Friday
Some tentative meeting and greeting took place at the welcome segment in Newcastle City Hall, early on Friday morning. Clutching coffees and peering blearily at the featured art work, including watercolour, partially skeletal animals and a cardboard-themed construction, most people seemed happy to have a place to sit and read their programs, chat, or alternatively, consider their impending death by public speaking. The first Critical Animals event for the day, “Critiquing Criticism: I can’t believe it’s not better” thankfully interjected to divert my mind from such paranoid meanderings. The panel discussed ideas central to giving helpful reviews of artists’ work from the perspectives of a viewing, listening and reading public. Some reviewing trends in Australia’s arts scenes were discussed and criticism aired, inviting audience interaction and breaking into a relatively open panel debate, lively enough to prod energy out of the audience early in the morning.
Afterwards, I wandered out of the hall to the park across the road, where a large, domed tent had been set up to shelter a number of dedicated artists, engaged in staying awake for over 24 hours in order to construct pieces as part of the Object Manipulation Research Lab. Unfortunately, I was only to discover that people were allowed into the tent the next day, so I initially only observed its presence before choosing to amble around Newcastle proper, taking the in the sights. With a somewhat more relaxed frame of mind (or at least one in which the majority of the morning’s caffeine had worn off), I made my way back to present at “Writing and Performing Subjective Genders: Sappho, fag hags and Hollywood” along with Janet Starr and Catherine Connolly. Amazingly enough, this did not result in death on my part, or even a particularly aggressive stutter, so this was a success as far as my extremely biased judgment is concerned. In fact, the experience turned out to be a lot of fun, so I might now be less apprehensive about public speaking in general (deluded self-assurance, of course, but it’s a start).
Technical glitches meant that the Indigenous film screening at the workshop “Nothing rhymes with Ngapartji” did not go ahead, but converted into a very interesting, impromptu panel on the importance of language in forming identity, with specific linguistic examples from different Indigenous groups. Indigenous and non-Indigenous speakers were both involved, and offered a range of views. I then left Newcastle City Hall to go for a walk in search of the Crackhouse Theatre. Thankfully for my impromptu geography skills, this was made easy by the herds of people already making their way there, so I followed the crowd and soon found a very colourfully decorated building. Even though the TiNA website had suggested hiring a bike to get around Newcastle, there honestly wasn’t anywhere in the course of the entire festival that wasn’t within walking distance. That being said, I am rather fond of walking, as evinced by a late-night decision to stagger back to the hotel in a state of exceptional intoxication and distinct lack of map, without the assistance of a train. I think I walked for an hour. I’m not too sure. It couldn’t have been that bad, since I did make it back to Perth eventually, with all of my teeth and wallet.
Back on track, the selection of performers at Crackhouse that afternoon and night was superb. The main performance area was decorated with mobiles and streamers across the ceiling, with tables and chairs arranged all around the main stage, plus a bar located (conveniently enough) right at the entrance. Most of that afternoon and evening was dedicated to drinking beer and listening to poetry, idly scrawling some of my own (I’m not sure where it went, but assume that I probably wouldn’t want to keep it anyway). Steve Smart’s poetry and spoken word performance, along with Nick McCorriston, in “Versificator Regis” was very enjoyable, as was the very quirky and engaging performance “Hello You – Kamikaze Cabaret,” by Emily Taylor, Quinn Stacpoole and Martin White.
Next, I briefly dived out of Crackhouse to a convenient vegetarian restaurant nearby (which became standard for the rest of the festival) before coming back in to watch “Swamped – Up to your arse in alligators,” a very amusing play about the introduction of non-native species into Australia, featuring hilarious caricatures of English gentlemen-explorers and very witty exchanges. Unfortunately, I was starting to feel the effects of my long week studying and panicking about public speaking, so I had to call it a night once the play ended.
