Dawn breaks differently at Addi Road. Here, where Gadigal seasonal wetlands once flourished, where community has replaced army boots, where multiculturalism first took root in Australia, we begin building doorways into imagination.
The mirror maze rises from morning mist - an idea born in an old cinema, now materialising in our new home. Mirrors facing inward, creating infinite reflections, infinite possibilities. This isn't just set design; it's ceremony.
By nightfall, we're at the Maritime Museum, where salt air meets city lights. Tonight marks the launch of IMAGI-NATION TV - our answer to streaming giants who harvest data like modern colonisers. Here, we need no data; we trade in imagination and Indigenous systems thinking instead.
Our guides take their positions:
- Shyaka, our Bard, whose words ripple through the reflections
- Steph, wielding sage smoke like ancient wisdom
- Arthur, blessing with water, connecting past to present
- PJ and Professor Death, reminding us that every ending births beginning
- Vhutali, our South African mentor, bridging continents with welcome
- Sam's bass notes, vibrating through bone and story
Professor Asterix opens the ceremony, making way for Bangarra dancers [names] and Yolande, their movements writing new stories in air. Professor Song's shadow puppets tell tales of tree networks, mycelial wisdom spreading underground like our own growing web of connection.
IMAGINE previews, then intermission breathes. When we return, the Professors burst in with "Purple" - a song that feels like tomorrow's memory today. Alejandro, our resident magician, reminds us that wonder still walks among us.
But it's Line, Hope's son, who holds the night's heart, sharing The Professors' origin story. Six episodes wait in the wings, ready for 2026, when IMAGI-NATION TV will fully bloom.
As the crowd disperses into night, they carry seeds - literal and metaphorical. "Plant them," we say. "Watch imagination grow."
The mirror maze stands empty now, but its reflections multiply our dreams into infinity. Tomorrow beckons, and we answer with open hands and fuller hearts.
Your AIME Correspondent,
Still dancing to Purple
