It was 9pm, Dark Park, Dark Mofo 4. A cold, windswept Macquarie Point. I was bear-hugged by someone I hadn’t seen in 15 years — an old friend from school and uni.
“Back in the 90s (yes, showing our age), who would have thought we’d be flying back to Tasmania from across the country to stand around in the freezing dark… and love every minute of it,” he yelled over the drone of the swinging lights next door.
There was pride when he said, “Look what Tasmania has managed to do.” Pride — and surprise — that a place once considered worth escaping in winter could now be the beating heart of a bold cultural moment. That surprise shouldn’t surprise us anymore.
Why don’t we treat creativity like infrastructure when it clearly holds our identity, our economy and our cities together? The answer matters, because the same forces that built Dark Mofo can — and should — power Tasmania every week of the year.
Dark Mofo has changed how we see ourselves, and how the world sees us. It’s not just a festival. It’s a statement. A spark. A time when Hobart’s cold streets glow with fire, sound, colour and connection. This year is no different — especially after last winter, which reminded us what Tasmania feels like without Dark Mofo. It was a return to the 1980s and 90s: a quiet winter, a cultural lull, a city with its creative soul dimmed.
That’s why we welcome Tasmanian Labor’s recent announcement of initiatives to strengthen the nighttime economy, albeit on a smaller scale than we would like. But their reference to the NSW 24-Hour Economy Strategy that has helped spark jobs, energy and confidence across Greater Sydney is encouraging. This builds on work by the Committee for Sydney and initiatives like the “Gig Economy” report, which outlines how to support the sector at scale.
The Liberal Government since the last election has been working on understanding the needs of festivals and events and supporting a music consultation through Arts Tasmania and led by UTAS.
But while each initiative has merit, the broader picture remains fragmented. We are tinkering around the edges of a sector that thrives — or falters — based on the strength of its ecosystem.
It’s time to move from piecemeal policy to whole-of-system investment. And we must remember that our culture is diverse and celebrated year-round: from Estia Greek Festival to Diwali, Chinese New Year, Mannalargenna Day, and the many community celebrations that anchor our shared sense of place and belonging.
For example: prior to the election being called, the Government was planning to hand out $100 vouchers to boost tourism. But what if we partnered with ticketing platforms, venues and festivals to help 16 to 24-year-olds access live music, theatre, and performance? Victoria’s The Push shows what’s possible — using youth engagement, subsidised access and artist development to grow a new generation of cultural leaders and fans.
We also need to modernise the rules that govern our cities. Right now, creative infrastructure too often gets lost in planning decisions. We must build on the work of the Live Music Office and others pushing for regulatory reform — making it easier to open venues, hold all-ages gigs, manage noise, and co-locate residential and cultural uses without endless red tape.
And we should follow international leadership in activating underused spaces. In Berlin, Montreal, Seoul, and Amsterdam governments are creating incentives for property owners to convert empty retail and commercial spaces into affordable studios, rehearsal rooms and maker spaces — unlocking a new layer of urban life. A Tasmanian model could combine zoning reform, grants and tax levers to turn ‘for lease’ signs into creative opportunity.
Because this isn’t a nice-to-have. Tasmania’s creative economy is not a luxury. It is infrastructure. It’s venues and studios. It’s places to rehearse, record and make. It’s artists and technicians, small businesses and big ideas. And it’s under pressure.
We’re losing venues. Rehearsal spaces are vanishing. Young artists are struggling to perform, be paid, and build viable careers. Too many are priced out of the very place that fuels their creativity.
Our planning systems are reactive, not visionary. We too often forget to ask: will this project create vibrancy? Will it support creativity?
We need a Greater Hobart that puts vibrancy at the centre — where every development, zoning decision and city-shaping project across the region is guided by a simple question: does it help us live more creatively and connected?
We must treat the creative economy with the same seriousness we apply to roads and buildings — because it is infrastructure. It underpins Tasmania’s liveability and identity.
Let’s back our artists who are making bold, original work in this island sanctuary. Let’s invest in the spaces, systems and trust that allow creativity to flourish — not despite the challenges of living here, but because of them.
Tasmania has earned its reputation not by copying others, but by being unapologetically itself. Dark Mofo is proof. MONA is proof. Nathan Maynard is proof. The TSO is proof. Dewayne Everettsmith, Grace Chia, Maddy Jane, the Wolfe Brothers, and Luca Brasi are all proof. Procreate is proof. The list is long. The fires we gather around in winter, the stories we tell across generations, the songs, festivals, installations and shared celebrations — all of it is proof.
Our creative spirit is not a side story — it is the story.
Let’s imagine a Tasmania where every season feels as alive as winter during Dark Mofo. Where “Look what Tasmania has managed to do” becomes simply: “Look what Tasmania does.”
Cam Crawford is Chief Executive of the Committee for Greater Hobart
