DREAMER (2026)

Step into Dreamer, a brand-new indoor light festival landing at NZICC from Friday 3 April 2026. Explore interactive worlds of colour and light these school holidays, all under one roof in Tāmaki Makaurau.

A bright idea for the April school holidays has opened!

The April school holidays have arrived, and this time of year is notoriously known for unstable seasonal changes. The weather often shifts between sideways rain, sudden cold snaps, and brief moments of sunshine, which makes planning family activities feel unpredictable. Add to that the fuel prices that can send even the most resilient person into tears, and the idea of finding something affordable, accessible, and genuinely joyful for the whole whānau starts to feel like a rare luxury. Dreamer arrives as a light in the darkness. It is set inside the fresh and gleaming New Zealand International Convention Centre in the heart of Tāmaki Makaurau’s CBD. This indoor lighting extravaganza has been a year in the making and uses a floor area the size of Eden Park. Every part of the experience has been curated with you in mind. You are not a passive observer. You become an active participant from the moment you step inside. The shift from patron to participant happens before you even realise it.

At the opening, after a warm welcome from Ngāti Whātua and a waiata led by the very sparkly Suzy Cato and the tamariki present, a member of the design team shared their vision for this interactive masterpiece. They explained that the priority was to keep prices low and the event accessible to as many people as possible. Their overarching aim was to bring people together, to place strangers in the same space, to share a moment in time, to share in our humanity, and to realise that we are more alike than we are different. It is a simple idea, but once you step into the first glowing environment, you can feel that intention woven through the entire experience.

A quick briefing on how to use your provided headphones is given, along with the delightfully ambiguous instruction that when you see a coloured robot, you can switch between red and blue to hear their soundtrack. That is all the direction you receive, and somehow it is all you need. The world outside fades away, and this new world takes over. The music sets a vibe that encourages movement, regardless of age, ability, or confidence. Looking around, you can see the lights on other people’s headphones glowing red or blue, which reveals who is sharing the same soundtrack as you. It becomes a subtle and wordless way of connecting with strangers as you drift through wide open spaces designed with genuine accessibility in mind. Wheelchairs, pushchairs, and mobility needs are all considered, and the layout supports everyone.

Giving yourself permission to forget the outside world and dive into this new reality is seamless. It is also one of the best gifts you can give your inner child. Each new environment offers fresh interactive opportunities with the strangers you are sharing this incredible space with. There is something quietly powerful about watching people who have never met fall into the same rhythm, the same moment, and the same sense of play. Dreamer does not force connection. It simply creates the conditions where connection becomes the most natural thing in the world.

For me, Dreamer brought back memories of summer nights wandering through intimate art installations at well-known music festivals. Those were the rare pockets of time where art, sound, and atmosphere combined to create something larger than the sum of their parts. The music here leans into some of the coolest EDM tracks, and at times, I found myself smiling at how unexpectedly perfect they were for the space. Somewhere between the beats and the lights, I found a new appreciation for Tāmaki Makaurau. It is a city often associated with road cones and construction, yet here it proves it can host something imaginative, generous, and full of heart.

One of the most moving parts of the experience was watching kids lose themselves in the moment alongside their parents, and watching parents remember how to be kids. There is something incredibly tender about seeing adults shed the pressures of the outside world, even for a short time. We spend so much of our lives under constant pressure. Performance targets, unspoken rules, and the narrative that adulthood must look a certain way all weigh heavily on us. In all that noise, we lose the space to simply be present, to feel free, and to reconnect with the parts of ourselves we have tucked away. Dreamer hands that space back to you without asking for anything in return.

The moment that stayed with me the most was kneeling on the floor and gazing into the infinite kaleidoscope of the flower of life, the dodecahedron. Understanding its representation of creation, interconnectedness, unity, oneness, duality, the cycle of life, and the union of masculine and feminine energies created a sense of losing and finding myself at the same time. Then I looked to my left and saw tamariki not much older than two years old sharing that exact moment. They were equally mesmerised and equally present. That single moment captured the intent I believe Dreamer has set out to achieve. There is no hierarchy of experience here. There is no correct way to engage. There are only humans, big and small, encountering wonder together.

As you move deeper into the installation, the environments shift. Some are playful, some are contemplative, and some exist purely for joy. There are spaces where light behaves like water and shadows ripple around you. There are moments where the soundtrack syncs so perfectly with the visuals that you feel like you have stepped inside a music video. There are quieter corners where you can sit, breathe, and simply take in the glow. Every element feels intentional, yet never restrictive. Dreamer trusts you to find your own way through it, and that trust feels refreshing.

By the time you reach the final space, you realise something subtle but powerful has happened. You have shared smiles with strangers. You have danced without thinking about who might be watching. You have watched kids teach adults how to play again. You have stepped into a world built on light, colour, and curiosity, and stepped out feeling a little lighter yourself.

Dreamer is not just an event. It is a reminder. It reminds us that joy does not need to be complicated. Connection does not need to be orchestrated. Wonder is still accessible, even in a world that often feels heavy. Sometimes the most meaningful experiences are the ones that invite us to be fully present, fully human, and fully ourselves.

Dreamer blasts off on 3 April 2026 at the new New Zealand International Convention Centre (NZICC) in central Auckland until April 12. Book a time slot here

Review written by Josh McNally
Edited by Alex Moulton

MORNING PEOPLE X DREAMER FEAT. DICK JOHNSON

A free, early‑morning preview of Dreamer invited audiences to kick off the day with an exclusive dancefloor set from legendary Kiwi DJ Dick Johnson before the festival opens to the public.

There’s something wonderfully surreal about stepping into a rave before most of the city has even reached for its first coffee. By the time the clock nudged 7:30am, people were already drifting into the vast interior of the new NZICC, shaking off the last traces of sleep as they moved toward the central hall. The space had been transformed into a glowing playground for this special Morning People event, held inside Dreamer; a brand‑new indoor light festival that feels part art installation, part futuristic dreamscape. Even before the music began, the atmosphere carried that unmistakable hum of anticipation, the kind that makes you straighten your posture and grin without realising.

The main stage sat right in the middle of the room, surrounded on all sides by the crowd. Above it, long bars of light hung in neat rows, suspended like luminous ribs of some giant mechanical creature. Throughout the morning they shifted, dipped, and pulsed in synchrony with the music, washing the room in waves of colour. Sometimes they glowed in soft pastels, other times they snapped into bold neon flashes that made the entire space feel alive. The effect was playful and immersive, as if the architecture itself had joined the party.

What struck me almost immediately was the sheer diversity of the people who showed up. This performance felt like a celebration of everyone and anyone who wanted to start their day with movement. There were toddlers wobbling on tiny legs, parents with babies strapped to their chests, teenagers in glitter, office workers in gym gear, older couples swaying gently at the edges (or starting conga lines), and pregnant women dancing with the kind of grounded joy that makes you smile. Every shape, shade, and age was represented, and the dancefloor felt like a living mosaic of Aotearoa’s multicultural spirit. Some people perched on the sidelines, taking it all in; others hovered near the installations; and a dedicated ring of dancers formed a loose circle around the stage, bouncing and spinning with infectious energy.

And then there were the outfits. Not shying away from flair, the Dreamer setting seemed to encourage creativity. Sequinned jackets caught the shifting lights and scattered them across the room. Disco‑ball hats bobbed through the crowd like wandering planets. Faces were painted in bright colours, glitter clung to eyebrows and cheekbones, and fabulous, unapologetic pyjamas, made several appearances. At one point a conga line snaked its way through the hall, weaving between dancers and installations, gathering people as it went until the front and back merged into a writhing circle of dance. It was chaotic in the best possible way, a spontaneous burst of collective silliness that perfectly captured the spirit of the morning.

Johnson has long been a beloved figure in New Zealand’s electronic scene, known for his warm, groove‑driven style and his ability to read a crowd. His sets often feel like conversations, subtle, responsive, and full of personality, and this morning was no exception. He opened with a steady, inviting rhythm that coaxed the room into motion, building layer by layer until the dancefloor was fully awake.

As the set progressed, Johnson leaned into his signature blend of rolling basslines, crisp percussion, and melodic flourishes that feel both nostalgic and fresh. His transitions were mostly seamless, creating long, flowing arcs of sound that carried the crowd from one mood to the next. When he hit a particularly satisfying build, the suspended lights above responded with a rising glow, as if the entire room were inhaling together. Drops landed with a punch that sent ripples through the dancers, prompting cheers, jumps, and the occasional delighted shriek.

There were a few moments where the momentum dipped, a track ending a touch too abruptly, or a transition that left the room briefly suspended, but the crowd never lost its footing. Johnson has the kind of presence that keeps people with him even through the quieter stretches, and as soon as he locked back into a steady groove, the dancefloor surged forward again. Those small imperfections almost added to the charm; they reminded you that this wasn’t a polished nightclub set at midnight, but a communal experiment in joy at an hour when most people are still in bed.

The interplay between the music and the Dreamer installations created a sense of wandering through a living artwork. People drifted in and out of the main hall, exploring glowing corridors, interactive sculptures, and pockets of light that invited touch and play. Some returned to the dancefloor with wide‑eyed excitement, pulling friends along to show them something they’d discovered. Others simply paused to watch the lights shift overhead, letting the music wash over them from a distance.

What made the morning feel particularly special was the absence of alcohol. Without the haze of late‑night indulgence, the energy was clean, bright, and grounded. People danced because they wanted to, not because they were fuelled by anything other than music and community. Complimentary fruit and water kept everyone refreshed, and the smell of barista coffee drifted through the hall, adding a comforting note to the sensory mix. It was a reminder that raving doesn’t have to be nocturnal or messy; it can be wholesome, intentional, and deeply connective.

Morning People’s Dreamer edition wasn’t just a novelty event; it was a reminder of how powerful shared experiences can be when they’re built on openness, creativity, and joy. It offered a rare chance to start the day with movement, colour, and community; a sunrise celebration that felt both grounding and uplifting. Whether you danced at the front, wandered through the lights, or simply soaked in the atmosphere, the morning delivered something memorable.

A rave at dawn might sound unusual, but in this setting, it felt completely natural. A clean, inclusive, family‑friendly burst of energy that set the tone for the rest of the day. And with Dick Johnson guiding the soundtrack, it became something even better: a reminder that magic doesn’t always wait for the night.

Dreamer blasts off on 3 April 2026 at the new New Zealand International Convention Centre (NZICC) in central Auckland until April 12
Tickets range from $12–$35 + booking fee, book a time slot here

Review written by Alex Moulton

HELIOS [AOTEAROA NEW ZEALAND FESTIVAL OF THE ARTS] (2026)

For one week only, step into the glow of Helios, a breathtaking, larger-than-life artwork created by renowned UK artist Luke Jerram. 

Helios fills the Concert Chamber with a kind of quiet astonishment, the sort that settles over you before you even realise you have stopped talking. The room itself is usually a cool, echoing space, but with Luke Jerram’s six‑metre sun suspended at its centre, it feels transformed. The glow is the first thing you notice. A warm, steady radiance that softens the chamber’s edges and pulls you toward it like a tide.

Up close, the illusion falters a little. You can see the seams, the joins, the practicalities that hold the sphere together. The surface becomes less celestial and more engineered. But take a few steps back and the magic returns. The lighting inside the sphere creates slow, hypnotic movements that ripple across the surface, giving the impression of a living star. The warmth it casts is not literal, yet it feels strangely real, as if the chamber has been gently heated by its presence.

The installation invites lingering. Chairs and beanbags are scattered around the space, encouraging visitors to sit, recline, wander, or circle the sphere from every angle. The ability to view it from the gallery above adds another layer, offering a sense of orbiting rather than observing. Each vantage point reveals something different. From below, the sun feels monumental. From the side, it becomes a textured landscape. From above, it looks almost serene.

The atmosphere shifts again at lunchtime when musicians from the Auckland Philharmonia take their place beneath the sphere. Strings, oboe, or improvisational quartets play for an hour each day, and the effect is remarkable. The music wraps around the installation, turning the chamber into a sanctuary. Even outside of performance hours, the ambient soundtrack creates a sense of calm that encourages people to slow down. The cold, formal architecture of the room dissolves into something warm and meditative.

Helios is both scientific and poetic. Knowing that its surface is built from hundreds of thousands of images, drawn from NASA data and astrophotography, adds a sense of awe. You are looking at something real, yet reimagined. Something familiar, yet unreachable. The installation’s scale, combined with the subtle animated lighting and immersive soundscape, creates an experience that feels both intimate and vast.

In a week of unpredictable weather, the chance to sit beneath a sun that never burns out feels like a small gift. Helios offers a moment of stillness, a reminder of the beauty and complexity of the star that sustains us, and a rare opportunity to see it in a way that feels both monumental and gentle.

Helios was created by renowned UK artist Luke Jerram 

This event is free! You do not need to book tickets; you can just show up.

Helios is available March 7-16, 11am - 5pm at Aotea Centre, Auckland

Review written by Alex Moulton

RED PHONE [AOTEAROA NEW ZEALAND FESTIVAL OF THE ARTS] (2026)

An audience-to-audience performance experience by Boca Del Lupo

There’s something quietly delightful about stumbling into a piece of theatre that asks so little of you and yet reveals so much. Red Phone is exactly that kind of surprise: fun, interactive, and an unexpectedly charming way to break up your day if you’re even a little bit curious.

You step into a beautifully crafted vintage red phone booth, lift the receiver, and suddenly you’re both performer and audience in a tiny world built for two. A teleprompter sits between you and the unseen voice on the other end, who might be a friend, a partner, or a complete stranger, guiding you through short, scripted dialogues written by world-class playwrights, including Aotearoa’s own Victor Rodger ONZM. It’s intimate, a little mischievous, and strangely revealing, like being caught singing in the shower and realising you don’t mind.

Boca del Lupo, the internationally acclaimed Canadian company behind the installation, has toured this work through Canada, Norway, and Latin America, and now it’s tucked into Tāmaki Makaurau for a brief window from March 4–7. It’s free, it’s small-scale, and it’s the kind of participatory theatre that feels more like a social experiment than a performance; a reminder that conversation itself can be a form of art.

Not everything lands perfectly. The audio is on the quiet side, and because you’re reading instructions while trying to listen, the experience leans more toward concentration than immersion. You’re aware of the mechanics even as you’re inside them. But the uniqueness of the setup; the handcrafted booth, the red phone, the thrill of speaking scripted words to someone you can’t see; still carries a certain magic.

What lingers is the simplicity: two people, one phone line, and a script that becomes a tiny, shared moment. Whether you go with someone you know or take the plunge with a stranger, Red Phone offers a gentle, curious reminder that even the smallest conversations can become theatre.

Red Phone was conceived by artistic directors Sherry Yoon and designed by Jay Dodge, with technology by Carey Dodge 

This event is free! You do not need to book tickets; you can just show up. If there are a lot of people, you may need to wait for your turn.

Red Phone is available March 4-7, 11am - 5pm at Aotea Centre, Auckland

Review written by Alex Moulton