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Proudly supported by McKR: www.mckr.com.au Cover: 300gsm Satin Carbon Neutral FSC Text: 130gsm Satin Carbon Neutral FSC Typeset in Whitney Overcoat is an independent production publication. The articles appearing within this publication reflect the opinions of their respective authors and are not necessarily those of the publishers or editorial team.
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Photo: Ryan Hoff
Editors: Pete Saunders, Jessie Webb Sub-Editor: Eric Brotchie Designer: Pete Saunders Illustrator: April Wright Cover: Jamie Richey — During a clear Autumn night behind Ulverstone, Tasmania. This shot comprises sixty 15-second exposure images merged together to show the star trails and Aurora Australis. hello@undercoat.net www.undercoat.net
contributors Eric Brotchie (Leiden University) Lexi De Silva (Victorian College of the Arts) Andrew Lilja (University of Melbourne) Mike MacDonald (London School of Economics) Duncan Meerding (University of Tasmania) Billie Whitehouse (Whitehouse Institute of Design) Sam Woosley (University of North Carolina / RMIT University)
additional images Karin Bar Jeff Busby Jan Dallas Lloyd Harvey Spencer Harvey Ponch Hawkes Ryan Hoff Rupert Kaldor Sergey Pevnev Nipun Srivastava Overcoat is an online publication that aims to share the highest standard of work being produced in creative and professional fields from different institutions globally. It is a platform designed to inspire and connect students and alumni within their own community and with like-minded people around the world. If you would like to contribute work to Overcoat, please send us an email.
contribute@undercoat.net 4
Photo: Nipun Srivastava
autumn/editor Autumn is a season of contrasts. More than any other season, autumn means many different things to many people. For some of us, it alludes to something exciting. After many years following snow seasons around the world, I saw firsthand that the first snow fall and the prospect of the winter ahead are defining moments in ski communities. For others, autumn is often seen as the end, as they try to hold onto the remaining fragments of summer, mentally preparing for but hoping the upcoming winter won’t quite ever arrive. This contrast is reflected, too, in the vibrant colours and temperature shifts. But for all of us, this season brings a change. What such a contrasting season highlights is the sense that nothing is permanent; that we are constantly in a state of flux. While it is easy to get lost in the heat of summer or the depths of winter, every day of autumn is different. It is a truly transitional time and this change and contrast can be used to inspire and inform our own work. The very nature of creativity means it is constantly evolving. We affect it and it affects us on a daily basis. It is a response to the sum of our view of the world and is thus intrinsically linked to our culture and broader life events. Whether through happiness or sadness (or somewhere in between) the work we create is an expression of an emotional basis. Those of us who eventually succeed will learn to channel both what they can and cannot control into some tangible outcome; to create a snapshot in time and create a moment of permanence in a world that never stops. Collectively, the stories in this issue present their own contrasts: individual contrast of style, of structure and of career choices. But at the heart of it all, these stories come from those who are able to respond to the changing world around them. To deal with difficulties and identify opportunities. To understand that the impermanence of the world around us offers us a great deal to be gained, explored and enjoyed.
pete saunders 6
Contents 09/ curiosity killed the coat
eric brotchie billie whitehouse 25/ dress sense lexi de silva 45/ from london to the onion mike macdonald 49/ wanna be startin’ somethin’ andrew lilja 63/ through the cracks duncan meerding 83/ framing up sam woosley
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curiosity killed the coat
Billie Whitehouse and the rise of wearable technology. eric brotchie leiden university
I’ve done a fair bit of talking to some ground-
but our timing was off.’ I wonder how much
breaking people in the last year, but few
timing means in the international design
could match the extraordinary creative
economy when I can barely organise my alarm
trajectory of Billie Whitehouse. Growing
in the morning. When I read more, it actually
up alongside her family’s development of
sounds like a remarkably similar problem:
Sydney’s famous Whitehouse Institute of
‘We wanted to work together, but we had other
Design, it is no surprise that creativity has
commitments, and we ended up working on
turned up in her genes, and subsequently
charity events rather than on real products.’
in the heart of her career. But Billie is so
Initial setbacks in wearable technology
much more than the latest wonder in
evidently did little to deter Billie, whose
Sydney’s endless procession of outstanding
design pedigree ensured a hardy work
international designers. She is a game-
ethic from early in her career. ‘I would
changer. Where many fashion designers
spend evenings and weekends at work
focus on producing garments, Billie looks
making garments, objects and sets for
beyond the final product, extending
photos shoots’, she writes. But the complex
it, bringing it not only to a functional
machinations of the fashion industry
interaction with the body, but to a functional
alone were clearly not enough. In fashion,
interaction with the world around it. Simply
Billie noticed, much of the design was highly
put, Billie’s imagination has bought clothing
thought out, but in essence impractical for
into the world of technology, and literally
people’s lives. Describing the leap from
bought the world of technology into the
fashion design to intelligent design, Billie
heart of our clothing.
writes passages in a remarkably matter-of-
‘For me, the relationship between art and
fact way, making it all seem so easy: ‘I built
science began with sheer curiosity,’ types
an incredible team of creative people around
Billie, presumably tapping on a Macbook
me. I saw an opportunity to transform an
somewhere in the States, responding to my
industry focused on consumerism to an
email: ‘I started to have brunches with a friend
industry that can act to assist humans in
in Australia to discuss the future of the fashion
their daily lives.’
industry and how we could create a product
This opportunism and will to go beyond
within it. We knew of many software solutions
boundaries is evidenced in her projects to
and ideas out there, but it was a very noisy
date. A brief scan of Billie’s online biography
space. In those early days we researched shoes
is like reading through a wishlist of an up-
that can be high heels and flats, swimwear,
and-coming fashion designer, rather than
lingerie, flexible screens, and even tampons,
a bona fide reality. Some choice words 10
Trent Cotchin & Billie Whitehouse Foxtel Alert Shirt
Luke Hodge Foxtel Alert Shirt 12
you catch from it are ‘Pitti Filati, Florence’,
of technology, and the language of design’,
‘Vogue Fashion Night’, and ‘Indigenous
Billie describes more of her baby steps
Fashion Week’. It’s a showreel a lot of people
in the industry. ‘I first imagined a wrist
would be very proud of. But my burning
display with a curved flexible screen that
question remains: how did Billie make such
could show your latest Instagrams and your
a seismic shift away from the conventional
favourite artists’ work. The wristband had
fashion design career, and begin to tread
no “other” purpose beyond aesthetics,’
the waters of haptics and advanced
she writes. It was clearly a project that was
mechatronics? Where did the old school
more fashionable than technological, but
finish and the new school begin for Billie?
it was a start. Technology crept further in
How do you go from cutting hemlines to making underwear tingle? Luckily, while I have steamed off on a vaguely sycophantic tangent, I haven’t even read a small amount of what she’s kindly sent through. ‘It started with 3D printing. Although I am certainly no 3D modelling expert, I am fascinated by this technology, and the impact it can have on our industry. From that first exploration, my connection to wearable tech evolved through elaborate fashion shoots that told the story between design and technology.’ I’m beginning to think, perhaps ironically, that the rise of technology within Billie’s designs was in fact, a highly organic process. ‘When I was teaching fashion illustration,’ she goes
as time went on. ‘After spending some time doing research, I stumbled across several companies exploring the wearable tech arena, and began to take notes.’ It’s at this point that I should note personally how addictive the interaction between fashion and technology can become, even for mildly-interested observers. Taking off my writing hat for what I thought was just a moment, for 20 minutes I found myself googling things going on in wearable tech. Beecham Research Market Analysis has compiled a pretty amazing illustration of the industry’s sub-sectors, technology, and products that already exist on the
on, ‘I would always refer to Da Vinci and the golden mean to describe how to get the proportions of a drawing into perspective. He truly loved science and art, and everyone can learn from his research.’ With a mentor like Da Vinci, she can’t be accused of setting her sights too low. ‘I was drawn to the market because I saw a miscommunication between the language
Photographers: Lloyd Harvey & Spencer Harvey Model: Ashlee Anne Scottland Hair: Robert Carlon Make-up: Burton Yuen Styling: Kate Armstrong & Billie Whitehouse Wearable Experiments
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market. You can get self-heating jackets,
I think about the toughness that is needed
clothes that display tweets, and biometric
out on the football field, about the strength
insoles. Feeling cold, disconnected, and with
of endeavour, the temperament to succeed
sore feet at this very moment, I get terrified
often under enormous pressure. Perhaps
at being so far behind the times. It must be
this is how Billie works in her office, on the
such a rewarding industry to be in.
coal-front in the highly-charged and unknown
Tell us about the actual process of
world of wearable technology, is this what
creating wearable technologies? I ask in
has attracted her to bringing these sensations
my questionnaire. Billie obliges with the
into people’s shirts? The thrill of the chase?
layman’s version of what is obviously
The adrenaline of the endless quest to
a highly sophisticated workflow. ‘Define
succeed? Whatever it is, I can imagine she
the problem, define the emotional outcomes,
works extremely hard to create not only
immerse yourself in the brand, design and
garments, but full-life experiences.
create prototypes, test safety and usability,
‘What takes up the most of her company’s
manufacture.’ It all seems ridiculously well-
time?’ I ask. Billie responds willingly: ‘Thirty
oiled. In between these lines, Billie notes that
per cent of our day-to-day is spent in
she cuts up original garments to see if they
research. When we get a new brief, we have
can house electronics, sketches out mobile
to be up on the latest design and technologies,
apps that interact with the garments, and
so we can move very fast to take it to market.
tests for carbon emissions. There’s evidently
We have had to be patient sometimes, to
a lot of industry standards that must be
wait until a technology is ready to be adapted
met to manufacture in Australia. I don’t
for the purposes of the brief. The technology
want to get into the detail; my jaw is already
is improving every three months, so we are
somewhere near my navel.
constantly evolving.’ I ask what separates
Billie’s company Wearable Experiments recently released, as an example, the one-
her from other industry players. The answer is simple: speed.
of-a-kind Alert Shirt, a vest that creates feelings across your body in real time, using live match data from the footy game you’re watching. You can feel each bump, each nerve-wracking line up to goal, and each heart thumping chase over the turf in the vest, something hard-nut supporters are beating down the gates to experience.
Creative Direction: Billie Whitehouse & Wearable Experiments Photographer: Karin Bar Dancers: Emma Fitzsimmons & Mauriuzs Kujawski
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I’m starting to feel like I’m evolving myself.
easily, but hopefully that love for people
I start looking around the hipsterscape in
and design is how I will be remembered.’
Fitzroy, at all this clothing, and wonde how
‘I fall in love easily’, I re-read, and think
it could be improved by Billie’s imagination.
how this matches up with all the creative
My rudimentary absurdity envisions the
professionals I’ve dealt with this year.
guy at the counter with his coffee order
Yes, they all have this in common, no matter
plastered on his tee in LEDs, saving him
what they do, or how they do it, they are
from the awkward chat he’s now having
all romantically linked by the quest for
with the barista. As fantastic as I am at
something more, something better with
this game, I think I need to consult Billie’s
which to enrich our lives. I slump in my
answers for more profitable ideas. ‘There’s
chair, and throw my head back at the
been great success for products that have
mirrored ceiling, staring oddly at clothes,
run crowdfunding campaigns,’ Billie reminds
wondering what it will all look like in fifty
me. ‘Many companies have raised millions
years, while I am hopefully still scribbling,
of dollars this way; it shows people are
and artists are still falling in love with the
interested in where these technologies
great unknown. Between Google and Billie
can take the human experience.’ According
Whitehouse, my eyes have been opened,
to preliminary research, in two years the
my future enhanced, and curiosity has well
industry will be worth $30 – 50 billion,
and truly killed my coat. I pay at the counter,
so presumably investors are interested in
and shoulder out into the street. It’s raining,
where these technologies can take their
and I really don’t want to get burnt.
profit experience too. Realising that it’s time to finally relay a sentimental question, I notice I have asked Billie rather glibly how she would like to be remembered, when her time as a pioneer of wearable tech has come and gone: ‘I want people to remember my energy, if nothing else. I suffer from the fact that I want to create products that change the world. You have to love the people that you are designing for, otherwise the human emotion in the product is lost. I have to warn people not to be nice to me because I fall in love
Pink Photographers: Lloyd Harvey & Spencer Harvey Model: Ashlee Anne Scottland Hair: Robert Carlon Make-up: Burton Yuen Styling: Kate Armstrong & Billie Whitehouse Wearable Experiments
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dress sense
Fashioning the details of costume design. lexi de silva victorian college of the arts
Whenever I am asked “What do you do?” I excitedly tell people “I’m a costume designer”. I’m excited because I love talking about it, and on the whole, people love hearing about it. The response I usually get in return goes something like “Really? For what?” or “Wow, that’s different?!” And it is different. It’s nothing I ever dreamed about as a little girl, nor did I even know such a career existed. But when I look back at my childhood and the activities I loved, it’s no wonder I ended up here. So, how did I get here? As a young girl I always loved playing dress ups. My mum had a big black chest with piles of her old clothes and odd bits and pieces she had collected over the years. I would rummage through it, tirelessly putting together different outfits for my siblings and me. For many years I took dancing and acting lessons, which also came with their fair share of sequined leotards and cat costumes. I performed in local pantomimes where — you guessed it — the costumes were always my favorite part. Performance and costume was a big part of my life during childhood, and although I didn’t know it then, it would heavily influence my future. When it came to choosing a career path, I had some eclectic ideas! In primary school I wanted to work in an ice cream shop, and also be a singer. In high school I dabbled with the thought of writing and journalism. Then, when I found myself at a dead end of ideas, I ended up working at the Hard Rock Café for my Year 10 work experience week. When Year 12 came around, I knew I had to get serious. With my inherited creative genes (my mother was an art teacher) I was sure I wanted to have a career in the creative field. Initially I considered fashion design, but I soon realized the cut-throat and competitive nature of the fashion industry wasn’t for me. After some deeper deliberation about where my strengths and interests really lay, it all fell into place; fashion + theatre = costumes. And there I was! I knew without a doubt that costume design was the path for me. After a “Year 13” focusing on developing a folio, I was accepted into the Production course at the Victorian College of the Arts here in Melbourne. I spent three intense but fantastic years learning the role of a costume designer, and all the work that is involved before the curtain goes up on opening night. 26
Halcyon The Australian Ballet Choregrapher: Tim Harbour Costume Design: Lexi De Silva Stage and Lighting design: Bluebottle Photographer: Jeff Busby 28
It wasn’t easy entering the “real world”. Just getting work was hard. It’s not like you can open up the classifieds section in the local paper and reply to an ad seeking a costume designer for next season’s La Boheme. It doesn’t quite work that way. You can’t really go seeking jobs: they come seeking you. It’s about who you know, and who knows you. The more contacts you make and the more people you work with, the more opportunities come your way. The pressure of “you are only as good as your last job” is real and frightening, and is a great incentive to always do your best work. I realised now that costume design wasn’t so different to the cut-throat mentality of the fashion industry I’d aimed to avoid. I nevertheless persisted and thanks to the contacts I had made at the VCA, the jobs started to roll in. My name was out there. The hardest part was over. In the ten years that have followed I’ve worked with many different companies and on many different performance styles. My work has taken me interstate, and given me opportunities I would never have dreamed of back at the Hard Rock Café. I now have a folio full of work I am proud of, and a bunch of fond memories of the people I have collaborated with. If there were two words I would use to describe my work I would say “collaborative creativity”. Although the process is fabulously varied, the core of a costume designer’s responsibility is to work in a team to create a new vision. While I am in charge of what the costumes look like, I am by no means working alone, and I can never think of my costumes existing on their own either. After all, my costumes wouldn’t exist without a body to put them on. They wouldn’t make sense without direction to bring them to life. They would seem isolated without a set to stand on. And they wouldn’t be seen without lights to light them. It’s only when all these elements come together that magic is made. The thrill of witnessing this magic with an audience on opening night, and knowing I am part of its creation, is a feeling I will never tire of. So how do I get there…to opening night? The first step is to get to know the show. I read the script, or listen to the music, and analyse the storyline, scenes, location and characters. I need to establish specifics like the season, the culture, and the motivations of
4 Phase Victorian College of the Arts Choreographer: Anna Smith Costume Design: Lexi De Silva
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Dead Man’s Cell Phone Melbourne Theatre Company Director: Peter Evans Costume Design: Lexi De Silva Set Deign: Claude Marcos Lighting Designer: Paul Jackson Photographer: Jeff Busby 32
the characters. I need to know all this because the concept always stems from what already exists. I also need to determine any practicalities and logistics that may cause restrictions, like quick changes. Now that the bones of the show are in my head, it’s time to have a chat to the director/choreographer. We will have several meetings to discuss the design concept: including the period and place the show exists in, the colour palette, design style and any other specific elements. Often the set and lighting designer will be present to create a cohesive vision. Between each meeting, I develop my designs and aesthetic further through sketches, and I research images so that each time we meet I have something new to offer. When a solid concept is formed, and I have a rough design outline for each character, its time to conduct the preliminary design presentation to the artistic team of the production company involved. This is the opportunity for them to provide feedback before everything is finalised, do initial costings, and to gain an insight into the style of the show for marketing purposes. With the preliminary design approved, the next job is to finalise the details and prepare all the documentation that’s handed over to the wardrobe department for the costumes to be made. A lot of time is spent in creating the final, coloured costume renderings, particularly if it’s a large show with many designs. I will also prepare “working drawings”, which are clear, black and white outlined drawings of the costumes, front and back, with accompanying annotations explaining exactly what the details are. Alongside both the renderings and working drawings, I also collate a selection of research images that will suggest examples of what I would like the costume to look like. It could be the style of shoe, or the detail of a period men’s shirt collar, or the fullness of a skirt. Any information I can give to make my design clearer, I will. The hair and makeup are also details I need to consider and decide upon, as well as any other “personal props”, such as handbags, hats and jewelry. All of this documentation is then presented in a formal setting, alongside the set design, to the artistic team and wardrobe department of the theatre company. I call this “the handover”! I always love this part of the
(Over) La Fille Mal Gardee West Australian Ballet Company Choreography: Marc Ribaud Costume Design: Lexi De Silva Set Design: Richard Roberts Lighting Design: Jon Buswell Photographer: Sergey Pevnev
Song of a Bleeding Throat Eleventh Hour Theatre Company Director: Brian Lipson Set Design: Lexi De Silva and Brian Lipson Costume Design: Lexi De Silva Lighting Design: Nik Pajanti Photographer: Ponch Hawkes 34
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process because it’s when my almost-solo process suddenly involves a whole lot of other people. The costumes aren’t just mine anymore, and soon they will become more than just a 2D sketch on a piece of paper. They will come to life! Once the documentation has been presented and approved, the next part of my job is working with the costume department to choose the fabric. I’ve always believed the design is only 40% of the costume. Another 30% is the fabric choice. The importance of getting it right is crucial to its success. The fabric must be the right weight, it must move correctly, and evoke the appropriate feeling. I spend a lot of time hunting through fabric stores to find the perfect piece. Occasionally I can’t find what I’m looking for, so I turn to digital or screen printing to create the pattern I desire. Along with fabric I must choose trims, buttons, ribbons, and buckles; every tiny detail is a decision I make with intent and reason. The final 30% in the success of a costume is the costumier; the person who will interpret my drawing and cut and sew it. A good costumier understands proportion, has a great attention to detail, and has an innate sense of the contours of the body. I’ve been fortunate enough to work with many fantastic costumiers in the past, and I will never underestimate their importance in the success of the costume. They begin by analysing the documents I give them, and start to prepare the patterns. They make a toile first, which is a sample of the costume made in calico fabric. It’s my job to assess these toiles in a fitting and guide the costumier into exactly how I want it to look. After the toiles are approved the real fabric is cut and sewn together. There can be up to six fittings during the process of sewing the costumes, and I need to be at all of them to ensure I get what I want. During this time I am also available to the workroom for any questions they have along the way. As the costumes near completion, I am able to decide on some final details; those that you just can’t predict in the early sketching days. As much as I aim to stay true to my original designs, it’s also equally important to keep an open mind and have the ability to make changes along the way. If a design line isn’t flattering on the particular performer, or if time just doesn’t permit a detail to be made, I will work to accommodate it.
Fragile Oasis Victorian College of the Arts Choreographer: Anna Smith Costume Design: Lexi De Silva Lighting Designer: Jason Crick Photographer: Jeff Busby
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Kiss Me Kate Ballarat Academy of Performing Arts Director: Kim Durban Costume Design: Lexi De Silva Set Designer: Daryll Cordell Photographer: Ponch Hawkes 40
Outside the costume workroom I am present in some of the rehearsals, and regularly check back with the director/choreographer to make sure what I have designed is still synonymous with their direction and the developing performance. Details often change or become apparent at this time, such as needing pockets for particular items, or requiring a certain shoe to do a certain maneuver. We are getting very close to opening night now. The final step is production week. This is the week before opening night when we bump in to the theatre. All of the elements come together and the show is rehearsed in its entirety several times, perfecting all performance and technical issues. It’s a long and busy week of frantically finishing costumes, problem solving, tweaking, repairing, analyzing and getting every last detail right, ready for the eagerly awaiting audience. The last decision I must make is what frock I am going to wear on opening night! I really love what I do. I have never considered it to be a job. It’s always been a passion that I am very fortunate to do every day, and I enjoy the way the process uses a wealth of different skills and tasks. It’s a passion that naturally and unknowingly began in my childhood. My years of dancing lessons had a great impact, as I have now gravitated toward designing for dance and ballet. To create a costume for a moving body is a challenge I find particularly exciting. The costume needs to be strong yet light, practical yet evocative, and all the while flattering and sympathetic to the form of the body. The sense of fulfillment and pride on opening night is a feeling I get nowhere else. But mostly I just love that I get to escape the real world for a while, and create new, unique worlds that exist only on the stage and in each performance. It’s not filmed for the screen, or made to last forever; it’s just there, each night for that one audience to enjoy. When the season is finished, it will never exist again, except in the memories of those who saw it.
http://www.lexidesilva.com.au
La Sylphide West Australian Ballet Company Costume Design: Lexi De Silva Set Design: Richard Roberts Lighting Design: Jon Buswell Photographer: Sergey Pevnev 42
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from london to the onion
How I scored an Onion editorial internship mike macdonald london school of economics
It was the summer of 2009. Michael Jackson had just kicked the bucket, the swine flu had been declared a pandemic, and I was a less-than-academically-inclined graduate student fiddling around with a pesky thing called a dissertation. Most of my classmates were tackling some fairly heady subjects: energy policy in the EU, electoral reform in Canada, curing AIDS via statistical analysis. I, on the other hand, had opted to examine satirical news, a relative treasure of untapped riches in the academic world. I had contacted people from all sorts of satirical news outlets — The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, et al. While trawling The Onion’s website for a communications contact, I noticed they were hiring editorial interns. I applied, but considering I had zero background in comedy or writing, I didn’t expect to even hear back, let alone get the (non-paying) job. Fast-forward two weeks and one transatlantic flight later, to minutes before my interview, me frantically pacing outside the offices of The Onion in New York City trying my best to keep my breakfast down. It quickly became apparent in the interview that my skills around a coffee machine were far more coveted than my ability to write a joke. In fact, we didn’t talk about writing at all. Or jokes. It was arguably the least funny interview I’ve had to date. Fortunately for me, though, I always could brew a good cup of coffee. Boom: hired. For the first few weeks, I did little other than deliver packages around the city, fetch burritos for the writers, and take the office dog out for walks. After a month or so as a glorified errand boy, I finally got the opportunity to write a few jokes. I distinctly remember being so proud of my material; each joke was so witty and so subversive, such a perfect embodiment of some important zeitgeist. In my mind, it would only be a matter of days before I would be on an equal footing with The Onion’s stable of comedy-writing veterans (all of whom had 20+ years of experience). Confident, I stood up in front of a few of the more seasoned writers and read off the first joke. Silence. I soldiered on to the second joke. 46
Nothing. Then the third joke. Still nothing. By the time I got to the tenth joke, you could all but see the tumble weed slowly blowing past my sad-sack face. “Who hired shit for brains?” one of the senior staff writers yelled out after I finished reading. Everyone in the room broke out into hysterics. Well, everyone but me of course. I’m not going to lie, that night was pretty difficult. It may have even involved a teary call home to my mom, though I think I’ve repressed the memory well enough, now, that I can reasonably claim no such thing occurred. But I didn’t completely block it out. And I certainly didn’t forget the lesson: writing comedy is no easy task. In fact, it’s insanely difficult. In many regards, it’s like writing poetry; you have to place the perfect words in the perfect order for it to actually work. And much like poetry, it takes several rewrites and a lot of tinkering before you get something that works well. Which is an important consideration, since there is nothing more painful than reading unfunny comedy. Of course I didn’t know any of this then. I slapped together 15 jokes in a coffee shop 20 minutes before I read them out to the writers. I learned quickly that if you wanted to be successful in this field, you needed to write material well in advance, fastidiously rewrite and edit it, workshop your stuff with other co-workers, then read it out. And you’ll probably still get a few crickets. Comedy has all kinds of rules you ought to be following, but since there are very few comedy writing programs out there, nobody really enters the field with much experience. One day I was studying regression analysis at the London School of Economics, the next day I was writing fart jokes for arguably the funniest publication in the English speaking language. Because there’s no formal certification needed to work in a writer’s room, there’s always a niggling feeling that you’re somehow a fraud. I don’t imagine that feeling ever goes away (at least, it hasn’t for me). But if you’re dying to earn nominal sums of money for writing jokes, you can… …just expect to start out as the punchline.
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wanna be startin’ somethin’ How a scientist turned to 3D animation for biomedical communication. andrew lilja university of melbourne
I remember waking with the eager bounce of a child on Christmas morning and running downstairs to find what was awaiting me. In fact, it was just another regular school day to a 9 year old boy, but before going to bed on the previous night I had asked my dad if he could trace the outline of a stingray onto a poster for a school project (my line work at the time was still in beta-testing). For a chemical scientist he did a pretty good job and with a basic grey lead and some careful finger-smudging for shading I was able to make the creature come to life — it glided effortlessly around on the paper, or at least it felt that way to me. Looking back, this is probably the earliest memory in which my fascination with both the natural world and visualisation was evident. A few years later, I was diligently moulding the individual body parts of a redback spider out of Fimo to glue together, basically for no other reason than to look at it perched ominously on my bookshelf. With the beauty of hindsight, it’s pretty clear that my two interests developed together through adolescence, which is why it’s not surprising that I found myself studying, perhaps somewhat unconventionally, both visual arts and science in high school. Being a shameless nerd, I’m comfortable sharing the fact that for one graphic design assignment on observational drawing in Year 10, I borrowed a microscope from biology class and recreated it in fine detail on paper, even down to the tiny screws holding it together. I could see the beauty and mystery of science, and I loved attempting to convey that to others. Come crunch time when it came to following a career path I was torn between visual arts and science (as I was unaware that science visualisation was a real thing). Eventually, I decided that science was a more viable and rewarding option and that I would much rather be a part of new scientific discoveries as the tech-age forged ahead. I managed to do well in my final high school years and landed a place in Biomedical Science at the University of Melbourne, where I began to specialise in pharmacology and toxicology (occasionally testing firsthand the zero order kinetics of ethanol at the university bar, as any good pharmacologist should). As many others studying 50
general science streams will attest, the options to the humble science graduate seemed both narrow and overwhelming at the same time — you either delved into the broad and mysterious world of science research, changed to medicine or another health profession, or alternatively uprooted and moved fields completely. Luckily, a charming and enthusiastic lecturer was somehow willing to take me up on my request to complete an Honours, and subsequently a PhD, project in his laboratory. For this, I am truly grateful to have had the chance to get my hands dirty and experience the rollercoaster ride that is science research, where often you want to just flip the desk and walk away yet somehow persevere, lured by the potential of a ‘Eureka!’ moment, which incidentally are few and far between. As I slogged through late nights and weekends in the lab, somehow avoiding pipette-induced RSI, my passion for visual arts was taking a breather. It was only as I came to generate the figures for my thesis that it stirred from its drowsy, neglected slumber. I found myself spending way too long constructing images that tried to explain the complexities of my research as, let’s be honest, Macrophages Derived from Embryonic Stem Cells as Gene Delivery Vehicles in Experimental Lung Injury is not the easiest thing to convey using words alone. But I got a buzz from it. Satisfaction for me came as others, some with little science knowledge, viewed these images and instantly understood quite complex concepts. Even more rewarding was that it made the science somehow seem tangible, given that the molecular mechanisms that underpinned much of the work was and remains essentially invisible. And finally, eye candy. I just couldn’t get enough eye candy. So, I felt that I had perhaps finally found my niche, one that had been seemingly elusive up until that point. One major problem, however, confronted me — how on Earth was I going to make science visualisation a viable career? For one, I had no formal tertiary visual arts training. I could tinker in Photoshop but that wasn’t going to give me the advantage I needed to make my mark. At about the same time I discovered 3D biomedical modelling and animation, inspired largely by the work of Drew Berry, and was instantly hooked.
My first 3D model made with guidance from a Gnomon Workshop tutorial.
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Drew is a pioneer in biomolecular animation and has won countless awards including (if you don’t mind) an Emmy and a BAFTA for his ground-breaking portrayal of DNA replication. He’s also made a music video for Björk. Not too many scientists could list those achievements on their CV. As it turned out, Drew worked at the Walter and Eliza Hall Institute of Medical Research, a stone’s throw from where I was based at the University. I was fortunate enough to be able to pick the brain of the best in the business and I gained invaluable advice about entering the field. My concern was that I would be essentially starting from scratch at the age of 31, an age where many around me were settling down into comfortable marriage/mortgage/kids/divorce lifestyles. The thought of several more years of study and a hefty addition to my lingering study debt didn’t sit particularly well with me. I contacted just about every local science animator I knew of (as it turns out, there are only a handful in the entire country) to find out how they came to be where they were. It was reassuring to learn that they all began as scientists and that the majority were self-taught in the field of visualisation (no formal degrees in multimedia), so I felt there was a glimmer of hope for me yet. Learning the science, it seems, is the hardest part, and I had that covered fairly well already. Effective visualisation skills for wooing potential employers and funding bodies would simply come with practice. So I got to it. I still loved science and wanted to remain part of the research scene, so I reduced my lab workload to spend a day or two per week learning the basics of animation from home. I subscribed to online training sites and completed a short night course in Foundations in 3D Animation at the Academy of Interactive Entertainment in Melbourne, where I was thrown in the deep end with a bunch of teenage gamers and programmers. I sure did feel a little out of my league. But as the old adage goes, you learn by doing. So I just ploughed on ahead. As part of the course, we were to generate a short animated film involving a robotic character, presumably as robots could be as simple or complex as the individual skill level allowed. As I wanted
Visualisation of a muscarinic receptor embedded in a cell membrane. The receptor is activated when bound to the neurotransmitter acetylcholine and functions in the involuntary nervous system in many locations around the body.
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Screen shot from my first animation completed during the AIE short course — ‘Blip: adventures of a blood vessel microbot’.
The animation can be viewed at http://vimeo.com/92720041
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to get experience working with scientific designs and potentially make something folio-worthy, I developed a fleshy hybrid of organic and plastic components and suddenly ‘Blip’ was born. Blip is a microbot who crawls around inside the blood vessels of a human host, removing fatty plaques that have accumulated as a result of poor diet. He is also a Michael Jackson fan (well, why not?). To engage the audience, Blip had to be likeable, witty and a little clumsy. Throwing in a subtle health message was also a way to give the moon-walking microbot a broader purpose. While character development is not a major aspect of science visualisation, this type of approach could be a very useful way to communicate important educational concepts to young children, who instantly connect with these fictional figures. At first, the technical process of animating was entirely overwhelming — I could barely move a simple cube around the screen. But as I slowly chipped away at little projects my skills started to improve. I’m still constantly struck by hurdles, but what often starts as swearing and head-scratching generally is easily resolved by a quick forum-search on the issue. There is a refreshing sense of camaraderie in the visual arts industry — people often come across similar day-to-day challenges and are willing to offer advice and share knowledge to others in the same boat. A perfect example is the online resource MolecularMovies.com, an open community for life science professionals learning 3D visualisation. It provides detailed, step-by-step tutorials by industry experts for creating scientifically accurate and visually stunning animations — all for free. Life science is, of course, inherently beautiful. The trouble is that it is typically on a scale that is impossible to observe or easily comprehend. At the molecular level, there is no visible colour as structures are generally smaller than the wavelength range of visible light. Science animators must therefore apply a healthy dose of artistic licence to generate rich and engaging media. But the applications for molecular and cellular visualisation go beyond just making science look pretty. Accurate scientific models and animations are powerful tools in education. Complex mechanisms are much more easily understood
My finalist entry for the VizbiPlus ‘Making Science Beautiful’ challenge. The scene contains accurate protein structures of the key inflammatory proteins involved in type 2 diabetes, depicted here as sugary treats in a candy store.
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when presented visually. The recent implementation of tablets in schools is poised to entirely transform the delivery of education, and there is enormous potential for sophisticated electronic science content to reach, educate and inspire not just the next generation of scientists, but the wider public. To strengthen this view, I recently had some email correspondence with Eric Keller, an LA-based author of several 3D software-training guides, teacher at the renowned Gnomon School of Visual Effects in Hollywood and all-round science animation guru. Eric has turned down several opportunities in the entertainment industry and dedicates his skills to science education because, in his words, “not only is it growing, it’s really, really, really important”. Eric, along with Drew and several other multimedia specialists worked on the content for the newly released digital science textbook, EO Wilson’s Life on Earth, which is currently freely available to anyone with an iPad. While I’ve still got my training wheels securely bolted on, the tassels seem to be rustling with a light breeze of momentum and I’ve made a decent start on something that a year ago I would have thought was too difficult to achieve. In fact, my first entry into a ‘sci-vis’ challenge run by VizbiPlus (Visualising the Future of Biomedicine, an Inspiring Australia government initiative) was selected as a finalist and presented at the Vivid ‘Making Science Beautiful‘ event in Sydney in March this year. I was pretty pumped, to say the least. It’s a good start to what I hope is a long and rewarding endeavour.
(Over) A Keller-inspired virus scene where rhinovirus (blue), a culprit for the common cold, is bound by defensive antibody fragments of the host (purple) preventing infection.
Syringe box from the candy store scene.
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through the cracks A Tasmanian’s vision for the future of furniture design. duncan meerding university of tasmania
I’ve had an interest in creating and making things with raw and natural materials since I was young. My father used to make billy carts with us kids to race down the local reserve in West Hobart, as well as turning wooden bowls and creating bird houses from timber. I continued with this interest and started to make my own creations when I was at high school. Creating an item from a raw material gives an almost primitive pleasure, something that feels hard to explain, but something I believe makers from all disciplines can understand — be it throwing a bowl on a potters’ wheel or fashioning a table from timber or metal. This interest in making, together with forethought in design and my vision impairment are all central to my design identity. All my designs try to take into account an environmental and social responsibility. My design work is often informed by the making process. I believe that a knowledge about the making process is an important thing to have if you are going to design something that stands the test of time, both metaphorically and physically. For me, designs that will last a lifetime, are locally made and try to take into account sustainability at the beginning of the design process are all very important features. I think sustainability is extremely important if humanity is going to go ahead. We talk too much about sustainability in abstract terms — for me the actual human consequences need to be taken into account. Within all my designs I try to maintain the idea of sustainability two ways. One, that the object is built to last and two, that the original materials are chosen with forethought in terms of their carbon footprint and the speed with which they can be renewed. Relating to this, a lot of my work integrates curves and forms found in nature. I enjoy spending time in the wilderness, something that Tasmania is renowned for. There is something fundamental in our human attraction to the natural environment and natural forms, especially in these days of large, artificial, straight-line construction. I often turn to timber in my designs. The other central influence to my design practise is the alternative sensory world in which I design. My work concentrates on overall 64
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forms, rather than intense detailing, and the dispersion of light through and around objects. I am drawn to lighting designs and a lot of my furniture is tactile. While many other designers draw on these two factors, I believe that my own designs are influenced by the fact that I have less than five percent vision, which is concentrated around the peripheral fields. For a long time I avoided linking this to my work due to the negative stigma associated with disability in Australia. However, a number of designers pointed out that my partial blindness influenced my work in a positive way, and I was asked why I was hiding from this fact. My propeller, spiral and cracked log designs are all in some way representative of my visual fields — they disperse light to the side through a barrier. The carving and curved forms found in designs like the Lily Lamp and the Leaning Leaf Coffee table are quite tactile. While I agree that my visual situation does influence these designs, I do not think it dominates them. I am now 28 years old and it has been ten years since my vision degenerated, but my interest in creating things from wood came long before this. I still ‘designed’ things before I lost my sight, and this earlier knowledge of making definitely informs my designs. But now my changed visual fields give me another edge. I often develop my initial ideas while playing around with the actual materials, or representations of them. This is partly due to the fact that I cannot communicate my ideas very well through drawing. The design that has gained my practise most recognition is the Cracked Log Lamp and its subsequent variations in the Cracked Log Light series. The designs bring my interest in forms found in nature and the dispersion of light to the side together with my interest in sustainability. The lights are made from salvaged wood, and the very thing for which timber is often rejected is the feature of this design — the cracks. The design came about almost whimsically. I had a log of wood approximately 20cm wide, which was cracked. I cut a 23cm length from the end and removed the core of the log, placing a light source on the inside. The light burst through what was once associated with darkness — the cracks.
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The beauty of the idea behind the Cracked Log Light designs is their use of waste wood, which could come from numerous sources — even from a tree cut down in a backyard. If these lights were eventually sold overseas, I would aim have them made in the country in which they were sold. It would mean that sustainability of the design was not lost through shipping it to the other side of the world. The price could be indexed by the average craftsperson in that country, while utilising a waste material. It could be the closest thing to ‘flat-packing’ my Cracked Log lighting designs. From this original idea, a number of new iterations have been developed, including pendants, sconces, an outdoor variant (which won the Green Award at Sydney’s The Edge design competition in 2014), and a seat. I enjoy making one-off pieces of furniture. In 2013 I was engaged by Icon Footwear, a local shoe shop in Hobart to redesign and make their bench seating. I enjoyed thinking creatively about the traditional bench seat. I took their pre-existing large bench seats, created a ‘floating’ styled frame around each slab and inlayed different wood and a black resin logo in each bench. My favourite bench to design and make was one with a ‘stepped-style’ frame with contact only at two ends and curved rails in the centre. As my practise evolves I would like to make more one-off pieces of furniture, particularly ones that integrate lighting. The Shadows in the Light Whiskey Cabinet and Stump B designs marry both of these elements. Shadows in the Light Whiskey Cabinet is a traditionally made solid Tasmanian eucalypt cabinet with an unexpected light play. When the door is shut, light is pushed through a tree-branch-inspired pattern cut into the door. When the door is open and the light is off, it looks solid. Stump B takes the Cracked Log Light idea and turns it into a seat-sized design that is battery operated, and lights up when the user sits on it. As well as the sensor mode, the light can be switched off entirely, or left on without anybody having to sit on it. These two designs were part of my solo exhibition, From the Side, which demonstrated the way light coming from the side can influence our mood in a positive way. It also lent its name to my
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visual fields, where my partial sight is concentrated around the side. The exhibition was at the Sidespace Gallery, Salamanca, Hobart in April earlier this year. The gallery is approximately nine metres by nine metres and the space emphasised light dispersion. The Leaning Leaf Coffee Table, Lily Lamp, Birds Nest Entrance Piece and the different cabinets use Tasmanian eucalypt as their primary timber. For me this is one of the better timbers to use from Tasmania due to its availability, beauty, and resilience. Tasmanian eucalyptus, if mindfully harvested, can also be a sustainable resource. In light of this, and discussions I had with a number of friends and fellow designers, I initiated the organisation of an exhibition promoting Tasmanian design and designers who prefer to use Tasmanian eucalypt over the slow-growing speciality timbers. This exhibition will aim to not only emphasise the importance of good design(ers) over the novelty of rare materials, but also will help promote and develop the perceived value of Tasmanian eucalyptus. The exhibition, Inform, will showcase over 15 Tasmanian designers and their work at the Long Gallery, Salamanca, in late 2014. As well as being one of the Curators of Inform, I will showcase some of my work, including a propeller-inspired pendant light and a new whiskey cabinet design. The propeller-inspired pendant light was first developed in New Zealand when I did a short mentorship with David Trubridge’s design studio in late 2011. Three years later it will be ready to exhibit after multiple prototype experiments and a bit of a re-think. The original form for the Propeller Pendant Light came about when I was playing around with the material. There are eight propeller petals on each pendant, coming out from a central point. Each petal is twisted, adding a three-dimensional element to the curvatious form. This twist came about because the original petals had been cut with the grain on an angle. When they were bent from the central point, they wanted to make a twisted three-dimensional form. These lamps, when assembled, will be approximately 18cm high by 55cm wide. Each petal will be curved from 3mm thick eucalypt. As well as the Tasmanian eucalypt version, I am also working on an aluminium version.
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My design identity is still evolving, and what is to come in the future is not certain. What I can be sure of is that it will include the three things that form my current design identity. Initial ideas include a human-sized light similar to the Off-Kilter Night Light and further experimentation with timber bending in lighting, and some larger pieces of furniture.
Additional photography: Jan Dallas
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framing up
Hyper-lapse photography covers Melbourne. sam woosley university of north carolina / rmit university
I woke up on the morning of August 18th feeling great. I’d only been back home in Charlotte, North Carolina a few days, so my body was still getting used to how good my bed felt. I had just released my first ever time-lapse video on Vimeo and I wondered how many people had viewed it overnight. I was getting around 500 per day on average for the previous week so a few hundred would have put a smile on my face. It had amassed around 60,000. I was never one of those people who didn’t know what they wanted to do in life. I remember my parents buying me a copy of Jurassic Park when I was 11 and my sister being furious because she wasn’t able to see a PG-13 movie before she was 13. I took acting classes at the Children’s Theater in downtown Charlotte a few years later and decided pretty fast that it wasn’t for me. Despite this, I loved movies so much that by the time university came around, I had no idea what part of film I liked the most, just that I knew I belonged in the film industry. I ended up attending the University of North Carolina at Greensboro partly because it was close to home and it was the only film school that accepted me (I didn’t try very hard in high school). I was a judge for the Carolina Video and Film Festival and was extremely focused my freshman year, where I immersed myself in many aspects of filmmaking. I loved stories so I tried screenwriting; I was kind of nerdy and slightly OCD so I enjoyed editing video and I actually really liked directing. I feel I can read performances well and describe what I am looking for with words. It wasn’t until my sophomore year when we got into camera work that the light switched on in my head. There is just something about the art of framing the camera up in a scene to provoke a feeling or emotion that resonates with me. My nerdy side loves different types of cameras and lenses, my OCD side helps me get the shot just right, and my artistic side can focus on the scene layout and the emotion I am trying to evoke with the shot. Cinematography just fits me as a person. Because I knew what I wanted from university, I was able to complete my majors relatively quickly. By the time my senior year came around, 84
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I had only a few elective courses left to take before I was eligible to graduate. With a reduced course load, I looked for options to travel abroad during my final semester. A friend had been to Melbourne a year earlier and she convinced me it was the place to go. I decided to switch my film studies to photography in Melbourne. I asked myself, what could I create while traveling abroad that combined my film studies with my photography courses? Just before my senior year started, I had been saving up money for a few months and I bought a Canon 5d Mark III. Around the same time, I had become extremely interested in time-lapse photography. As soon as I got my new camera, I started exploring time-lapse, just to get used to the workflow (which is quite tedious). I knew when I went to Melbourne that I wanted to make a big epic video of my experience through my eyes. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to make a video of the city, or a video mixed with time-lapse footage, but I ended up siding with time-lapse for the whole project. I practiced as much as I could with my camera, when I wasn’t working on other projects in school. I spent hours on the Internet finding ways to get certain shots, which is how I stumbled upon filmmakers Chris and Oliver (ChrisandOliver.com) — the first filmmakers to use a time-lapse technique called “hyper-lapsing”. Most people who have seen timelapse videos have seen the generic mechanical dolly shot that travels maybe 2 – 3 feet over a 4 – 6 second shot. The technique of hyperlapsing allows you to move literally any distance (for me, around 20 – 40 metres) over the same amount of time. The effect is fascinating. I think viewers (including me) are drawn to it because of the depth. Moving across that distance really shows the subject’s dimensions and captures the viewer’s attention. I realised quickly that this would be the focal point of my video I intended to make of Melbourne. Achieving a hyper-lapse is as “do it yourself” as can be. You need a good amount of free space, so it can easily take just as long to scout for a location as it does to shoot one. The idea is to take a picture every few inches (depending on how much space you have and the effect you are going for). I keep the subject I am presenting
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at around the same location in the frame for every shot (this makes things easier to edit later). After color grading, all the photos are stabilised in postproduction. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work out. If your subject isn’t close to where it was in the previous shot, the stabilisation can get confused and cause twitches in your video. Also, you can’t travel long distances (more than 5 – 10 metres) if your subject isn’t large enough. Moving too fast without something large in the frame can look disorienting and have too much movement to enable the viewer to focus. It took a lot of practice. The process is tedious and complicated, but through trial and error I eventually got the hang of it. Feeling confident in my practice, I finally headed down under. Australia is just incredible. Melbourne is huge, the people are great, the food is tasty, and the city is pretty. Luckily, I lived right next to RMIT University in the heart of the city, which is basically next to everywhere I wanted to be. I got shooting right away. I had my own equipment, an efficient technique, and six months of time. My professors at school knew about my project and even let me turn in pieces of what I was working on as assignments. I was shooting 2 – 3 times a week for hours at a time, and putting more hours in editing footage on my crappy laptop. Everything was working out great until just before the Easter break. All of a sudden, my computer crashed. This had never happened to me before and I really took a hit. Luckily I had some shoots backed up on my external hard drive but I lost footage I thought at the time was integral to my personal project. It hit me hard. I was at the bottom of the world and out of my home country for the first time in my life, and I was putting most of my time into a video I was making just for fun. I stepped back from what I had been planning on for months and went on vacation. My roommate and I took a two week trip to New Zealand, which was life changing to me. It’s the most beautiful place I have ever visited, just as, if not more breathtaking than Australia, and the people were just amazing. It was like Australia but in slow motion. No one is in a
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rush and you can relax and enjoy the view. Exotic green mountains come straight up out of the lakes and into the clouds. It’s unbelievable. If I were to ask someone who the Miami Heat were playing the first round of the NBA playoffs, they would have asked me what a ”Miami” was. It was the most relaxed I have ever been and it left me wondering if the video I had been working on was worth it. I had planned around this video and practiced for so long that I needed something to show for it. One thing I did have was time. You can do a lot in six months’ time, especially if you’re focused. But there are other factors. You can’t just say, “I’ll go shoot tomorrow”. For me, the elements have to be right. I learned quickly that you have to have a Z-axis (that is, the three-dimensional plane). To create this, there absolutely have to be clouds in the sky during the day and there have to be light trails from cars at night. You need to show depth in the frame otherwise time-lapses get stale. If you watch my videos, you will see there isn’t one shot without clouds or light trails. I ended up shooting until the second-last day I was in Melbourne. I had a computer crash, I had the cops called on me in some locations (because my tripod scares people at night, I guess) and shooting always with clouds in the sky meant it was inevitable I was going to get rained out at least a handful of times. There were multiple challenges, but I am partially appreciative that I had a specific date to come home, otherwise I would probably still be shooting. The video was made from 8,159 photographs and 88 different time-lapses over 50 shoots. It was approximately 150 hours of work in total. I woke up on the morning of August 18th with 60,000 views because I had been featured on BuzzFeed, something I am proud of and greatly appreciate. It wasn’t part of the plan, and has created opportunities in my life that otherwise may not have been there. I have been featured on a few sites, made a little money, will have my video shown on the big screen in Melbourne’s Federation Square, and was offered a job on the West Coast of America. Really, without those 60,000 views you could be reading someone else’s words right now.
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Despite this, all my friends still know me as the unlucky one. I’ve been lucky with the big things in my life but the small things still seem to go wrong. Two days ago, I spent 20 dollars on a frisbee and lost it to the middle of a pond within an hour. Yesterday I had my car windows down when driving through a puddle in the road and a passing tow truck sent a tidal wave into my car. That’s just a regular 48 hours! At this point, it’s hard to get upset. As my professional life is just getting started, I am just trying to get better at what I do and hope my luck for the big things continues in my favour. Even without luck, I’m just excited to be on the creative path I always knew was meant for me.
Instagram: @SamWooz
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