Fortify Events NZ

STALLS, VENDORS, PEOPLE WHO SELL COOL STUFF

So! A kickass live music event in 6 weeks' time... I want to include a community market, but this kind of thing is best done informed by the community, so I need suggestions....

What would a community garage sale look like if it's intermingled with official brands of clothing, art designs, jewellery etc.? Intermingled with community and well-being groups? And I daresay intermingled with plant / seed stalls?

There's a point where we know how much is too much. But right up until that point, I'm keen to help artists, practitioners, and passionate people create this awesome market plaza environment that centres growth and expression. So am figuring out what's compatible, what's accessible, and what's memorable.

Should I (try) keep a straightforward offering for a market zone?
What stalls or groups would you like to see join for this?
Is it still a 'community' market if there are local brand commercial stalls?
Do people make $50+ purchases at event markets? If you know well in advance?

All these questions and more are circling my brain...

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the site
All the creatures were stirring, dancing through the night;
The stage lights were hung by the riggers with care,
In hopes that Saint Wookalas soon would be there;

The gremlins were nestled all snug in their dreads,
While visions of kaleidoscopes danced in their heads;
And Mumma in her Oodie, and I in my mesh,
Had just settled down for a long pensive sesh,

When out on the paddock there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the tent to find this Mad Hatter.
Away to the zipper I flew like a flash,
Tore open the cover, gave myself whiplash.

The moon on the breast of the wide river flow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my glazed eyes should appear,
But a warped fractal sleigh, and eight buzzing reindeer,

With a little old driver, so energetic and slick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Wook.
More rapid than tribeats, his coursers they came,
And he birdcalled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PINGER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, BOOFER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the stage! To the top of the hil!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away we will!"

He was dressed all in patterns, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with scorch marks, how cooked;
A bundle of flow toys were flung on his back,
And he looked like a raver, the lineup all stacked.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a sublime face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old Wook,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of my look;
A wink of his eye and a flick of his dreads,
Soon gave me to know he was no deadhead;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Mixing these sick tracks; then turned with a jerk,
Saw the next DJ waiting their turn,
Saint Wook slung his poi, ready to burn;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his crew gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, snares sharp as a thistle.
But I heard him holler, 'fore he drove out of sight,
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND bro....got a light?

Image: John Speaker, johnspeaker.com