SCRAPBOOK
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SCRAPBOOK SCRAPBOOK SCRAPBOOK SCRAPBOOKME SCRAPBOOK SCRAPBOOK SCRAPBOOK
COLLECTION OF MELBOU URNES CREA EATIVE MIN ELBOURNE’S COLLEC CREAT SCRAPB
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MELBOUR SCRAPBOOK FIRST EDITION. LIMITED. MELBOURNE. 2012.
A big thank you to everyone that has been involved in the making of SCRAPBOOK. To all of the contributors, without your beautiful work this magazine wouldn’t have been possible. A special mention to the lovely Narelle, your patience, guidance and motivation throughout this process has helped us create something that we are proud of and love. We hope you enjoy SCRAPBOOK! Love, Milo, Georgie and Nabila
xox
nicholas ling.
Welcome to Scrapbook
Scrapbook is a collection of pages. Polished and unpolished. Not a guide or directory. It shares, inspires and advises. Its a mish mash of writers, thinkers, designers, artists and dreamers, acting as a time capsule of what Melbourne creatives think, see and do. Weve brought you a collection of the enigmatical workings from Melbournes young creatives, in the form of something you can touch, tear, draw on, carry, stack on your bookshelf and spill coffee over. Its appreciating the original, appreciating it on paper, and appreciating the unfinished.
THE KINGDOM OF FEAR THEKINGDOMOFFEAR.TUMBLR.COM
DANNY ZAJD
33# Observation at the Gym At the gym this morning I overheard a brick shithouse counting his reps...’1 *grunt, 2 *grunt, 3 *grunt, 5 *grunt, 6 *grunt,’ etc. I can confirm that after stalking him around the gym all morning he definitely does not know of the number 4. Observation made by Keiran O’Shea
Today is the day we are all going to be eaten by zombies. Today is the day we will be eaten by zombies. I know it. That's why today I'm wearing my best outfit. There is nothing worse than seeing a badly dressed zombie covered in blood and guts. Maybe I’ll woo another zombie because of my impressive attire and then my blood lust will be quelled and I can go back to being me again. Do Zombies ever get changed? Secondly I am going to wear comfortable shoes. Maybe zombies aren't that angry, it's just their shoes are really uncomfortable. That could be it. I hate when my shoes are uncomfortable. Especially when I have to walk around all dayand I don't think zombies can drive normally. If a zombie could drive that would be pretty boss. I’m also going to have a cup of tea before I go anywhere and get bitten. You don’t really consider a Zombie having time for a cup of tea after it is bitten. I think you have to take the little things in life that you enjoy and really appreciate them – especially today with all of the Zombie massacre type business that we can expect when we leave our house.
C
I also need to think about what I am going to do when I am a Zombie. Obviously I won’t eat any babies or children or anything. That would be wrong. Instead I think I’ll target bad people. And I'll eat Thai people because I like Thai food. And quite a few Italians too. I wonder if Indian people will give me an upset tummy when I am a Zombie. There are so many of them though so I imagine I will be dining on quite a few of them. Hopefully I adapt. Oh well. Time to head out now. That tea was delicious.
Notes on the Zombie Apocalypse David Toussaint
bianca milani an architect photographed my undies.
i’ve been living in limbo, tripping over my newest muse. I like to call it the Dutch Limbo Love Shack. Try imagining your perfect studio with the perfect companions… Now cover it with buckets of uncontrollable laughs & wild beach party escapades, lather it with passionate love & morning cuddles, then make it shine with glitter bombs bursting from a traveling party bus. Oh & throw in some bottles of home made vodka, two traveling hotties & seven delicious Dutch boys. Here, out in the Aussie Donker Collective studio time does not exist. Time exists only to create. The sound of brushes on canvas will fill your ears like white noise, the small wondrous giggles from the lovers loft above will whisk across your notebook & the smell of freshly cooked pizza at 11pm will beckon you to the cinema to feast with strangers. Take the time to find out where this place is. Take the time to find out who they are. Ask around. Trust me, you wont want to go home.
GEORGIA HARVEY
Bonnie Adams presents Unearthed
Galaxy
‘I work mostly in resin because I like the smooth and shiny finish and prefer to steer away from using metal, as it can feel and appear quite sharp. I’m obsessed with raw crystals, their transparency and abundance of colour is truly beautiful. The facets in raw and cut crystals have the ability to reflect light. I also like the idea of being inspired by something natural and producing it in quite a synthetic material like resin. I have called my collection ‘Unearthed Galaxy’, as many of the pieces have a galactic feel with swirls of colour merging with gold to emulate the solar system. Making jewellery for me, is also about reinterpreting wearability, a piece may not be intended to be worn for hours and could be incredibly heavy, but it is the conceptual qualities that excite me, perhaps my pieces are more sculptural than anything.’
ten underrated past times
by william balme.
So I like to potter. You know, avoid any sort of commitment to anyone or anything beside my own self. Through this remarkably selfish attitude that has seen my sporadic involvement in charitable exercises rejected due to a pressing commitment to my keyboard, my favourite cafe or some sort of remote sporting event, I have become very good at passing time. Passing time to me is an obsession. How come time is so important to us, how come it doesn’t stop when I want it to and why do I have to work when I offer so much as a human being. You know, the usual thoughts that we all come up with. As a man with a pottering pedigree I have decided to come up with the ten (I was going to do twelve, but come on, let’s not go too crazy here) most ridiculously petty, yet underrated past times.
1. Cafe trips by myself. I’ve always found that when you are really trying to think and there are people around you yelling or just annoying you subtly with their presence, a cafe is a fine establishment to attend by yourself. Of course, you will need to take with you some accessories, namely a laptop to pretend you are working on something difficult, a notepad for scribbling and a mobile phone to make it appear like you are someone important and you do have friends. I’ve found that the quieter the cafe is, the less likely people are going to feel sorry for you when you are by yourself. If you are going to head into a cafe such as Proud Mary or Pillar of Salt on a Friday afternoon by yourself then you will more than likely look like a bit of a charity case. You might even receive a free coffee or two if you can well up a few tears and act particularly pathetic. However, I would not recommend this. The greatest thing about the cafe trip by yourself is that you do not have to write conversation topics on your hand when you are faced with the daunting task of a date with a girl that you have absolutely nothing in common with. Sure, talking about who has the best haircut in the AFL is fun with your best mates but it is not exactly riveting first date banter for the lucky lass sitting with you. Another tick for the solo coffee date is that people might pick you as the mysterious writer type, particularly if you are writing a few notes and appear to be concentrating extremely hard on something. 2. Sitting in parks
3. Watching people in the city
Parks across the world are pretty neat. Some are a city highlight like Central Park in NYC or Jardin du Luxembourg in Paris and others are just a spot to walk the dog and perve on Sunday morning yoga sessions. Each to their own but the park experience is a very diverse and intriguing one. One of my favourite date spots is the park. For some reason many women are terrified by this idea of my desire to take them to a park. I suppose this is justified as it does come across as particularly forward in your advances but I really do enjoy sitting on dewey grass with the wind blowing through my flowing locks as we chat about our favourite Crusade or who was the greatest Emperor of Ancient China or what we had for dinner last night. It really should come as no shock to me that the park is probably a fifth date spot along with the zoo and one before a sleazy budget motel. However, minus the romantics, the park is a pleasant spot to waste time in a similar vein to the cafe. The best season to head to the park to potter is without doubt Spring. Spring brings out the best in people. There is the choice to wear both winter or summer attire, the flowers are blooming and music seems to generally wade through the air. I am quite partial to a little bit of Arcade Fire in the Spring whilst I sip on a cheeky cappuccino and wander the grassy knolls just thinking about the days that have gone past. I actually must make it known that I do have friends and I do not just wander in parks and cafes by myself all the time thinking about all the lost opportunities to make friends over my 21 years on the 3rd rock from the sun.
People watching. It’s a frowned upon habit by much of society but one we just can’t go without. It is no wonder that the most popular television shows are currently of the ‘reality’ genre, revolving around renovating houses, watching spoilt kids whittle away Daddy’s hard earned dollars and butchering brilliant melodies all for the sake of a recording contract. The most sparsely populated areas are the most enjoyable for people watching. Swanston Street in Melbourne brings much joy to my day as I watch the university kids grab a coffee and talk about how they are going to change the world for the better once they earn their first legitimate pay check, the vendors pester anyone who unfortunately looks their way and tourists judge the mind boggling post modern architecture that Melbourne holds so dear. Conversations that you catch a whiff of are particularly telling when in a packed Melbourne street. You might catch the end of a conversation between a couple that details their mundane sex life or how much they secretly want to kill each other. Beggars plea for a little loose change and whilst some chuck them a couple of coins, others fear that homeless men are like seagulls and if you feed them once they will pester you until your whole sandwich (or in this case, wallet) is taken away. Other highlights include people missing trams and getting irrationally upset despite there being another thirty seconds away, watching daft individuals with little sense of direction turn to head in every possible direction whilst narrowly avoiding being hit by three cars, two bicycles and a tram, and of course, the token potential serial killer who looks a slight hip and shoulder away from pulling out his tommy gun and unloading on random pedestrians.
4. Driving to no place in particular If Alfred Hitchcock’s most famous film, Psycho, taught us anything it was that men who dress up as their mothers are likely to be excellent in the bedroom or something along those lines. It also taught us that when you are driving to nowhere in particular, just look out for potential tar pits nearby, they might swallow all the evidence of your life in a flash. However, long drives are perfect to clear the mind. Whether it be to check out a few obscure cafes or a gallery out of the way or just to simply avoid a few lectures at uni, there is always a place to head. The wind drifts through your ears (if you have a sun roof) and the music can be played as loud as possible. You can bring a couple of companions and float up to the beach or you can anger a few motorists by cutting them off and having a bit of banter in between avoiding red lights with bikies, it’s all innocent fun. There are extreme examples of driving into the sunset that may see you land in Byron Bay or worse, Port Elizabeth if you are lose your inhibitions completely but on the bright side, you might just bump into a nice man on the side of the highway offering you a lift to his place for an overnight stay*. *Just make sure that he doesn’t have blood stains on his shirt or decapitated heads in his freezer.
5. Watching the ocean from the front seat of your car. This one speaks for itself. The ocean on a cold, blustery day is not a recommended activity unless you are firmly strapped into your front seat with Miike Snow blaring and a Tim Winton novel by your side. There might even be a few brave surfers taking up the challenging of some 10’ footers and a few lingering Great Whites watching on hungrily. Bring a coffee, your best mate and a few cheeky Hoegaardens and feel the power of the greatest show on earth. 6 & 7. Filming fake video clips/downloading instrumentals of brilliant songs and creating your own personal lyrics that provide poignant commentary to your own life. I decided to combine number 6 and 7 as I’m starting to tire of this writing caper and I really need to start tending to my salad in anticipation of the weekend. Salad meaning my hair and weekend meaning heading local parks to people watch and appear mysterious to attract some indie chicks to come back to mine and listen to a bit of Dan Sultan. I’ve never strayed from the fact that I believe I am the funniest man in the world and although no one else agrees, I still make myself laugh without fail. I’ve created many videos of me with some sort of funny camera format miming to Kings of Leon’s The Bucket or Queen’s Somebody to Love and then calling on my sister to come and have a good old laugh with her ‘Oh my God, weirdo’ (her words, not mine) brother. Unfortunately, I have turned 21 and that doesn’t seem to be a valid past time for a man who could potentially work in the legal system or manage a
brothel one day. So, I have moved onto downloading instrumentals of songs from Youtube and adding my own lyrical genius to classics such as ‘Niggas in Paris’ or ‘Georgia on my mind’ with outstanding results. So outstanding in fact, that I have been blackbanned from ever sending my videos into Triple J on account of them being better than the original or something along those lines. Okay, that never happened. But it is a fun past time and one that when I finally work up the courage to die on stage during my first stand up comedy show can be a relevant and witty social comment about how Generation Y are narcissistic fucks who like nothing better than watching themselves on photo booth. Anyway, until I learn the guitar, the only creative thing I can do musically is sing into my webcam and give an unsuspecting lass the motorboat treatment… or if all else fails, a blow on the stomach. Classic sound.
8. Planning sitcoms that no one will ever view. I like to write things. The traffic in my notepads of ideas that I have to write up is banked up to the West Gate and unfortunately, some dickhead has crashed his car in the middle lane so there will be no movement anytime soon. Some of the better ideas that I have come up with have been a sitcom featuring a festival organiser and their struggle to keep things in check. Hilarity ensues when a hundred people storm the fence, the headliner doesn’t show up and the alcohol runs out across the board. I have no idea where that would go. Couldn’t exactly see it becoming the next Curb Your Enthusiasm but you never know, every show has to start from a small seed. The credit for the other idea goes to a friend of mine at uni who suggested that stay at home Dads could be a compelling premise for a sitcom where their wives head off for a hard day at the office while the three main protagonist fathers hit up a bit of Fifa and head to the park to kick the footy. Again, there isn’t a firm direction for where else that would go bar drinking a few tinnies by the pool and changing nappies but there is definitely an idea that could go Hollywood if I wasn’t such a failed writer. The whole idea of writing sitcom ideas and doing nothing about them is as ancient as the comedy stylings of Ben Elton but no scene of television will ever get my going like George Costanza and Jerry Seinfeld plotting the first scene of their television pilot on little known sitcom, ‘Seinfeld’. Absolute comedy gold. 9. Planning travel itineraries. When you are stuck inside on a four degree day during the seemingly endless Melbourne winter your imagination becomes your best friend. Along with an atlas, the internet connection and a budget for a sandwich, a hooker and a milkshake, the world is my oyster. I’ve picked my route around Europe, South America, North… you get the gist, every continent in case you don’t. I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on the cultures of countries across the globe but I do read a lot of Wikipedia profiles on Armenia, Chad and Bolivia so I like to think of myself as a bit of an expert on cultures across the globe. Yeah, you see what I did there. Now, I’ve heard of men who travel around with a map of the world placing pins to represent the countries of their conquests but that is not the reason to travel. But finding love in a hopeless place quite possibly might be the answer we are all searching for as Rihanna shrieked or yelped or whatever she was doing during that song, ‘Why write verses when you can sing the chorus over and over’. You might even run into this beauty who will show you why making your way through the exotic is also worth your time. 10. Pondering life from the toilet seat. The throne. Where every man feels like a king, particularly if there is a lock on the door. If there is one activity that I exceed expectations in then this would be it. A newspaper, a cool lemonade and a good mental image is all I need for a good 30 minute time kill. The biggest buzz kill when attempted such an activity is when the seat is warm and there is evidence that another has been sitting on your throne within that past hour. I do realise that it is an activity that we all participate in from time to time but that doesn’t make it any less disconcerting when that awkward warmth brushes against my cheeks and ruminate about the whole injustice of it all. However, when it is right, it is so damn right. So many of the most memorable reading moments have happened on a toilet seat. 9/11, the Bali bombings, Obama’s election. This occurred in conjunction with some of the more important mornings of my life. Before my first day of high school, university, before heading to a big date. There is no better way to sum up freedom than a private shit when the real world feels a million miles away. It is the modern day poet’s stoop of choice.
nicholas ling.
FINDING CHARLIE
findingcharlie.tumblr
In a Jam I gave my ‘I’ to the toaster. Now it laments burnt rye and a viscera of crumbs, mourns its lonely reflection in the belly of the kettle. by Jake Davies
A tour of the district Clenchillage: a town built in the palm of the world; wary of making a fist. Yahwehshire: a borough lining the ear of God; wooed to windows by prayer. Heresiapolis: a city littered with minarets of varying heights; cannot support a sky. Rhetorik: a village that dissolves in the evening; rebuilt with vocalic trowels at morning bells. Physicity: a city that’s everywhere at once; exists only on the probability that it must. Armapass: (no more than a General Store) tired of violent conjecture, knows first-hand our better nature. Sophyburg: a city unsure of itself as a city; lives and fucks in curtains and scaffolding. Oldbayo: a town balanced on knife-tip; has no passage for wind. Memarie: a neighbourhood of neglected corners and frosted glass; no one there agrees on a thing. by Jake Davies
Isha
Brown
DANIELLE
VIDONI FASHION DESIGNER
Drape
What is this word I feel like I keep tossing it around. I find myself trying to drape the fabric round the female form but I feel like I’m continuously getting stuck between trying to recreate the flesh that lays underneath the cloth and trying to work in a way that keeps with the traditional technique of Madam Gres drape. I need to develop my own method of drape, maybe I don’t even drape the fabric, I think the visual representation of drape will come of its own accord, I need to just look at the skin and flesh and how it sits on the body and from there create a garment.
Using Silk crepe I have tried to develop a method of gathering that can be used in place of tucks to create drape on the female form.
These are some images that I used last year in one of my studios. It was probably this studio entitled "scrap� that I really started to become fascinated by the female form and began using it as my main source of inspiration. I first found images that resonated with me and from that I begun to deconstruct them trying to figure out what drew me to them. This is why these few images have been cut up, I conducted a few experiments to see if taking certain elements of the female form would create different relations with the remaining elements. I was drawn to certain parts of the body being... Hips Waist Shoulders Clavicle Breasts
It was these parts of the female form that I would further draw on and through my designing ensure that they would somehow be highlight. It was in this particular studio from last year that I developed a process of applying a series of slashes into fabric that would open up and reveal the female form beneath it. My current body of work is based on the accentuation of these elements of the female form through the moulding of leather as well as applying the notion of revel and conceal to create garments that blur the line between body and garment.
Note. the sketch on the previous page and another on the opposing page...
It was through these two images that the method of applying incisions into the fabric to reveal and conceal the female body was informed by. It was the lines in these drawings that allude to the lines that are placed on the body. I am however hoping to use these two drawings to inform my current project. I am struggling with draping or placement of fabric on the female form. I’m going to work less of trying to create drape and more on how to represent flesh as well as allow the body beneath to be revealed through the fabric so there is an equal play between body and garment.
This one image from a collection of similar images I drew, the yellow represents the placement of cloth over the body.
Drape over the body the lines move round the body in sync with its natural movements, highlighting and accentuating the main features of the female form.
I really love these two images. They are of a draped dress I developed then layered tracing paper over the top and drew in the female form to highlight the areas I wished to accentuate and draw upon. This particular dress I really enjoy, the lies which run parallel with the body and the drape is not too attention seeking, it is with the way the drape created through tucks hangs from the body that I find the silhouette so attractive and communicative of flesh.
There is two video I developed in some of my earlier entries where I wear the draped dresses and walk up and down the hallway which illustrate how the dresses moves with the body during movement to reveal and conceal the female form. It is during this movement that I think that this nylon mesh is most effective. The simplicity of dress helps to allow the female form beneath to interact and be seen more, I want to avoid cluttering this form, both garment and wearer must exist together in harmony.
These are the dresses I’ve made so far, not exactly what i had invisaged. Although they posses a feminine elegance they don’t stand out, nor do they relate to the technique used in making the rest of my body of work.
Drape Dress1
Tucking & detailing on shoulder
These images show the pleating method I have used to create the drape, however I feel this method it too closely linked to that of Madam Gres and the development of my own method it needed, It’s not that I don’t like the effect visually I just feel there is little to link to the work I have been doing with leather and brush latex.
Bust Detail
The tucks allow this beautiful flow of fabric to cares the breasts as it falls gently over the bust revealing and concealing whilst hanging from the shoulder point. It is through the interaction between wearer and garment that through movement the coverage over the bust will change allowing the garment to "reveal� and "conceal�
Drape Dress 2
Drape Dress 3 same dress as 2, draped over front shoulder
The image is an example of the platform I wish to develop with latex applied over the top and sides to look as if the flesh of the bodies that stand upon the blocks is in fact beginning to melt off.
COLOUR SAMPLING
(latex with acrylic paint)
These little circular blobs are of course latex but the latex has been mixed with varying amounts of acrylic paint in an effort to create varied skin tones. The top circle of latex has no acrylic added and the last circular blob is of latex with about a tablespoon of acrylic paint. The intensity of colour also varies with the thickness of which you apply the latex, these samples are thicker than what I would use to paint garments out of, it need to be keep in mind that whilst applying the coats of latex to a body part the colour and intensity will vary with each coat. It’s interesting to see the colour of the latex when wet and then dry, the varied tones of which it changes during the drying process is quite dramatic.
latex gloves Some very cool latex gloves. They are so life like, when worn they look as if to be a second skin. a shame i don’t have them on the body yet...
The application of the fabric to the latex body (which has been stretched over the mannequin) using brush latex. Small tucks are stitched into the fabric prior to applying to the stretched latex body.
Urinal Talk. David Toussaint “You know you shouldn’t say that...” “Say what?” “That you’re pining for someone. I heard you say it to that person you were having lunch with. You said you were pining for someone. You shouldn’t say that.” While being a little on the uncomfortable side, this conversation would have been made all the better if it was not struck up at the male urinal of a high end Melbourne restaurant, and considerably more normal if the man starting the conversation had actually met the respondent. “I... well... What do you mean? Why?” “Well it’s offensive.” “Offensive to who exactly?” “Pine Cones. Obviously.” The man said with a jiggle. “I really don’t see how me pining for my ex girlfriend who left the country could in any way be offensive to a pine cone, which to my understanding would have no feelings at all and no real purpose for anything in this world, or any other.” “My Grandpa was a pine cone. Met my Grandmother one day when she was out on a stroll through the Dandenong Ranges. Fell in love straight away. That makes me... pine cone, and I am just about sick of people using that phrase so flippantly when it offends me at my very wooden core. “You don’t look like a pine cone..” “What do you mean I don’t look like a pine cone? Who are you to tell me what I am supposed to look like. You know what mate? It’s people like you who are what is wrong with society. Running around with your prejudices and your ignorance.” “Well what’s a pinecone doing in the urinal of one of Melbourne’s finer dining establishments?” “People probably asked what Rosa Parks was doing sitting at the front of the bus. What do you think I’m doing? I’m having lunch just like you pal. I just hope in 30 years when the phrase has become socially unacceptable that you look back on this day and feel like a right idiot” “Look I hardly think you can compare the bravery of an African American woman standing up for her human rights to that of a man who claims to be ¼ pinecone having lunch at…” “OK stop. Just stop. We’re not getting anywhere and I’ve just finished peeing now. I’m saddened by your attitude and your prejudices and no longer want to be in your company. Goodbye and can I say, I honestly hope we never use the same bathroom again.”
nicholas ling.
sunny bhatt
This is what happens when I am left alone to pee. by R. Coleman
I’m stuck at a urinal. The dark matter expelling from my anteater stinks like vodka, or at least the smell I associate with vodka. A smell wedged somewhere between sour milk and the fart of a child who hasn’t yet moved on to solids. It’s entirely illogical, but so is sleeping with a kitchen knife under your pillow on lonely nights, or buying a People magazine from a service station at 4am with money you could have spent on a Paddle Pop. So my urine is spilling and swirling down four holes that look as ominous as the pursed rear of a stray cat. It’s spilling and splashing and swirling and creating a sort of white wash. It reminds me of long summers body boarding in Merimbula. Being driven into the shoreline over and over until it was time to retrieve a Vegemite sandwich and juice box from the esky. Sucking on the straw until it made a slurping sound, then continuing to suck until being scolded and reminded of the dangers of going beyond the yellow flags. Cubba, don’t go past the yellow flags. And stop that slurping noise! The beautiful memory doesn’t stay for long, quickly receding back into my ocean-brain. Back into vast amounts of water, filled with dangerous sharks and horny dolphins. Dolphins that pack-raped their own, practicing Japanese wax torture on the weak, before expelling their own fluids; a white wash synchronised with my own. Look down. Some of the dark matter has, in all the chaos of spilling and swirling, ricocheted onto my khaki pants. The urine bullets are dark and noticeable, like a Batman symbol in the clear night sky. I bet this never happens to the Illuminati. Calm. If people in the restaurant stare tell them you’re a descendent of the Tupi Indian, an extremely hygienic people. Then further explain how the Tupi washed 12 times a day, and burnt their dead, then crushed their bones into dust and blew them across a – I catch myself and laugh at the ridiculousness of my standing there. How long have I been here? I mumble. I turn to my right to find a proper gentleman looking at me as if I were the first woman he’d seen naked. He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he zips, bypasses the hand basin and pulls on the door. A roar of laughter and conversation and orders being shouted inside the restaurant echoes around the bathroom for a few moments and then disappears, leaving me with my thoughts again. A new man enters and I apologise in advance without even beginning to explain. I zip, bypass the hand basin and burst back into the roar of conversation and laughter and orders being shouted. As I sit down at the table for two, her hand finds my stained thigh. Our eyes are wide in the darkness of the fancy sushi bar, and I realise I’ve found the only girl who may begin to comprehend the trauma of pissing on your pants. One of my tribe, a Tupi.
living with a wanker by R. Coleman I come home to a muffled sound slipping under my housemate’s bedroom door. After 3 minutes there’s an eerie, guilty silence, and the door opens. He is in a towel, smiling and hiding a fist full of tissues behind his back. “Why don’t you just wank with your headphones in?” “Hi to you too. I don’t wank with them in because I need to be spatially aware”, James says triumphantly, like he’s just conquered the Everest of erections. But I know for a fact his penis is smaller than a replica Kilimanjaro made from 8 matchsticks. “What do headphones have to do with spatial awareness?” “They inhibit it.” “So?” “Well I need to know where my cock and hand are at all times. You know, let them communicate.” If they did communicate, I knew what they would be saying to each other. I didn’t tell him this, but I was cognisant of the fact he thinks about my girlfriend while he’s wanking. In fact, recent investigation of his ‘search results’ found he’d typed in several lewd things mentioning her name: “Kate Nude”, “Kate Shower”, “Kate does James”. I didn’t want to ever bring it up. “They don’t need to communicate, idiot. Usually it’s pretty easy. Just hold on to your cock.” “Do you mind if I roll a smoke?” “Are you going to wash your fucking hands before you impregnate my tobacco with a thousand retarded James’?” “What the fuck’s your problem?” “You wanking over my girlfriend, maybe?” Shit. Remain calm. “Well, at least it’s not your mum.” That’s true. It wasn’t my mum. Why would I be dating my mum? I’d be super pissed if he was wanking over my mum while I was dating her. Super pissed. “You’re thinking about dating your mum again, aren’t you?”
James Gullan
22# Observation on a tram On a recent team trip I had the pleasure of this guy sitting next to me. When I conveyed a look of “why the fuck are you just wearing a blanket?” his only response was - “don’t even ask”. He then fell asleep on my foot- with his balls hanging out the bottom of his blanket. This subsequently left me stranded not wanting to wake him- much to the enjoyment of my fellow commuters.
23# Observation at a Chemist Whilst in the chemist this guy walks up to the counter and says: “Yo- I need a cream for this”. Man points to an enormous cold sore. Man continues... “...and yeah, its an STD” Man winks at chemist girl.
observations by James Gullan
Laura Clauscen
What usually inspires me to draw must be the tension I fee when I see something beautiful. From the intricate lines that connect the brow to the nose, finally seen so clearly when captured by the photographer. I like to take my time on the finest detail, playing around with different texture and medium to create something with a cleancut edge, but with dark richness in texture and depth. Then, having a background as a professional make-up artist, shading and contouring around the eyes is like leaving the best icing on the cake till the end.
I literally hate it when people ask me what I do. Words of a Model / Natalie
Usually I just answer saying I work in fashion or I am just at uni, kind of hoping they won’t go any further with the question. I know that what I do is fun - I get to meet creative and new people every day and lots of the time I get taken to beautiful places to shoot. I guess a part of me still really doesn’t like people judging me on what they think my work entails. The past three months I’ve been hanging out in Sydney, renting a room out of this house on my own and it has been really great. All the cool work is in Sydney!! Work has been slowly building up- which is good because for a while I felt like I was going to a million castings and nothing was really happening. Can be pretty defeating. I decided to come home last week as I was starting to get a little lonely and really missing everyone at home. Literally the day I came home i found out I had to leave on Sunday for a two day shoot in Byron then fly straight to Sydney for work on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. I flew to Sydney and turned out work fell through on Thursday. That’s the joy of the industry; people can cancel on you the night before a job - like you don’t have a life and that doesn’t affect you in any way at all, when really it just messes everything up. I can’t decide if I like what I do. I think the idea of this sort of all-over-the place lifestyle is great but when it actually is happening, and you find yourself having no routine in your life whatsoever you get pretty overwhelmed. After all, it’s important to find a way to balance work and your relationships but at the moment I think Its becoming hard. That’s why I decided to come back to Melbourne for a while. But I’m finding it hard to say no to any jobs that pop up. I feel really lucky to have these opportunities - but they aren’t as glamorous as people think... 4am starts, in the middle of winter, freezing on a beach in bathers; pretty shit.
Steve Lees
Custom Graph™
Words that sound dirty, but aren’t really dirty. Moist. slightly wet; damp or humid Pork. the flesh of a pig used as food, esp. when uncured Angina. a condition marked by sever e pain in the chest, often also spreading to the shoulders, arms, and neck, owing to an inadequate blood supply to the heart. Masticate. Chew (food). Organism. an individual animal, plant, or single-celled life form Abreast. side by side and facing the same way. Pianist. a person who plays the piano, especially professionally. Coccyx. a small triangular bone a t the base of the spinal column in humans and some apes, formed of fused vestigial vertebrae. Rectory. a rector’s house. Seamen. a person who works as a sailor, especially one below the rank of officer. Penalize. subject to a penalty or punishment. Titular. holding or constituting a purely formal position or title without any real authority. Cumquat. an orange-like fruit related to the citruses, with an edible sweet rind and acid pulp. Girth. the measurement around the middle of something. Froth. a mass of small bubbles in liquid caused by agitation, fermentation, or salivating discharge. allow (a liquid, gas, or other sub stance) to flow out from where it has been confined. Slaw. as in, North American Coleslaw Baster. Baste. pour fat or juices over (meat) during cooking in order to keep it moist. Pullout. a pull-out section of a magazine or newspaper. Wonk. a derogatory North American term meaning a studious or hard-working person. Cloister. a covered walk in a convent, monastery, college, or cathedral, typically with a colonnade open to a quadrangle on one side. Bush. a shrub or clump of shrubs with stems of moderate length. Crusty. having or acting as a hard outer layer or covering. Flaccid. soft and hanging loosely or limpl y, especially so as to look or feel unpleasant. Hole. a hollow place in a solid body or surface.
Metric 3mm Linear Yellow MC - Port Letter
http://customgraph.com
Custom Graph™
Insert. place, fit, or push (something) into something else Penetrate. go into or through (something), especially with force or effort. Shaft. long, narrow part or section forming the handle of a tool or club, the body of a spear or arrow, or similar. Slit. a long, narrow cut or opening. Sloppy. casual and loose-fitting, or containing too much liquid. Snatch. quickly seize. Spunk. courage and determination. Squirt. cause (a liquid) to be ejected from a small opening in a thin, fast stream or jet Thrust. push suddenly or violently in a specified direction Withdraw. remove or take away (something) from a particular place or position. Wound. an injury to living tissue caused by a cut, blow, or other impact, typically one in which the skin is cut or broken. Quincunx. an arrangement of five objects with four at the corners of a square or rectangle and the fifth at its centre. Balzac. a French novelist. Maculate. Spotted or stained. Blowhole. the nostril of a whale or dolphin on the top of its head Ballcock. a valve which is linked by a hinged arm to a ball floating on top of a liquid and opens or closes a tap automatically according to the height of the ball. Gesticulate. use gestures, especially dramatic ones, instead of speaking or to emphasize one’s words. Titmouse. plural of titmice; a small songbird.
Metric 3mm Linear Yellow MC - Port Letter
http://customgraph.com
amy parker fashion designer
miss parker can be described as a Melbourne (born
raised) fashion designer, fresh from the infamously savage fashion-design hallways of RMIT University. She pays a lot of attention on incorporating visual art into her designs, demonstrating an obvious fascination with the unconventional & working them into a functioning fashion context, whilst maintaining precision t0 detail and originality.
&
We also love the old man. And the shoes. Please note the shoes.
amy parker presents
land before time
nicholas ling.
michaelkucyk
a radio show on Melbourne’s 102.7FM RRR Radio every sunday night.
How long have you been doing NIMH? 6 years
How did you get involved with Triple R? I started listening to it in high school and really connected with them. Totally opened doors to what music was out there, for me. And a friend of mine.. yeah I don’t even remember how he became my friend but I remember chatting to him in a bar and he had to go overseas and needed someone to fill him in for a show that he’s been doing on Triple R for quite some time. Maybe I was actually friends with him just from writing to him and saying, you know, how much into the show I was. Pretty sure that’s how we started getting to know each other. I had like a 5 minute training course at most and before I knew I was kinda doing that indefinitely.
That’s interesting because the presentation on Triple R is of a highly professional standard. 5 minutes training and there’s no issues with dead air. I doubt most of the people on Triple R would have a background in meda except maybe the talk based stuff during the week. I would imagine they would have studied media maybe half a decade ago or even longer, but most of the people are just professionals and that’s the kind of hobby on the side. It’s funny how you talk about no silence on Triple R, I remember starting the show.. just being really hard on yourself. If I had like 3 seconds of dead air I wouldn’t be able to let it go for like 2 hours and just be like ahh wish I could start again, and now I love it like start the show with at least 10 seconds silence.
How would you describe the sound of NIMH? It’s always evolving, and stylistically like maybe drawing the things from the same pool but in different combinations.
Does genres matter? No I guess what it’s about. Eh.. hmm it’s a tough one.
Maybe a few key words? I love funky stuff, whether it’s funky German rock to, you know Afro music, disco, raga, so I guess yeah, funky is definitely a strong element, and any psychedelic stoner element as well.. I think we lean on pretty heavily. The first time I heard you playing New Age stuff on the show I thought wow that actually works really well.
How do you freshen up with 2hr mix material each week? At the moment we don’t do a show for 2 hours. I have about three or four shows with 2 hour of materials. Every other week it’s been like getting a guest in, whether it’s live or something I’ve been corresponding with online for a while and they’ve pieced it together in their own time at home and kinda file transferred to me. These are good cos you know we are getting people from everywhere from Serbia to Poland to all over Japan - people who would never tour here or even holiday here. That takes an hour out of the programming
equation. Still a full-time job for the rest of the hour though.. like organising mixes, approaching people, having to only playlist myself one hour is.. man we are getting so many records a week pretty much filled them out with new arrival.
What’s the process of making a mix like? What are the things you would consider? Sometimes I’m super organised, an pretty much have all the songs lined up before I get in there, there will be week where I just haven’t had time or struggling for inspiration and literally just put a bag together, run in and try to get a square pig in a round hole. But I guess we do always start pretty sonic, and.. quiet for the first part of the show.
A lot of the things we hear on the showare really hard to find, lost in time materials from all over the world. How do you find these things? The internet era makes it pretty easy.. Just sitting on YouTube and obviously you have a network of contributors who have been part of the show in the past few years and just got in touch and say.. you know i’ve got this record you should check out and listening to a lot of mixes. I go overseas at least once every year purely for the purpose of going on a 10-day digging trip, and we’ll go digging everyday, like not even remembering to eat, morning to night.
What are your favourite places? Well Japan is a regular one. That’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. The place itself is a fantasy world, like record shopping is obsessive. They are their own market, the size of the buying market has been large for decades, lots of imports, lots of domestically pressed.. you know a lot of the japanese stuff is incredibly visionary. If Tokyo was Melbourne you could end up somewhere like Collingwood and there’s like 60 record stores and you could jump on a tram and going to the CBD and there’s another 70 stores there, jump on the train and go to the equivalent of south yarra and there will be another 40 stores there- goes on and on, we felt pretty spoiled.
Is there a decline in record shops due to the digital revolution? There is a book guide published every year for record diggers in Japan that will have maps and store-by-store guides on what they specialise in, i mean every year that book is getting smaller and smaller, the economy is pretty hard, and definitely Japanese people ending up with less disposable income to waste on records just like they did in the past, at the same time there’s a few new stores opening today. Maybe for every four stores that close another one opens. Apart from that New York is pretty good for records, one year i went and jumped on a train and went to Montreal and spent a week there. A lot of stores, that’s
an interesting part because being French speaking, you get a lot of French funk and disco and there’s a Canadian electronic disco scene and obviously being so close to America and having all of their music there. It’s kind of a place that doesn’t seem so far away from America but you go there and f*** you see records that you’ve never seen before - like it’s a noticeable difference.
What about Melbourne? I try and buy as much as I can in Melbourne but it’s a pretty harsh reality - just not being enough stores and you go to a lot of other countries and the record stores seem to be pretty curated whilst I don’t think there is that here.. We are just too isolated. And I guess for a lot of shop owners, running a record shop is a pretty consuming thing. With family and kids they’re probably not in the position to go on a buying trip overseas. Like if you are in America you would just, you know, you do like hire a car and go digging in 50 cities and come back with a shop full of stock. You can’t do that here. THat’s what I kinda mean by the harsh reality. I buy so much stuff online.
NIMH is on every Sunday night from 10 - 12. I’ve always thought it’s a really interesting time for a show, being one that develops from an ambient chilled atmosphere to a funky psychedelic party… Originally we were on Saturdays 6 - 8. In terms of listenership it
was probably a far better option, but it was after a hip-hop show and before a world music show and i just wasn’t really into the idea of being pressured to playlist within those parameters - being on a saturday and again obvious pressure to play upbeat stuff and I was more interested in playing soundscapes and taking it back. I think late night is total freedom to play pressure free. So it wasn’t my choice but it is a beautiful thing.
What is your day job as a ‘professional’ outside Triple R? I do A&R for Mushroom Publishing, so pretty much try and source new talent and be their point of contact during the term. A lot of stuff from Australian hip hop artists and a lot of Australian electronic stuff, singer-songwriters, synthpop very different from what I try to represent on the show. Kinda living a double life.
Noise in My Head can be heard on Melbourne’s own Triple R Radio on FM102.7 every Sunday night 10 - 12 noiseinmyhead.com.au twitter.com/noiseinmyheadFM
Mark Chu
" W h e n i h a d m y e x h i b i t i o n , s t u p i d ly , i d i d n o t r e a l ly ta k e a n y g o o d p h o t o s , "
Congolese with Chinese Eye Insisted Upon by Anglo Saxon
dormant no more. dormant no more. dormant
t no more. dormant no more. dormant no mor
he never returned
10 completely
pointless super powers 1. the power to believe it’s not butter 2. the power to teleport yourself to the exact same location 3. the power to move through time at the speed of time. 4. the power to walk through walls but fall through floors 5. the power to turn gold into silver 6. the power to transport to a parallel universe that is identical to your current world 7. the power to read people’s minds but only in languages you don’t understand 8. the power to raise or lower the temperature of any room by 1 degree 9. the ability to turn invisible when no one is looking 10. the power to breathe underwater only if you’re not wet By nic Starman
CHAI .LO CHAI .LO CHAI .LO CHAI
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CHAI .L
CHAI .LO CHAI .LO CHAI .LO CH
HAI .LO CHAI .LO
CHAI .LO
CHAI .LO CHA
AI .LO CHAI .LO CHAI .LO CHAI .LO
Market Day. by Sarah Olle
Market day is Saturday. It has been this way since I can remember. Dad in the driver’s seat; me to his left. We’re greeted by the morning news. Or is it the mourning news? It doesn’t matter. Dad is quick to interject. “We’re lucky to live here.” It has been this way since I can remember. Coffee warms my hands, my lips, my stomach. As his mother hoists another tray on to the shelf, Ron tells us which apples are in season. “Don’t take my word for it”, he says wryly, motioning towards the fruit. I take a bite. The flesh is as crisp as the morning. Indeed, it wipes clean last night’s dinner. I cringe, but only momentarily because Dad is ushering me towards the meat aisle. I’m responsible for the chicken. Him, the lamb. It has been this way since I can remember. Next on the agenda is Rita’s, a small homage to Greece in the heart of South Melbourne. Here, the women are feisty, gregarious and fearless. The men, conversely, appear fearful. Perhaps it’s because they’ve been publicly chastised for their tardiness; perhaps it’s because they’ve made yet another mistake on the till; or perhaps it’s because, ultimately, all men are scared of women, especially Greek matriarchs. The smell of roasted peanuts is enough to quell my curiosity. I order half a kilo whilst Dad chats to Theo about his much-maligned St Kilda, lamenting their narrow losses, which increasingly seem to be lost opportunities altogether. “Thank god I was there for the ’66 flag! I might not live to see another.” Always one for drama, the two men chuckle as though they’re life-long friends. It has been this way since I can remember. Market day is Saturday. Maybe, somewhere along the lines, that will change. But it’s something I’ll always remember.
NANNA DID CRACK BY MEEKA CROWTHER
NannaDidCrack is a Melbourne based vintage venture who have set up shop online via ‘Etsy’. The clothes are full of punch, while remaining feminine and the models are breathtaking. NannaDidCrack say they ‘don’t like things that are cutesie or kitsch or things that have birds on them’. They promise to steer clear of people with balloons and photo shoots where pretty girls sprawl on beds under spotted sunshine. They promise however, to dish up great quality vintage with a twist, and deliver it in style via the lens of Melbourne based fashion photographer Bianca Milani; the gal behind An Architect Photographed My Undies.
The Father & Son by meeka crowther
The new house used to smell of dust, all year round it smelt of dust, but now it only smells of death. Walking through the kitchen I smell the sea, the sand, rotting logs and drying seaweed. We don’t live near the sea anymore but I still smell it in the air. Since the day father drowned my mother has not spoken to me. I say things like ‘Father would have liked this’ or ‘have you heard from my brother?’ but she remains silent. The boy with the car is my friend. We go to the sea and I breathe in the death of my father. Sometimes we stay all night, I don’t return until morning but mother says nothing. The big windows in our house look out onto a flat landscape, it is brown and baron. The flatness of it reaches on forever. There is a tall paling fence and nothing else but I sit by the windows anyway, still and silent, and pretend father is sitting beside me looking too. We used to do that, sit at the windows. But that was when we could see the sea. We could see the cliffs and the clouds as they formed great dark blankets. We would watch as the day put on its cloak and became night and then father would get in the car and go. ‘Come sit by me’ I ask mother, but she only turns away. I went to the sea with the boy with the car. I watched the waves form caves of darkness and crash against the sea. I watched it suck back to the horizon ready to strike again; I wondered if father was scared of these dark caves. I watched a boy undressing on the sand. He was facing the waves chin raised and standing tall. He took off his sandals, then his faded green shorts. I thought the shorts looked like they had been worn for years, in all conditions, through all situations, in different locations; they looked wise and they looked old.
As he removed his cream shirt I noticed the dark spots and deep scars embedded in his back. I yelled out, unable to contain my voice, but the wind carried it away. I sat with my friend watching my little brother; he looked strong. Soon he came out of the water and I watched him walk to his car. He got in and drove away and I went back to the dusty house alone. Three days later I was sitting at the big window looking out to nothing but the flat landscape when I noticed the brown panel van across the road. I watched for three hours and my little brother sat inside the van and watched back. I watched him smoke ten cigarettes; he smoked with ease and I was proud of the way he could blow rings. I watched him fiddle with the radio, I watched him smell under his arms and change his shirt. For three hours I tried to picture the things he had done and the people he had met. I decided that he had become a barman, traveling to places like rural Western Australia and serving regulars called Bob or Phil who should have been at home with their wives but preferred the dim lighting and small-minded banter of the local pub. This thought reminded me of father and how he preferred to visit the sea alone than spend time with me. The boy with the car and me spent a lot of time together and I told him everything. I kept my little brother a secret from my mother though, I knew she missed him and worried about where he was but I wanted him to be my secret and no one else’s. I saw him almost every day for two weeks after that. He sat outside the house, he went to the sea, and he came at night and looked through mother’s window whilst she slept. On a Wednesday I found an old photograph on the front steps, it was father. He was sitting on the sand near the edge of the water. He looked happy. He was very young. I quickly put the photo in my pocket before mother could see it. On a Saturday I found to my room and opened of father and himself kle deep, looking out never showed mother.
an envelope addressed to mother; I took it it. My little brother had drawn a picture at the sea. They were on the shore, anto sea. I put this with the photograph and
I tried to understand why my little brother was here, and why he
was being so secretive. On a Friday my question was answered. I returned home from the sea to my mother bent over her body contorted with tears. She handed me a letter.
Mother, I know you have been grieving for years; the loss of father was a painful and overbearing experience. I am sorry I have not returned but I could not. I will now explain why. Since I left home I have been living in Coolanwarna, two towns south of here. I have traveled sporadically but have spent most of my time in Coolanwarna. For years father would visit me, he would appear at my house late at night, smelling of the sea covered in salt spray and sand. One night he told me a story, on the day the world turned cold, he went swimming. On that night he wanted to die. He wanted to swim so far that no one could find him, and end his life there. He was saved that night and has not swum since. For 12 years after the day the world turned cold he would drive to the sea and try to gain the courage to swim into that sea and never return. One night father appeared at my doorway and asked me to come with him to the sea; I did as he asked secretly knowing what he would ask of me next. That night I helped father end what he had struggled against for so long. That night will never cease to haunt me and I am sorry. Your son.
I smiled and handed the letter back to my mother. I had always wondered why he tried to keep on living.
WILL BALME things to do. 1. Wash my car 2. Avoid the rain 3. Fix umbrella 4. Buy new jumper 5. Run frantically to car 6. Put heater on full 7. Book haircut for the morning 8. Cancel haircut appointment, require sleep-in. 9. Scream out ‘come on Straya’ to a few pedestrians 10. Lament at the lost medal chances 11. Argue with a lone Aussie battler about the waste of taxpayers’ money spent on the disappointing Australian Olympics campaign 12. Pick the opposing side of the debate as the AB 13. Claim that I’ll move to New Zealand if we lose to the Dream Team in ye olde round ball 14. Raise the impossibility clause due to property prices 15. Sing in the rain 16. Eat dinner 17. Discuss the possibility of joining a sailing team to compete in the next Olympics with family 18. Sulk over dessert 19. Sleep 20. Erotic dreams about the adventures within the Olympic village 21. Wake up depressed at rain outside.
by Lara Ivachov You can lick it. Feel it. Wear it and love it. EAT. ME.DO is baking wearable food just for you. It all started not so long ago in June 2012 when designer and founder Lara Ivachev decided to show the world just what goes on inside her rainbow, glitter filled mind. What started from a very small idea quickly snowballed into a vision to create a playful range of jewellery that looks good enough to eat, and so EAT.ME.DO was born. EAT.ME.DO wishes to satisfy every childhood food fantasy and play with idea of wearable art. They wish to bring a smile to every face and make you stop and stare, because food should be worn, adored and be loved by all.
Human Sandwich Where there once was bread, there is no more Than sensuous, human passion; moist and raw. Ardour of the people, no exclusions whatso’er Both males and females producing an overzealous “puuuurrr”. At least seven people, the river wont run dry Thought to temple, tear to eye. Im caught up deep in a human sandwich, “C’est la vie” as quoted by Bewitch (ed). No time to dwell, my comrades need me Meat in the sandwich, I have to please thee.
By Memphis Green
oscar lake
A recent commission for the Melbourne based BespokeTailor and Costume maker
Oscar Lake.
12th century
A reproduction of the uniform of the Vatican Swiss Guard that protect the smallest city in the world, and the Pope.
The commission was for a c l i e n t whoĂs swiss wife needed a costume for a party in her honour.
The Costume is hand made to the clients measurements, a
o n e o f f b e s p o k e c o s t u m e . to complete,
35 hours 12 meters of fabric, 36 different pattern pieces & 4 fittings later...
oscar lake
FRED
A R O M
nicholas ling.
The Legend of the Festival.
The Summer is coming once again and that means a lot of things to a lot of different people...The beach, holidays, end of footy, the horse races, road trips but most importantly a distinct drop in responsibility for those enjoying the finer years of their 20’S and late teens. And with the warmer months comes the one thing that I look forward to most, festival season.
From November through to March
(July if your lucky enough to make the trek up to Splendour) Victoria is inundated with good times. All along the coast from Port Ferry to Point Nepean and as far into the bush as Barmah you can catch what ever beats, jams, doofs or tunes that get your pants soppin’ and droppin’. Without sounding too preachy or like too much of a douche I’d like to share a few of my more memorable moments and any wisdom I can conjure out of them. Firstly the number one rule is just fucking COMMIT. If you’re going to be in Melbourne over New Years your not going to have a better time than if you went to Falls Fest or Pyramid Rock. I know I’m talking from an extremely bias stance but I’m yet to find anywhere else where you can cut loose and share the good vibes with your best friends or complete strangers than at a music festival. There is a reason why Roskilde in Denmark as a 4 day pre festival party and why Falls has added on the extra Funk and Soul night preceding the big 3 nights and that is because it’s an all round bloody good time. The music isn’t everything. I’m a fanatic, I love music, I will enjoy everything from Skrillex to Smash Mouth and I was that dick at pre drinks that always had to have his ipod on. The quality of festivals in Aus has afforded me to see some of the best artists in the world (to this day Moby at Falls is the best act I have seen and most who were there on NYE ’09 will agree). With this
said some of my favourite times have been completely independent of the acts we ultimately are there to see. This can be broken into 2 parts; 1.. The way there & back. Some old fellah said something along the lines of the journey being half the adventure and he was spot on. Everyone loves a road trip and trail of destruction left on the up to the Splendour in the Grass has been on par with the festival. In a similar vain, getting a crew down to the beach house before Falls watching the compounded excitement on everyone’s faces as they anticipate the next few days gets me as jacked as The first time I saw Pirates in all its artistic glory. On top of that, the first meal you get with your fellow festival goers as you re-cap and de-brief when you’re completely washed up after the few days of recklessness will be some of your best. 2.. When inside the festival, Honestly, unless your getting chemically enhanced for the whole 72 hours you will probably spend the majority of time sitting around your campsite with your mates talking shit. There is no need to feel guilty about this, it’s a pet hate of mine those who say they won’t go to a festival because the line up isn’t worth the ticket price. You’re paying not only for the music but more importantly the overall atmosphere. One of the more ridiculous incidents occurred 2 years ago at Falls festival. I left my tent to investigate a commotion, one which I thought was result of some not so tasteful but very legal semi nudity as was the case the previous day. Upon spitting the pack to my disappointment I found nothing but a fairly homo erotic armwrestling club had started in our campsite. Now the best thing about these flash mobs is in no way the activities that take place but the way the situation escalates. With in a number of minutes brothers were facing off for family pride, British walk ins were facing off for bottles of spirits and all was capped off when some absolute space cadets in a full Moo Cow suit came flying through the scene only trip on a tent cord about 15 meters further down the hill taking out most of the next campsite. And just like that everyone was back to sitting around talking, drinking priming themselves for the next act they wanted to see. Another thing that need mentioning is costumes. Bring them. Absolutely anything, just bring it. If you haven’t lost enough inhibition to wear it one of your best friends will have. Costumes and props not only make
you a better person but brighten up everyone else’s festival as well!!!
Finally indulgences. Timing your run I one of the most valuable skills at a festival, too little too late and you spend the night either going too and from the bar trying to catch up. Too much and you’ll end up like the Zanex addict fresh out of the Koh Phangan pharmacy, bucket in hand, you’ll probably have the best night of your life but you won’t remember shit. Or even worse, you’ll crash. As one of my friends famously said day 2 “the night really took a turn for the worse at Missy Higgins” to which we replied, “Ed, Missy played at 2.30 in the afternoon”. Nobody comes to the festival to log 17 hours sleep in a tent. As nice as Vodka fruit juice mixes go down sometimes a few crispy cold froffies goes down and absolute treat. Sneaking them in is a task but is well worth it under the summer sun. It is for this reason that festivals like Meredith and Golden Plains get such big wraps for their BYO drinks policy and generally awesome atmosphere. I focused on the camping festivals there because they are the test matches of the festival world and frakly my clear favourite. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a host of one dayers for those who can’t handle the camping side of thing. Usually favouring those into the more electronic genres day festival usually offer cracking line up (not always a plus as it leads to clashes) at a fraction of the price. On top of the electro dance days there are some really good one dayers that have popped up in the last few years. Groove in the Moo running out of Bendigo and Harvest fest which showcases in Werribee mansion are 2 gems which you could easily make a weekend out of. To wrap up this rant just sink your cash and get the tickets to that festival your mate was interested in. You won’t regret it.
Words by R. Hays
nicholas ling.
T T T T
TH TH E E E N TH EN D E E TH ND E TH EN
SCRAPBOOK Issue #1