The latest episode of New Artland should be shown on international aircraft;  it should be put on repeat.  It’s a perfect summation of our weird, bumbling, transitional culture.  An effeminate artist returns to his humble birthplace in Christchurch to install a plaque to commemorate his early life.  He meets the bemused owners, empty happy inarticulate Hobbit types, who agree more to the contract of manners and cameras than the idea of the artwork itself.  He’s greeted by confused kids at his old primary school and a Principal who asks “So, is it just a plaque, or what?”.  The plaque is installed, and is veiled by – perfectly – a recycling bin.  There’s an unveiling ceremony;  there’s more vaguely Maori ceremonial dancing by confused children, a bunch of gruff farmer types taking a break from their workshops for free sausages, a Mayor who spouts gibberish about “allowing us to celebrate his journey” or somesuch, and a Mr. Whippy van.  Along the way, Chris Knox smiles a lot and we’re treated to some “artistic” camera work which ends up feeling more like a drunk cameraman filming a ship during a storm.

van Hout’s final comment contains that quality of disingenuousness that seems to be the discourse of NZ Art – something along of the lines of “the nature of the artwork has changed:  it’s now a memorial of a day”.  I know his medium is the self-portrait, and that his idea was questions of commemoration:  who is celebrated, and who choses the celebrity:  but the fact is that the celebration is just as much of a commemoration as plaque:  they both inform each other.  The celebration commemorated the idea of the childhood van Hout wanted to immortalise more than the plaque.  I’m impressed with his artwork:  but I’m starting to wonder to what extent the episode of New Artland is the artistic document, and not the plaque itself.