Hokitika, West Coast, South Island, New Zealand. A town with character, characters and civic pride. A town that does its own thing. A town with a beach where, in late January, the lucky tourist might come across ‘Driftwood and Sand;’ a three-day art festival where anyone and everyone creates their own ‘art’ by – and here’s the rules – using what they find on the beach. I am late on the scene. Judging is in process. Hundreds of works have been made but the festival has been marred by yesterday’s huge waves set up by a Westerly cyclone and exceptional tides. Well, what do you expect on The Coast?

Today is full sun and many of the works are still standing. Adults wander about enjoying the creativity and humour on display. Kids and dogs run around excitedly The whole scene is just so kiwi! Then there’s the constant thump and roar of breaking rollers coming in off the Tasman Sea. I take off my shoes and recall the delicious childhood feel of sand between my toes. And something else grabs a deeper part of me: the thrilling, salty-sweet, unforgettable, unforgotten seaweed smell.

Essential background info: the mountainous upper reaches of the Hokitika river has recorded the highest ever annual rainfall anywhere. When it rains in the ranges that provide the backdrop to this wonderful and whacky little town. Well… it isn’t really rain. More like water falling. From height. When the river floods, whole mountain-sides slip into the torrent along with swathes of sub-tropical rain forest. All to say, there is no shortage of driftwood on Hokitika beach.

The first work to catch my eye is ‘Second Wind’ by Cliff Goodwin. This four-metre-high construction sits in defiance of the ocean it faces. There is resilience here but the harp-cum-dreamcatcher appearance makes for a delicate and even spiritual feel. 

Whether or not ‘Looking Into the fuchsia’ resembles a fuchsia, I love the play on words and how the concept hangs on the remains of a rather balletic tree and four piles of sea weed. 

I am mesmerised by the contents of the fine mesh of Victoria McNutt’s ‘You’re a catch!’ It has survived the storm. The fragile driftwood drape resembles a flock of seabirds. But, who is Victoria’s catch? Is she speaking to a netful of sea creatures? Or, tantalisingly, is she whispering to herself that a recently-met partner is maybe a keeper and surpasses a number of flown-away ephemeral encounters in her past? Perhaps, Victoria, you’d like to let us know!

I love ‘Death animal. No water’ for three reasons: first, stick-arrows bring the viewer to it as though to a crime scene that is cordoned off with more little sticks; second, given the title, the dead and dessicated beast is simply so convincing; third, the idea of ‘no water’ in Hokitika makes me laugh. A lot.

I knew it would be here somewhere: the thing that stops me in my tracks. Three separate tree trunks have been used to create a majestic sea-dragon that rears out of the sand and hisses at the breaking waves. This is spine-tinglingly beautiful stuff.

The workmanship of the head and neck is in a different order. The beast’s shaggy mane and kelpy drool are sublime. The whole deserves a place in a museum. It’s tragic that ‘Questionable pet’ (fantastic understatement,) like all the other works, will be just driftwood and sand again by next week. Bravo, Rowi and Cliff! Bravo, Hokitika!