please let me know in the comments below.
Back in the town, we sat on a bench by the sea with our lunch. The wind wand, a thin kinetic sculpture, was gently swaying in the lightest of breezes way above our heads. Or was it? It might have been an optical illusion – we couldn’t tell.
Our next port of call was the Govett-Brewster Art Gallery/Len Lye Centre, housed in a building with a modern rippled reflective steel front.
The exhibition on display was of modern Māori art. The first installation took my breath away. Hundreds of albatross feathers cascaded from the second-storey ceiling in a series of concentric circles to the floor. A gentle flow of air ruffled each feather, and the floor beneath rippled like the ocean's surface. The effect was stunning.
I asked about the provenance of the feathers. ‘They belong to the iwi’ (the local Māori tribe). Given that albatrosses are endangered and might have been killed to create this installation, I felt highly uncomfortable with such a simplistic response.
The neighbouring piece was a grid of pois, the balls used by Māori in their traditional dances. Each one was embroidered with an image or words associated with a speech by a Māori leader about peaceful protest. It was another beautiful artwork, and both spoke powerfully to me of environmental and social issues that Māori have faced – or are still facing – in New Zealand.
After that, little in the gallery interested me, although Mike loved the giant metal whale that morphed into a tree up in the roof space. I was happy just to have seen those first two pieces.
Visiting the gardens and art gallery was enjoyable but not the reason for our journey to New Plymouth. That reason would have to wait until dark.
As well as several gardens, the council runs Pukekura Park, a mix of native woodland and formal landscaping with spaces for events and sports. A series of lakes run through the park. On one lake, lilies rest their leaves on the surface, their delicate flowers punctuating the space above. Tree ferns are reflected in the water, joined by the brilliant white of the Aotearoa sculpture that rises from the water like a row of writhing amoebas.
Another lake is overlooked by a tea room. From here, you can enjoy a view of snow-capped Mount Taranaki rising above the far end of the lake. It’s stunning to look at but not much fun to climb, as you’ll hear later.
The park is worth visiting any time of year, but in December, it is also the venue for the Festival of Lights. As darkness falls, the lights are switched on. Trees are lit from beneath to show off their leaves and structure, and lamps near the paths provide enough ambient light to walk confidently. A series of lights cause colourful reflections across the lakes, augmented by rowing boats with their own light shows along the gunnels. Funky neon gibbons were hanging around on an island. The playground sported glowing swings. The waterfall was dressed as if for a pride event.
LED ‘bioluminescence’ glimmered under the water. One of the most popular attractions featured hundreds of green light beams moving around the forest and across the crowd - a modern nod to the joy of glitter balls. It was surprisingly disorientating, trying to weave through the crowd with every surface apparently on the move.
My favourite installation, though, was the one we came to last. It was far from the festival's hub, so only a handful of people were in the audience. We spread out in a semi-circle to watch the show, all chatter silenced by the power of the music and lights. The forest in front of us was ravaged by fire, the trees lit in red and the flames roaring. Then the crackling started - the trees behind us sounded like they, too, had begun to burn. It would not take much to picture yourself in the centre of a destructive wildfire. After a few minutes, the roaring of the fire turned to thunder, and the flames were quenched. The music changed to something more light-hearted as the forest regrew and regained its strength and beauty before the cycle began again.
That was not the only stunning show of the evening. The entertainment included an aerial acrobatics show. We sat on the grass, a little way back from the performance space that had been set out, anticipating the arrival of the performers. I heard a whisper – the performers were behind us. So I turned around and saw a wheelchair user heading towards the front. ‘No,’ I thought, ‘he’s just moving to the front so he can see well.’ He stopped his wheelchair beside me and tipped it forward. He hovered there, almost falling, and I was just about to offer to help when he sat upright again, and I realised my mistake. The whisper was true – he was one of the performers. What followed was a love story between him and an (apparently) able-bodied woman, set to music. It was beautiful, acrobatic, and aerobatic – and an excellent personal reminder to challenge assumptions and misconceptions I hold.
You may have noticed that I am publishing posts about December in March. When I started this newsletter, I thought I would be able to cover each week of our journey around New Zealand in around 1,000 words. However, there has been more to write about than I anticipated. Rather than inundating you with long essays every week or missing out interesting places to visit, I have stuck to the original plan in terms of word count and allowed my journey to get ahead of my writing.
As a subscriber to this newsletter, would you prefer me to catch up and write closer to real-time, or are you happy with the current pace? Please let me know in the comments below or drop me an email.
…by the Pare haka community over time. Their symbol is three albatross feathers which were collected many years ago. The others were collected more recently. (Hope that helps!😊) Sheena
The albatross feathers at the Len Lye gallery were collected from three dead birds which had been found