It's hoped a new art installation in Ōtautahi Christchurch can help people talk their worries away through a series of telephones by the riverside. Twelve telephones have popped up across sites commemorating the city's devastating 2011 earthquakes. The group behind the project is Flourish Kia Puawai. Its associate director Sharon Torstonson spoke to Corin Dann.
The Covid-19 pandemic has brought to the foreground the importance of social connectedness for wellbeing, at the individual, community and societal level. Within the context of the local community, pro-connection facilities are fundamental to foster community development, resilience and public health. Through identifying the gap in social connectedness literature for Māori, this has created space for new opportunities and to reflect on what is already occurring in Ōtautahi. It is well documented that Māori experience unequal societal impacts across all health outcomes. Therefore, narrowing the inequities between Māori and non-Māori across a spectrum of dimensions is a priority. Evaluating the #WellconnectedNZ project, which explores the intersections between social connection and wellbeing is one way to trigger these conversations. This was achieved by curating a dissimilar set of community pro-connection facilities and organizing them into a Geographic Information System (GIS). Which firstly involved, the collecting and processing of raw data, followed by spatial analysis through creating maps, this highlighted the alignment between the distribution of places, population and social data. Secondly, statistical analysis focusing on the relationship between deprivation and accessibility. Finally, semi-structured interviews providing perceptions of community experience. This study describes findings following a kaupapa Māori research approach. Results demonstrated that, in general some meshblocks in Ōtautahi benefit from a high level of accessibility to pro-connection facilities; but with an urban-rural gradient (as is expected, further from the central business district (CBD) are less facilities). Additionally, more-deprived meshblocks in the Southern and Eastern suburbs of Christchurch have poorer accessibility, suggesting underlying social and spatial inequalities, likely exacerbated by Covid-19 and the Christchurch earthquakes. In this context, it is timely to (re)consider pro-connection places and their role in the development of social infrastructure for connected communities, in the community facility planning space. ‘We are all interwoven, we just need to make better connections’.
Since Standing Room Only started some of the biggest changes we've seen in attitudes towards art and artists has happened in Otautahi Christchurch. How much artists contributed to the city's emotional recovery from the earthquakes through projects like Gap Filler, but also how many individual people created and shared their work. Before the quakes, Neil Dawson's monumental sculpture The Challice in the Square was initially criticised, but within days of its unveiling it became an impromptu shrine for the New York victims of 9/11. Back in 1998, the SCAPE Public Art started commissioning large outdoor works by international and Kiwi sculptors and artists. Some stayed but most of them were temporary. Some attracted criticism but they certainly got people talking. As SCAPE reaches its quarter century, its founder and Executive Director Deborah McCormick is standing down in March next year. Deborah's last SCAPE will see her tick off one of her long held ambitions - to secure a permanent sculpture for Christchurch by Auckland-based artist Dr Brett Graham. Lynn Freeman talks with Deborah and Brett, first asking Deborah to take us back to the lightbulb moment that led to SCAPE public art event.
Mechanistic and scientific approaches to resilience assume that there is a “tipping point” at which a system can no longer absorb adversity; after this point, it is liable to collapse. Some of these perspectives, particularly those stemming from ecology and psychology, recognise that individuals and communities cannot be perpetually resilient without limits. While the resilience paradigm has been imported into the social sciences, the limits to resilience have often been disregarded. This leads to an overestimation of “human resourcefulness” within the resilience paradigm. In policy discourse, practice, and research, resilience seems to be treated as a “limitless” and human quality in which individuals and communities can effectively cope with any hazard at any time, for as long as they want and with any people. We critique these assumptions with reference to the recovery case in Ōtautahi Christchurch, Aotearoa New Zealand following the 2010-11 Canterbury earthquake sequence. We discuss the limits to resilience and reconceptualise resilience thinking for disaster risk reduction and sustainable recovery and development.
On 22 February 2011, Ōtautahi Christchurch was struck by a devastating earthquake. The city was changed forever: lives were lost, buildings destroyed and much of the city’s infrastructure needed to be repaired or replaced. One of the unexpected outcomes of the process of recovery was the volume of archaeological work that was carried out in the city, including the substantial amount of buildings archaeology that was undertaken (that is, recording standing buildings prior to and during their demolition, using archaeological techniques). Amongst the numerous buildings recorded in this way were 101 houses from across the city (but concentrated in those areas hit hardest by the earthquakes), built between 1850 and 1900. This work yielded a wealth of data about what houses in the city looked like in the nineteenth century. It is this data that forms the core of my thesis, providing an opportunity to examine the question of what life was like in nineteenth century Christchurch through these houses and the people who built them. Christchurch was founded in 1850 by European settlers, most of whom were English. These people came to New Zealand to build a better life for themselves and their families. For many of them, this ‘better life’ included the possibility of owning their own home and, in some instances, building that house (or at least, commissioning its construction). The buildings archaeology data collected following the Canterbury earthquakes enabled a detailed analysis of what houses in the city looked like in the nineteenth century – their form, and both their external and internal appearance – and how this changed as the century progressed. A detailed examination of the lives of those who built 21 of the houses enabled me to understand why each house looked the way it did, and how the interplay of class, budget and family size and expectations (amongst other factors) shaped each house. It is through these life stories that more about life in Christchurch in the nineteenth century was revealed. These are stories of men and women, of success and failure, of businesses and bankruptcies. There are themes that run through the stories: class, appearances, death, religion, gender, improvement. Just as importantly, though, they reveal the everyday experiences of people as they set about building a new city. Thus, through the archaeology of the houses and the history of the people who built them, an earthquake has revealed more about life in nineteenth century Christchurch, as well as providing the means for a deeper understanding of the city’s domestic architecture.