2018 jan/feb frankie magazine by Frankie Tjoeng

LOVELY EXTRAS FOR YOU: scrummy breakfast recipes, pull-out wrapping paper and a whopping big 2018 wall planner. woohoo!

one-off love ly big issue AU $ 1 4 . 5 0 (u s u a l ly AU $ 1 0 . 9 5 )

ISSUE 81 JAN/FEB 2018 AUS: $14.50 INC GST NZ: $15.50 INC GST UK: Â£9.99 ISSN 14497794

9 771449 779024 01

From tame party

Fill your home with music at sonos.com

Make it fashionable. Make your own beautiful website.

issue 81 talented contributors photographic bri hammond, paul hermes, natalie jeffcott, sandra lazzarini, lusy productions, nathalie marquez courtney, jana martišková, savannah van der niet, lukasz wierzbowski, andrew yep editorial caro cooper, lucy corry, rowena grant-frost, koren helbig, daniel moore, giselle au-nhien nguyen, peter papathanasiou, sam prendergast, helen razer, eleanor robertson, pui pui tam, suzi taylor, rebecca varcoe editor-in-chief jo walker jo@frankiepress.com.au editor sophie kalagas sophie@frankiepress.com.au assistant editor & online editor mia timpano mia@frankiepress.com.au

illustration evie barrow, hiller goodspeed, cass urquhart gift wrap patterns home-work cover artist cassie byrnes

senior designer aimee carruthers aimee@frankiepress.com.au

advertise in frankie

designer & studio manager emily thiang emily@frankiepress.com.au

national advertising manager victoria yelland riddell victoria@frankiepress.com.au • 0410 300 849

general manager gaye murray gaye@frankiepress.com.au

account manager – victoria isabella ubaldi isabella@frankiepress.com.au • 0424 218 955

digital director suzi taylor suzi@frankiepress.com.au

advertising sales executive – directories emma white emma@frankiepress.com.au • 0416 146 658

marketing manager anastasia michael anastasia@frankiepress.com.au

advertising production bree higgerson bree@frankiepress.com.au

marketing coordinator ben eastwood ben@frankiepress.com.au operations manager bree higgerson bree@frankiepress.com.au production manager di josipovic di@frankiepress.com.au publishing assistant camilla walker camilla@frankiepress.com.au retail sales & circulation manager alissa relf alissa@frankiepress.com.au business analyst sid smith assistant accountant ryan trac

contact us general enquiries hello@frankiepress.com.au subscriptions subs@frankiepress.com.au frankie.com.au/subscribe retail orders retail@frankiepress.com.au can’t find frankie? visit frankie.com.au/find aust & n.z. distributor gordon & gotch international distribution enquiries export.ops@seymour.co.uk

subscription coordinator kim woodward it manager josh croft proofreader rachel morgenbesser

submissions: frankie accepts freelance art, photo and story submissions, however we cannot reply personally to unsuccessful pitches. for submission guidelines please see frankie.com.au internships/work experience: unfortunately frankie is unable to facilitate any work experience or internship programs

email addresses are published for professional communications only frankie.com.au

frankie magazine is proudly published 6 times a year by frankie press. frankie press is a division of pacific star network limited: 2 craine street, south melbourne vic 3205 views expressed by authors are not necessarily those of the publisher. copyright is reserved, which means you can’t scan our pages and put them up on your website or anywhere else. reproduction in whole or part is prohibited.

first thought

recently, we added a new member to the frankie family: a three-month old puppy named Woody. He entered our lives with a hop, skip and a whole lot of wee, and hasn’t stopped bouncing (or weeing) since. A few weeks in, we came to a realisation: putting together a magazine isn’t all that different to raising a pup. In both instances, you’ll spend your days juggling several tasks at once (like washing the dishes with your hands while a strategically cocked leg keeps a hungry snout out of the bin); cleaning up all manner of messes; and – depending on your anxiety levels – referring to specialist resources to make sure you’re doing everything right. (In one hand, a style guide; in the other, the latest hand book from 'Dog Whisperer’ Cesar Millan.) Yes, in some ways we were prepared for this dog-rearing responsibility, but there was one thing that caught us totally off guard. The fuzzy, rose-tinted glow that engulfs us every time we arrive home to a furry backside wiggling as hard as it possibly can. Making a mag is great and all, but where are the sloppy tongue baths and joyful leaps when we send an issue off to print? Sadly, they don’t exist (our colleagues may well object to a celebratory lick). Which is just another piece of evidence to back up a case we’ve been building for some time: there’s nothing quite like the company of a pooch. Sophie and the frankie team xx

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contents

what’s inside

150

snip, slice, fold, curl: PAGE 33

that’s a wrap:

Three artists using paper in pretty awesome ways

Some snazzy gift wrap just for you – yippee!

chasing sleep: PAGE 40

Give insomnia the ﬂick with these sleep-inducing tips

PAGE 80

breakfast is served: PAGE 105 Choose your food based on your morning mood

ha-di-ha-ha: good stuff is back: PAGE 49

Get to know this year’s exciting lineup of judges

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PAGE 152

We investigate what giggling means, biologically speaking

contents

105

014 your say

080 wrapping paper, woohoo!

016 frank bits

082 homebodies

026 user envy

090 healing death with birth

028 ben folds

092 looks we like

030 dear diary

094 tropical fuck storm

033 playing with paper

096 road test

040 insomnia be gone

100 how to start a book club

042 home showers rule, ok

102 fauxsaics

044 tasmanian butter co.

105 rise and dine

046 tonnes of tea towels

122 the cofďŹ n club

049 good stuff is back

124 on the job

056 i love my shop

134 lady pirates, arrrrgh

060 everybody has a story

137 the courtesy burden

062 live and learn

139 strike up the band

064 some sweet seaside duds

148 the folks next door

073 writersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; piece

150 big feels club

078 izzy wheels

152 science of laughter

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your say

dear frankie HIDEY-HO, FRANKERINOS! WHAT’S ON YOUR MIND TODAY? LETTERS@FRANKIE.COM.AU

frankie, my love, I work in a little café in Canberra that caters to public servants, many of whom spend hours brooding over a rapidly cooling cappuccino to justify using our establishment as a gloriﬁed ofﬁce. The thing is, I don't blame them – outside of my job, I do the exact same thing. So, Caro Cooper, don't feel bad for using cafés as work spaces – even the gawky uni student serving you coffee takes advantage of that prime real estate off the clock. xx Gene

My dearest frankie, I sat down with my coffee on a shitty Sunday morning to read issue 80. Each time I turned the page and exclaimed, "Yes, Eleanor!" or wondered in a quiet panic whether Mia and I are actually the same person, I felt myself slowly untangling. Thanks for always putting humanity into words and letting me feel a little more human while you're at it. Teanna x .

Dearest frankie, I’ve read your pages in every way possible. Reading as much as I can, as fast as I can; reading a little bit each night; reading the things that interest me ﬁrst and saving the best till last. And so it is with conﬁdence that I assure you the best way to read frankie is curled up with a blanket and a pot of tea, before placing that issue back in its prized position, displayed in numerical order on my shelf. Thank you for your never-ending word hugs. Lili

Dear frankie, Like the new parents in issue 80, we too are riding a 'new baby tidal wave'. (This morning that tidal wave was a big brown poo-nami all over my husband's clothes!) We welcomed our ﬁrst baby into the world in August, and since then have been navigating the changes to our sleep, work, relationships and identities. The great thing about babies, though, is they force you to slow down and enjoy the simple things in life – a hot shower in peace and quiet; a rare chance to eat dinner together (with both hands); and a spare moment to enjoy a (super-sized) coffee and ﬂick through the new frankie before the chaos starts again. Thanks for reminding us we aren't the only shell-shocked, sleep-deprived, scatterbrained new parents out there. Steph and Benny .

THE LETTER OF THE ISSUE WINS A PAIR OF PETE CROMER BUDGERIGARS, RRP $170, FROM PETECROMER.COM Dear frankie, It seems you time your new issue releases perfectly to aid some hard times in my life – or perhaps I need to re-evaluate my bi-monthly meltdowns? Either way, thank you. I've spent the past week worried about my life after being ﬁred from a job I truly loved, but a quote from ceramicist Debra Broz has completely turned my day around: "I like watching people try to understand why the thing looks that way, and not the way they expect it to be; being able to pull people out of the banality of their own expectations." She has done this to me on a deeper level. My life right now is kitten-parrot. But that’s OK. Amelia xoxo

Dear frankie, As a sport-averse, hormonal teenager, Sam Prendergast’s article “A Losing Game” struck a chord. For years, I’ve been coming up with excuses of all sorts to get out of school sport (twisted ankles, recurring colds, broken legs, period pain), and, as my sporting days come to a close, I realise I have nothing to show for them but a knack for forging notes, a less-than-adequate knowledge of the wonders of physical exercise, and a pair of itchy polyester shorts! Love, Lucy xx

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Old bones. Fresh start. We found this derelict joinerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s factory in the heart of East London and fell in love with its bones. Our design challenge was to build a home for the future of our business, while preserving a beautiful building and making an inclusive space for the local community. The day we installed the roaster, the building came alive. But drinking a coffee in the garden is what makes it feel like a home.

Discover more at allpressespresso.com/discover

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h house, house, baby

mirador This isn’t the first time that Mirador has appeared in these here pages, but if you ask us, their latest collection is worth staging a comeback. An ode to the dusty land and moon up high, it has lots of earthy tones, floaty frills and galactic vibes – and it kind of gives us a hankering to go plant some seeds under a full moon. Pop past mirador.net.au if you fancy seeing more.

Hello, Scout Editions? When the barman said your drink was “on the house”, I’m not sure they meant it quite so literally. Even so, we’re rather fond of this coaster set you’ve gone and made – especially the top- notch wood you sourced all the way from Sweden. And the smile-inducing colours are pretty cool, too! Here, have around $38 in exchange for a set of four, if you please. scouteditions.co.uk

happy in ﬁnland

swan song We’re going to keep this short and sweet. Karen Mabon – British designer of silk scarves and fairytale-like imagery – has taken her artwork somewhere you can plonk your butt on: cushions. They’re made from 100 per cent cotton and are rather delightful indeed. Head to karenmabon.com if you don’t believe us.

Happy in Finland founder Rosie Malham might not consider herself an ‘artist’, per se, but her designs – made for dangling cheerfully from your ear lobes – sure are rather pleasing for the eyes. They start their lives as free-form papercuts, snipped out in her Hobart studio, before being converted into acrylic and brass. Rosie has kindly offered us a pair (worth $45) to give away, so hop over to frankie.com.au/win and wish with all your might. happyinfinland.com.au

douglas and bec Well, we’ve gotta say: this Arch chair is up there with the places we’ve most wanted to park our derrieres. Made from lush velvet, wood and rattan, it was designed by father-daughter duo Douglas and Bec in their New Zealand studio, inspired by the late 1920s and ’30s, and the deep appreciation folks had for the stylish furniture they used day-to-day. Colour us impressed. douglasandbec.com

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mmm... velvet Everyone laughed when George Costanza announced he would drape himself in velvet if he could, but we reckon he’s got a valid point. Imagine the cosiness of rubbing up against the silky down all day – you’d feel simultaneously like you were rugged up in snuggly house clothes, and regal as all get out. While head-to-toe velvet may still draw some quizzical looks, you could start with a pair of these Darner socks. They’re made from gold crushed velvet (about as swish as it gets), and at around $52 – which is no small change, that’s for sure – they’ll make your feet feel like a million bucks. darnersocks.com

here, doggy

a little chit-chat with… eilish gilligan

What to do when you’re a sculptor making humanfaced vases and you’re ready for a bit of a clay-change? Why, make a line of ceramic pets for your ceramic humans, of course. Katie Kimmel has a whole collection of different pooch- and kittythemed vessels, like this dalmatian puppy vase made in Los Angeles, California. Head to katiekimmel.com if you’d like to see more.

Five words to describe your sound? Deep-sea horror movie pop. Who are your musical inspirations? I mostly gravitate towards feminine pop superheroes and theatrics – Kate Bush, Marina and the Diamonds, Lady Gaga, Lorde, Lana Del Rey, Bat for Lashes. I loved Kesha’s new album, too. Describe your dream venue to play in. I’ve always loved The Forum in Melbourne. I remember sneaking my way in when I was 15 and looking up into the heavens on the ceiling. What goes through your head when you’re playing live? Mostly a scene-by-scene of each song’s narrative – particular lyrics trigger very clear memories, and they’re the most crystalline and potent in the high-stakes setting of performance. It’s intoxicating. What’s your best non-musical skill? I’m pretty good at throwing a semi-healthy meal together in under 10 minutes. Also, I’m AMAZING at not washing my hair for much longer than society usually accepts. Tell us about your personal style. I decided a couple of years ago to completely simplify my wardrobe and only invest in high-quality items that will last, which has been great. I also haven’t gone to the hairdresser since I was 17 and am now too scared of their judgment to return… In your mind, what makes a great performer? Undeniable charm, and not ‘beauty’ so much as an unavoidable quality that makes it impossible for people to look at anyone else but you. And then, on top of all those spooky things, you also have to be exploding with talent. Where would we find you on a Sunday afternoon? Cooped up in my bedroom with all the blinds drawn, hunched over my laptop and piano. Sounds romantic, but I also haven’t showered since Friday.

twenty-seven names For their latest collection, twenty-seven names – aka cool-as-hell Kiwis Rachel Easting and Anjali Stewart – tip an oversized vinyl hat to ’90s rap icons, TLC. (If TLC draped themselves in mauve cotton and floral jacquard, that is.) Think jumpsuits, overalls, widelegged culottes and hoodies to tie nonchalantly around your waist – but if you’re hoping for mesh crop tops and condom eye patches, sadly, you’ll have to wait. twentysevennames.co.nz

dolled up What is it about whacking a Kewpie doll on something that makes it approximately one thousand per cent more awesome? Lord knows we’ve never been more inspired to squirt mayonnaise onto every one of our meals. Mexican maker Julieta Ruezga has gone one step further, shaping an entire bag into a Kewpie’s likeness for her label, Titina, and it’s causing us to elicit all kinds of involuntary squeals. Yours for around $85 from titinastore.etsy.com

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flaming galah

clay for your face The world is made up of two types of people: those who mould an assortment of objects out of clay, and those who smear it across their face. (Very occasionally, the Venn diagram overlaps.) The folks at Addition Studio belong to the second camp, and they’d quite like you to join them with their Australian Native Clay Mask. It costs $29.95 for a brush, handy glass dish and four servings of the clay, and apparently if you dab it on then kick back for a while, your skin will be super-soft and glowy. All right, count us in. additionstudio.com

What’s that? There’s an incense-holding galah- shaped hole in your life? Well, consider it filled. Min Pin – she of the kooky creatures and fun-bringing prints – has teamed up with Third Drawer Down to create a line of Aussie animal incense holders, and, in even better news, we have one to give away. Worth $75, head to frankie. com.au/win and this flaming galah could be yours. Hooray! thirddrawerdown.com

corker, mate

no wash required To date, our solutions for a dirty hair day have included top knots, a wardrobe’s worth of hats, and dumping half a bottle of talcum powder on our heads. But now, Andrea Viêntëc has entered our lives with her line of turbans that make manky locks look impressively eyecatching. They’re mostly made from cotton and nylon in her hometown of Barcelona, and, on the down-low, there are nifty wires hidden inside to make styling a breeze. Around $75, andreavientec.tictail.com

G’day, cobber! How’d you like a fair dinkum Aussie bloke sporting a dinky-di cork hat on a sweet-as cushion to brighten up your arvo? You little ripper! It’ll cost you 45 bucks from cheeriopaperco.etsy. com, and you have Maude Farrugia, a deadset legend from Melbourne, to thank for your new beardy mate. Howzat?!

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nelson × mosey me Can a shoe be too pretty? Because that’s the only drawback we can see to owning a pair of these new kicks from Melbourne sandalmakers, Nelson. No one wants to ask, “Who’s the fairest of them all?” only to hear the reply, “Your shoes are – duh.” Hovering at around the $159-$169 mark, they were designed in collaboration with fellow Melbournite Eliza O’Sullivan – aka Mosey Me – and if you head to frankie.com.au/win you could nab a pair for yourself. (Just don’t forget to tell us your shoe size!) nelsonmade.com.au

frank bits

poms away

deery me d

getting to know… ellie rowsell from wolf alice

Chuck this on your list titled ‘Man, that’s a bit clever’, won’t you? A pot that turns into a stag with a few artfully placed cooking utensils – bravo! It’s the brainwave of Londonbased gent Seb Sabene, who was inspired by a walk through his local deer hangout, Richmond Park. (If you’re feeling really creative, you might also try giving it a fork-and-spoon mohawk.) $99.95, until.com.au

How would you describe your tunes to someone’s grandparents? Sensitive rock music. Who was your first- ever crush? My neighbour, because he had a gold tooth. Do you have any superstitions? I always touch my head if I think of something bad, and I don’t like travelling without my St. Christopher icon, or walking under ladders, or through double-legged signs… Loads of things, to be honest. Best way to kick back after a gig? Have a lager in a hotel bar. How do you know when you’ve just written an awesome song? I’ll listen to the demo again and again. I’ll even wake up during the night and have to listen to it. What puts you in a bad mood? Not eating or sleeping. First thing you do when you get home after a tour? Go to the boozer with my friends, and have a cup of tea with Mum and Dad. When was the last time you threw a party for someone? We threw an amazing surprise party for our bassist, Theo, while we were in Los Angeles. We had a fire pit, bunting and balloons, cocktails, canopies, and a load of great people we met out there. Favourite pick-up line? Ellie, you are the most wondrous human being I’ve ever met. Vastly talented, yet full of humility. Funny, intelligent, and beautiful beyond compare. Without you, the world seems like a dark place.

Look – you could make perfectly flooffy pom poms with a couple of simple rings of cardboard, but where’s the fun in that? Why wouldn’t you want to use a sprinkle-topped wooden doughnut instead? It comes from the pom pom pros behind craft blog Mr Printables, so you know it’s going to get the job done just right. Oh, and we happen to have five (around $26 each) to give away. Cross your fingers and pop over to frankie. com.au/win to enter. uk.pommaker.com

jumpsuit yourself One of life’s greatest mysteries – akin to where crop circles come from; whether UFOs exist; and how long you should leave an avocado before cutting it open – is the best way to pee while wearing a onesie. Honestly – there’s got to be a tactic for taking a leak without getting butt-naked in the process! If you’re prepared to dabble in some toilet-time research, may we suggest getting your mitts on this sweet mustard jumpsuit? It’ll set you back $229 from theposse.com.au, and give your brain a little problem-solving practice while you’re at it.

love bubble True love is granting someone else the pleasure of popping a sheet of your bubble wrap. But just in case they don’t recognise your romantic sacrifice, these heart-shaped bubbles from Present & Correct should let them know where your affections lie. They come in white, pink and mint for around $8 a metre – but really, who can put a price on a grand gesture of love? presentandcorrect.com

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frank bits

wattle you do? d ?

introducing public holiday ceramics

Call us biased, but we still can’t get enough of Australian flora – and Retrobub maker Bronwyn Howell feels just the same way. She’s stitched up this chambray wattle romper to celebrate the fluffy, sunshinefilled flower, and it’s available for nativeloving littlies for $49. retrobub. bigcartel.com

What types of products do you make? Handmade ceramics – pieces to be enjoyed around the table, like mugs, cups, bowls, plates, and an increasing range of homes for your plant friends! What makes your ceramics unique? They’re all made by the hands of onewoman show Carly Buteux with the intention of bringing fun into your life! With hand-painted patterns, textures and magical drippy glazes, each piece is completely unique. Do you see your pieces as being functional or more for decoration? The pieces we create have function at their core, but we want them to bring joy to your daily rituals – and look good while doing it! Where do you do most of your making? Our Sydney studio is a humble space attached to the cactus-filled courtyard of our cornershop home. It’s the perfect place to spend long days covered in clay, listening to our favourite playlists, and hanging out with our little sausage dog, Bam. What kinds of techniques do you use? All our pieces are made using the potter's wheel, slab roller and different hand-building methods. Decoration-wise, we use techniques like painting, carving and glaze experimentation. Talk us through your latest range. This year we’ve been developing a range of exciting new colours. Our latest collection, Gravity, includes deep greens, galaxy skies and frosty blues, paired with fun patterns on long-handled mugs, little leggy planters and perfectly sized cups! Where can we find your goodies? We have a number of amazing independent stockists – there’s a full list on our website, itsapublicholiday.com, as well as some online offerings. We’ll be at a few markets in the lead-up to Christmas, including our favourite, the Finders Keepers market in Sydney. Any tips for running a successful market stall? Have fun! Markets can be so busy and sometimes overwhelming. Bring some of your favourite things to style with and accompany your products on your stall (we always have a stash of our favourite plants on board), and don’t forget your smile!

clip-on canines Behold: paper clips in the form of golden mutts – because everyone needs a reminder of their furry best friend while they’re busy collating their print-outs. Nab a box of 12 pups for 9 equally golden bucks over at darlingpaperco.com.au. (You can take your pick from chihuahuas, dachshunds, pugs and shiba inus.)

oats the label

If Little Bo Peep had spent her time wrangling sheep in the 1970s, we daresay she’d be donning some OATS threads while she was at it. All frills, gingham and bell-shaped sleeves, the Melbournemade duds are a little bit wholesome and a little bit risqué – perhaps reflecting the motherdaughter team behind the label. (No assumptions on who’s responsible for each aspect, though. Maybe Mum has fond memories of discos and plunging necklines.) oatsthelabel.com

day

Despite being called Dressed For Sunday, we’d advocate for donning these floral neckties any dang day of the week. After all, when is it not time for sprinkling petals across your chest? Yep, precisely. $55, dressedforsunday.com.au

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milligram × beci orpin

simply the best We can always count on Japan to produce good-looking bits that ardently abide by the K.I.S.S. principle. Take this vase, for instance: it’s no muss, no fuss, and elegant as heck, aka an ideal home for a sweet posy or two. Nab one (if you fancy) for $25 from providerstore.com.au

Oh, Beci Orpin. What loveliness will you whip up next? Our long-time frankie friend has teamed up with the good sorts at stationery brand Milligram Studio to produce a rather spiffy canvas artwork. Want to whack it on your wall? We have one to give away, worth $349. Just head to frankie.com.au/ win then click your heels together three times. milligram.com

the great The 2018 resort collection from The Great might not be the most practical threads for lobbing tennis balls around a court, but here are some other things you could do while wearing them: lie prostrate on a picnic rug counting clouds; sip tea by the side of a bubbling brook; take your pooch for a wander around the block. Or, you could just stand in front of the mirror and admire how relaxed and carefree they make you look. Whatever you prefer, really. thisisthegreat.com

rocky road Our mums always warned us about people who were out to take our money, but they were mostly pickpockets and faraway ‘princes’ who communicate solely by email – there was no mention of Melbournebased homewares brands. And yet, one look at Capra Designs’ Rocky Road range and our bank accounts have haemorrhaged at an unprecedented rate. And also our abodes are filled with beautiful, warm furniture and textiles. Hmm… seems odd. capradesigns.com

lorna murray Don’t you hate it when you’ve been carrying a hat around in your bag all day, and when you finally pull it out to pop it on your noggin, it has an unsightly dent in it, giving your so-called mates an excuse to call you diphead for the rest of the afternoon? Ugh, it’s the worst. Enter Lorna Murray and her collapsible sunhats, which not only fold down flat for ease of toting about, but are also waterproof; woven from natural fibres; and totally sigh-inducing. Pretty good, eh? She whips them up in her Sydney studio, but you can nab one for $85 from the comfort of your couch over at lornamurray.com.au

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thiings we w e lost little sweeties

edith rewa x frankie tees and totes Did you spot Edith Rewa’s lovely floral illustrations in frankie issue 79? Well, we dug them so darn much that we decided we’d like to splash them across our chests and dangle them from our elbows. Pop over to frankie.com.au/ shop and you can nab a waratah bloom or sprig of eucalyptus on a tote bag or floaty tee – they’ll set you back $24.99 and $39.99 respectively. Woopee!

How do the people behind Clauia fit so much cuteness into one little toy? Perhaps they have magic fingers – we wouldn’t put it past them. Their handcrafted ‘sweeties’ are crocheted from organic cotton and stuffed with cotton flakes and stardust, apparently. Want to nab one for the tiny tot in your life? They’re around $73 from clauia.de

Thiss is the Shelly skirt ki from Canberra-based clothing brand Things We Lost. If it makes you want to weave a macramé owl and adopt a pet rock, that’s because it’s inspired by a pair of vintage skirts from the ’70s that the label’s founders had stashed away in their archive. You can find it for $69.95 at thingswelost. com.au

fine china Should the Queen of England ever decide that the UK doesn’t do it for her anymore; drop a pin on a map; choose Australia as her new home; and somehow find her way to your house for tea (it could happen), it would be very handy to have this Vera Castillon table setting waiting in your cupboard. Lizzie would no doubt be impressed with the simplicity of the fine bone china – because you’ve got to get tired of ornate silverware after a while, right? Pick up the four-piece set at wedgwood. com.au for $129, if you fancy.

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clap clap A hearty round of applause for the clever clogs at Clap Clap Design, who’ve wooed us once again with their papery bits and bobs. Brimming with sweet florals; shiny gold accents; and warm, rosy hues, their latest range includes gift cards, notebooks and yearly planners, and we have half a mind to stock up on the lot. Check ‘em out at instagram.com/ clapclapdesign

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roses are red

my favourite things with… estère Favourite childhood memory? Snorkelling all day in the nude on New Zealand’s Waiheke Island, when I was eight. I’d been gifted a pair of pink jelly sandals that I strutted around in all the time – often they were my only piece of clothing. I felt like a fairy! Favourite feel-good movie? I love Ever After with Drew Barrymore and Dougray Scott. They’re both such great actors and it’s such a heartening tale. Also, Drew Barrymore reminds me of my mum for some reason. Maybe that’s why I’m such a fan. Favourite dance move? The Liberator, which is the uninhibited swish and sway, bend and snap, pop and lock, whip and slip that takes over your body when you’re truly in the moment. Favourite time of day? Eight in the morning, when the sun floods in and I’m lying on my bed, and my boyfriend brings me a bowl of porridge and a cup of coffee. Favourite part of the music-making process? Crossing over the edge to a place that sits right in your gut. It’s that point where you’ve been working on an idea, and all of a sudden you step back to listen and get excited! Favourite place to take someone on a date? Carlucci Land. It’s a cross between a minigolf park, metal scrapyard and sculpture museum, in a strange part of Wellington. Favourite person to talk to when you’re feeling blue? My mama. She is just infinitely understanding. Favourite way to finish the day? With food, a glass of wine and good company. And then a game of either Boggle or Bananagrams. Favourite dessert? Tapioca pudding!

Truthfully, we don’t see what’s so wrong with rocking a pair of rose-coloured glasses – especially when they’re as gosh-darn cute as these frames from Perth lass Poppy Lissiman. They’re called the Barbara sunnies, and are ideal for swanning about on a pool float with a refreshing tipple in hand. If you’d like to make this rosy dream a clear-cut reality, grab $115 and head to poppylissiman.com

patched up A little while back, armed with piles of vintage fabric and colourful thread, Charlotte Cheshire – aka Lottie Go-Go – began hand-embroidering sew-on patches. She dished them out to her family and friends, then decided she loved it too much to stop – so now, you can stitch one to your own jacket or tote bag for around $13 a pop. Find the full range of encouraging and ever so sassy patches at lottiegogo.etsy.com

totally cactus Reasons to love this cactus mobile from The Great Escape Studio: it won’t prick your delicate finger skin if you choose to stroke its succulent arms; there’s no need to mess about with watering and feeding, trying to figure out how much love is too much love; it brings an instant Californian holiday vibe to any old dreary room. If you need more reasons, pop by finelittleday. com and see if you can come up with some of your own.

tal drori You know how in olden times, people took on a surname that reflected their profession? We’d like to think that’s the reason Israeli lass Tal Drori became an illustrator. Whatever the motive, we’re mighty glad she did, because it brought these patterned silk scarves into our lives. They’re made in the UK, fun as heck, and can be found in all their kooky glory over at taldrori.com

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something to say Photo Lukasz Wierzbowski

user envy

In past societies, people dealt with this human inclination toward jealousy, envy and contagious desire using hierarchies. It didn’t work 100 per cent of the time, but in general, peasants didn’t get jealous of aristocrats because the whole system was very rigid – peasant things, like millet, sackcloth and illiteracy, were assumed to be peasant-y by nature, and the same for aristocratic things like gold, sugar and incest. A place for everything, and everything in its place. You stop people from desiring what other people have by erecting very durable taboos about what is appropriate to whose station. That way, there’s much less scope for what French egghead/philosopher René Girard calls “mimetic crisis” – when everyone in a given community learns to desire the same things and ends up in a complete clusterfuck ﬁghting over them. If you’ve ever been a teenager or on social media, this situation may ring a bell.

ELEANOR ROBERTSON RECKONS THERE’S A GREEN-EYED MONSTER INSIDE ALL OF US.

I went on Instagram for the ﬁrst time in ages the other day. I haven’t been off it for any particular reason; I just forgot my password to the mobile app about eight months ago and became so incensed by the idea of having to reset it that I almost tossed my phone down a stormwater drain. Enter my email address to receive a reset token? How dare you ask me to perform this disgusting chore! Don’t you know I have better things to do, like dig through my clean laundry pile for undies and then moan to my boyfriend that I can never ﬁnd anything around this place?

Rigid social stratiﬁcation has some drawbacks, though – the main one being that it absolutely sucks. And while our current social system isn’t as elastic or meritocratic as we like to think it is, it’s certainly better than being Eoin son of Eoin son of Eoin from the hamlet of Türdchester, where all your ancestors have gone insane and died from ergot-tainted rye as far back as the local church can record in the town book (there’s only one). But the question remains: how are we supposed to handle this immense onslaught of envy- and desire-provoking imagery; these tantalising fantasy lives constantly dangling in front of us? It’s hard to ﬁnd good answers, because this kind of desire is the lifeblood of consumer advertising (Pretty Lady In Ad Has Product. Now I Also Want Product). So, if something is being advertised as a solution to desire-induced anxiety, it’s probably not going to work.

Anyway, I was finally moved to log back on, tempted by the promise of fresh pictures of my friends’ children and their round, juicy cheeks. Almost immediately I became extremely jealous and insecure. There’s all this good writing about how #selfie #blessed #culture is supposed to be about building each other up, but really, Instagram is a giant digital envy factory. Rationally, I know everyone’s life is as bizarre and unsettling as my own, and there’s no amount of money or unicorn hair that makes the experience of piloting a fragile bag full of organs around this geohell any better. But then I find myself lusting after objects, many of them pastel mint in colour, that I know my brain is tricking me into wanting just because someone else has them.

Simply being aware of what’s happening doesn’t really work, either. It makes me think, “I bet those hot people on Instagram aren’t this weak-willed and jealous.” But I think they are! I think we all are, and rather than striving for some illusory authenticity, we should just admit it to each other. Hello, I’m Eleanor and I’m ﬁlled with petty envy. By the way, where did you get those sunnies?

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music talks Illustration Cass Urquhart

TAKE THE REINS I like a book that makes me think so much that I keep putting it down. You read two pages and then you go, “Oh, shit.” You put the book down and part of you is wondering, “Why is this so hard to finish when I really love it? It’s distracting me, because it’s making my mind start to go, and I don’t want to go any longer on the track they set up – now I want to set my own track up and play.” These days, I prefer reading something scientific and less fiction, because I deal in fiction as a songwriter; it’s sort of like eating food that’s already been chewed. You just want to read the facts and chew it yourself.

the art of happiness... WITH BEN FOLDS. Interview Mia Timpano

LET YOUR GUT GUIDE YOU Baz Luhrmann called me from the middle of the desert while I was making an album. He wanted me to write a completely happy song for Romeo + Juliet. I thought about it, called the man back and said, “I don’t think I’m your guy, because I feel like when I write a happy song, I don’t know if it’s all happy, and when I write a sad song, I don’t know that it’s all sad.” A lot of people see my music as a joke, or they see it as really, really sad. So it’s hard to know what’s coming across. You make a thing because you’re compelled, and you’re not completely the author of it, because you’re always going to be collaborating with your subconscious and things you don’t understand.

LESS IS MORE Sometimes I’m happiest when I’m by myself. I never have liked crowds, unless I’m in front of them. Then it’s OK, because there’s space between me and them, and they seem almost like one person. It feels more intimate. But when I’m part of it, I get creeped out. There’s something about a crowd that seems scary; we turn into something else. I just saw this crazy footage of American Nazis in New York City. It looks a little like a Trump rally, but it’s from 1938 at Madison Square Garden – just 20,000 devoted followers of Nazism expressing their thing all at once, saying everything at the same time. It’s weird.

FIND SOME SWINE A couple of months ago, I was having trouble sleeping. I kept waking up – I was dreaming about having a pig. And I just kept dreaming I had this pig. So ﬁnally, at ﬁve o’clock in the morning, I started googling pigs and found the one I wanted to have. There’s a site called squealsonwheels.us – that’s my favourite one. But I can’t have one. I went on this TV show once and they had this ridiculous pig race. We were holding onto them and trying to calm them down, because they were scared to death. I really bonded with my pig. I don’t know what he’s doing now; I don’t know how long they live. But he was cool. I like pigs, yes.

EXPAND YOUR MIND I’m kind of a music slut. If I was at some kind of event and they were playing German polka music from the 19th century, I’d love that. That’d be my favourite music, because it’d be what we were listening to then, and everyone would be dancing to it, and I’d be like, “Yeah, I love polka music!” I think we use music so much as identiﬁcation, especially when we’re younger. We’re like, “This is who I am, and if that music identiﬁes someone else, and that’s not who I am, I don’t like it.” But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more and more open-minded in a way I wouldn’t have expected – I thought you closed up more.

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something to say Photo Jana Martišková

dear diary

usually lost), I filled my diaries with some very detailed descriptions of adolescent longing. Some of them take the form of graphic and anatomically absurd drawings that make me wonder whether I’d ever seen two people interacting, let alone kissing. If aliens arrived on Earth and found our teenage diaries, they’d totally believe that human lips protrude 10 metres from our faces when we make out. Other parts of the diary are less graphic and more depressing, especially as a person who didn’t realise they were gay until their mid-20s. “I wish SO HARD that Mrs Jones was my big sister,” one entry reads. “She makes me feel warm and weird, like, special.” Another entry about soft, soft lady arms lasts for almost five pages, then trails off into another very serious teenage concern: “Mum won’t let me take her tuna cans for lunch cos she is SO SELF*SH.” (Star in place of the ‘I’, because you wouldn’t want your mum to find it and understand.)

SAM PRENDERGAST GETS TO KNOW HER HORMONAL, FRIZZY-HAIRED FORMER SELF.

Recently I moved from a large house to a tiny apartment, and in the process of culling my stuff, I came across a stack of high school diaries. As a teenager with very few friends and a serious amount of ‘alone time’, diaries were a lifeline. I bought new ones every couple of months and ﬁlled them front to back with rambling stories about my feelings. I don’t know why I ﬁnd it so surprising, but it turns out teenage Sam was pretty full of angst.

It’s really easy to assume, from the point of your mid-to-late 20s, that you’re basically a teenager anyway. Sometimes my bank account has just enough money to pay my rent, and I still choose to buy beer. But two seconds with these diaries is enough to remind me how far I am from the codes of teenage-hood, partly because those diaries are sometimes literally unreadable. Who knows what HHLOL means, but it’s a term I used a lot, and I can only assume is a version of ‘laugh out loud’ speciﬁc to either my high school or my brain. It’s possible we all feel misunderstood during adolescence because teenagers are simply impossible to understand. Even when I ‘get’ what little Sam was talking about, the concerns are often foreign. “Just wait,” I silent-whisper at my younger self while I listen to her complain about t-shirts that don’t cover her midriff, “there’s so much more to come.”

Part of the horror of finding your old journals is that they tell a really specific, one-sided version of your adolescence. In one that I assume came from the early puberty period – judging by the words “EMINEM ROX” scribbled on the back – I went on and on about my “fkn unreasonable” parents and my “straight-haired” sister. Twelve-year-old Sam lived in a frizzy-haired nightmare, and ‘straight-haired’ was not a compliment unless you thought it was cool to be ‘popular’, which apparently I did not. There’s a new kind of empathy you develop for your family when you’re reading cruel appraisals of their appearance, and page after page about the tantrum you threw when they wouldn’t let you take a 40-minute shower in drought-stricken South Australia. But it’s also funny to find out that the actual former you (a 13-year-old who thought J-Lo was “sweet as”) is not at all the person you remembered.

Reading adolescent diaries is like watching really weird home videos, but instead of your family on vacation or at Grandma’s 70th, you’re watching yourself, as a teenager, alone in your bedroom, wondering whether it’s ﬁnally time to throw out your collection of Barbies. Diaries are just pages of mundane life details, so familiar, foreign and embarrassing that they’re now interesting.

Alongside long rants about sibling injustice, the music I “hearted” and the results of my Saturday morning hockey games (our team

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creative people

looks good on paper three artists who slice, curl and fold their way to loveliness. INTERVIEWS SOPHIE KALAGAS

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creative people

PAPETAL, AKA JENNIFER TRAN I came to love crafting while making a paper bouquet for my friend’s surprise birthday party. I got so into it that within the first three months, I’d hand-crafted hundreds of experiments, then shortly after, I established Papetal! Nowadays, I call myself a ‘flowersmith’ – I make paper flowers for use in advertising, window displays and at corporate events. I mostly work with crepe paper. I like how it’s flexible, easy to manipulate and really durable. I can cut, curl and ‘cup’ (or stretch) three to five petals at once, and they still hold their shape. On top of that, crepe paper is easy to fix – if I make a mistake, the process can be reversed. Plus, textured paper can deliver quite a bold and dramatic effect for photoshoots and window displays. Before creating a paper flower, I examine a real flower very closely. I dissect it layer by layer to fully understand its structure – how the centre is formed, how the petals are distributed, and how attachments like leaves and buds are arranged. After the initial study, I then experiment with different materials and methods of construction. Sometimes, I get it right first go. Other times, it takes weeks or months to arrive at a version I’m happy with. My paper dahlia, for instance, was so complex that it took me a few years and four to five different versions to finally get right! Aside from paper, I use organic materials in my work, such as coffee grounds and turmeric as a substitute for dirt and pollen. When I was at university, I remember spending days just playing with materials, breaking things apart, examining their sculptural qualities and finding ways to manipulate them. My artistic strength is in my versatility. I can change from one style to another overnight, depending on the project brief. I love collaborating on commercial projects with advertising agencies, stylists and photographers. It’s the best way to learn. Recently, I worked on a dream project. We shot in an open field, under natural light and surrounded by giant floating flowers. It was magical!

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creative people

RODA, AKA JOSÉ ANTONIO RODA A few years ago, a paper illustrator named Juan Diego González held a workshop in Madrid – where I live – and I went along to see what could come from it. I remember leaving feeling unconvinced, believing I’d wasted my afternoon and that I didn’t have the patience or dexterity for paper art. But it turns out I was wrong. As with everything in life, patience is something to be practised and conquered. I don’t necessarily consider myself a paper artist – my work is to draw, and paper is a way of giving life to my illustrations. I like that paper is fragile, delicate and versatile; it’s the result of what you make of it. It’s something familiar and inexpensive – children use it at school, and adults at their workplaces. I’d rather use basic and democratic materials for my art than anything too luxurious or exclusive. As for themes, I’m mostly interested in drawing people – especially women. I think I love illustrating beautiful and powerful girls because I’m very gay, but I also prefer their curvy shapes, and like elements that relate them to nature, work, strength, truth and fashion. It depends on the piece, but I’ll generally sketch a design on paper ﬁrst, then work with it on the computer until I get it to look exactly how I want it. When that’s done, I begin cutting with a scalpel. Before I start working, I remind myself I’m not in a hurry – what I have to do is enjoy the cutting and relax. I always think before I cut and take my time; because of that, I rarely make mistakes anymore. I develop my drawings using basic shapes and primary colours, because they belong to a child-like world, which appeals to me for its purity and sincerity. That infantile world is also connected to playing, which is how I perceive my drawing – a game that I take very seriously, because it pays my rent. I think of my work as something alive and in constant development. I don’t know exactly what project would be my paper art Everest, but I do know I’ll never stop climbing this mountain!

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creative people

ZIM & ZOU, AKA LUCIE THOMAS AND THIBAULT ZIMMERMANN Paper came to us quite naturally. In fact, Lucie’s grandparents worked in a paper factory in the Vosges Mountains in France, so we had access to a lot of unsold paper reams – a great material to play with. One day, we just wanted to have fun, and made a replica of a vintage Game Boy. The result was quite good, and most importantly, we really enjoyed working with the materials. After that, we tried making another version that was less realistic, using colours from the ’80s, and that became our signature. The biggest advantage to working with paper is that you can find it easily, and it’s not that expensive when you work on a small installation. The problems come with scale. One of the last installations we made was in Dubai – we were creating two-metre paper mushrooms. As we were using lightweight paper sheets, we had to build an internal structure that would prevent the artwork from collapsing! When it comes to having to move the piece into place, months of work can disappear in a few minutes. We have two main techniques for sculpting paper. The first is very geometric, clean and neat, using straight lines and angles; the second is more organic and freestyle, mostly used for animals. The tools we use are quite simple: a ruler, a square, pencils and a paper cutter – that’s all, really. Depending on the step we’re up to, sometimes we need a lot of concentration and silence, and sometimes we’re more like robots and listen to music to pass the time. When we have to do something repetitive like sticking down hundreds of feathers or paper fish scales, we even watch a few documentaries! Nature is a great source of inspiration for us, but we also work with very different themes, like firearms and child soldiers. Like a lot of artists, we feel the need to talk about subjects that are important to us. By now, we know paper and its specificities quite well – we know what’s possible and what’s not. Those real-life constraints shape our work, which is very exciting. We love to find our own solutions to a problem.

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learn something new Photo Lukasz Wierzbowski

BRAIN EXERCISES Nothing keeps a snooze at bay quite like the whirring of an anxious brain, so try giving your grey matter a rest with a little distraction. Run through every tiny thing you did that day, from the moment you got up; count backwards from 300 in multiples of three; choose a memory that makes you smile and mentally recreate the scene. Anything to avoid unhelpful clock-watching and dwelling on the fact you can’t sleep.

chasing sleep GIVE INSOMNIA THE FLICK WITH THESE SNOOZE-INDUCING TIPS. Words Sophie Kalagas

DOG EARWAX Insomnia is hardly a modern gripe, and in the 1500s, Italian polymath Gerolamo Cardano had a rather icky tip for helping you snooze. The scientist prescribed a smear of dog’s earwax along your teeth for a good night’s sleep. With little data to back his claim up, however, we suggest leaving Rover’s ears well alone.

NIGHTTIME RITUALS In the same way that Pavlov’s dogs were conditioned to expect food when they heard a bell chime, your brain can be trained to enter snooze mode when certain actions are carried out. Try a warm bath, simple stretches or listening to a particular song before hopping into bed. The key is to stick to it for at least a month, allowing time for mental associations to develop.

CURLING YOUR TOES Here’s something to try next time you’re struggling to sleep: curl your toes, hold them for a moment, uncurl, repeat. The monotony of the simple movement relaxes your muscles and mind in one soothing hit, lulling you into the kind of tranquil state that’s conducive to achieving forty winks.

LAVENDER As well as making your undie drawer smell delightful, lavender is a natural doziness trigger. The purple ﬂower contains chemicals that have a calming effect when inhaled, slowing your heart rate, reducing anxiety and generally making you crave a quick kip. Try spritzing some lavender oil onto your pillow or massaging a few drops into your wrists before bed.

HERBAL REMEDIES Valerian root may sound like a delicacy straight out of Westeros, but it’s actually an effective way to attract a few zzz’s. Used as far back as ancient Greece and Rome, the handy ﬂower comes in tea or capsule form – other herbal sleep remedies include calming chamomile, passionﬂower and lemon balm.

A SLEEP-INDUCING SETTING Environment plays a whopping big role in helping you nod off – just think of all those restless nights spent in a pool of sweat during the summer months. Research suggests the best temperature for attracting some shuteye is 15 to 20 degrees; meanwhile, a soothing soundtrack of chirping birds and babbling brooks is perfect for triggering your brain’s relaxation response.

MAGNETISM Notorious insomniac Charles Dickens spent many a sleepless night tossing and turning in his Victorian sheets. His solution? Lie exactly in the middle of the bed, with the bed head pointing towards the North Pole. Such was his belief in the shuteye-inducing power of the Earth’s magnetism, that he carried a pocket compass with him at all times.

CHERRY JUICE Nightcap no-nos include: booze; excess amounts of water; anything containing caffeine. Instead, try sipping a glass of cherry juice before bed. While black tea or a nip of brandy act as stimulants, messing with your body clock and keeping you up at odd times, the fruity drink is chock full of melatonin, a hormone that helps you ﬁgure out exactly when to go to sleep and when to be awake.

REVERSE PSYCHOLOGY It may sound a little nonsensical, but a nifty way of getting to sleep is by telling yourself you have to stay awake. Insist you don’t want to see a cat wearing a hat and it will probably appear in your head immediately, right? By the same token, if you instruct your brain to stay alert, there’s a high chance you’ll doze off without much delay.

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it all comes out in the wash

they’re clean as a whistle; large enough to conduct a water ballet in; or even come complete with tiny, fancy toiletries, no wash is ever the same. Don’t get me wrong – I know ﬁlth, too. I’ve lived in sharehouses before. I know the passive-aggressive chore-avoidance dance we all do when living in shared accommodation. I cleaned the bathroom last time, Deborah – it’s your turn to scrub the pink mould off the showerscreen. Even so, the mould you grow yourself somehow seems less threatening than the spores strangers have carefully nurtured.

THERE’S NO SHOWER LIKE YOUR HOME SHOWER, SAYS REBECCA VARCOE.

In the same way, the risks that public shower germs pose are completely terrifying. As a fan of the local public pool, I’m able to overlook the ﬂoating detritus of my fellow ﬁlthy swimmers while I wheeze through a handful of laps in the slow lane, but the concept of taking a shower under water-saving jets next to some screaming toddlers is too much to bear. Peeling a stray Band-Aid from the outdoor pool off my ankle doesn’t faze me, but squeaking through a three-minute rinse in my thongs and bathers somehow leaves me feeling grubbier than ever.

When I was 14, I was confronted with disgusted looks from my peers on a school holiday camp, who had taken my unwillingness to wear thongs in the shower as some kind of personal affront. Apparently, when sharing a washroom with ﬁve other teen girls, you’re supposed to keep the soles of your feet off the communal surfaces at all times. No one had ever told me – perhaps my parents were irresponsible, or perhaps they’d just never had to deal with tinea.

Public pools don’t share my ﬂagrant disregard for water restrictions, either. They have water-saving systems that somehow spray less out of their puny nozzles than the weakest sharehouse shower. My local spurts what can only be described as tiny, high-pressure needles of lukewarm water that sting your face and nipples, leaving you traumatised and sore with your back to the wall, staring down into the shared drain as you watch other people’s urine and hair pool together in a stew of nightmares.

Ever since that shameful moment, I’ve been acutely aware of my surroundings in all showers besides my own. Searching for mould spores, lurking bacteria, or a common stray pube, I spend approximately three-quarters of my bathing time inspecting the tiles for evidence of their owner’s uncleanliness, in what should ultimately be the cleanest of spaces. Showers exist to take our skin from mucky to unsoiled. They also exist for somewhere to sit while hungover; to sing pop songs poorly; and to spend a full 10 minutes staring at the ﬂoor while having those water-soaked moments of clarity and inspiration that seem only to occur in the conﬁnes of tiled walls. But why do I never feel clean unless I shower in my very own bathroom?

I try to convince myself that water is the same everywhere; that I mustn’t shower again. But instead, I take my sorry, sticky butt home and step into one of those 10-minute steamy showers I know I shouldn’t take. Belting out top 40 bangers, I can reach for the assortment of bath products I’ve wasted so much of my precious money on – and it’s all worth it. Rinsing overpriced body wash off my super-clean arse, I smile into the gentle, perfectly heated shower stream; the smug smile of someone who knows she’s stray pube and mystery mould-free. Ah – there really is no shower like a home shower.

I’ve stayed at oodles of friends’ houses, Airbnbs, hotels, motels, Holiday Inns, but none have ever been up to the task of refreshing me the way a shower at home can. Weird showerheads; impossible-to-navigate temperature controls; puzzling items in the shower caddy – whether

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Model wearing design by Alice Wang

my project Photo Lusy Productions

tasmanian butter co.

Olivia’s butter hasn’t always travelled so far. When she first arrived home from Copenhagen, the concept of making butter was really about bringing traditional flavours to her family and friends. “I liked the idea of making something people would enjoy,” she says. “Just like cooking dinner for your mates, or spending an afternoon making jam and sharing that with other people.” She began by experimenting with different cultures and creams, all in an attempt to recreate the experience she’d had overseas. “There was a period of trial and error,” she recalls. “To make good butter at home, you need to start with good cream, and finding some that’s delicious and doesn’t have any additives is hard.” She then went through a long process of searching for cultures and trialling salt levels, before she felt confident enough to turn butter-making into a money-making activity. “I’d been working in IT,” she says, “and I wanted a change, because you can’t sit in front of computers forever!”

LAUNCESTON LADY OLIVIA MORRISON’S BREAD AND BUTTER IS, WELL, BUTTER. Words Sam Prendergast

Olivia Morrison was at a restaurant in Copenhagen when she ﬁrst tasted real butter. “My husband and I were living in Sydney at the time,” the New Zealand-born founder of Tasmanian Butter Co. says, “and we were really getting into food and the whole idea of travelling to eat new things.” When they sampled Copenhagen’s cultured butter, they were both a little wowed by its intense ﬂavour. “It was awesome stuff, and we were immediately like, why can’t we get butter like this in Australia and New Zealand? I wanted to know why it tasted so different.” When they returned home, Olivia embarked on a research mission and discovered the answer to her question: it was all about bacteria.

These days, Tasmanian Butter Co. is a fully-ﬂedged business, producing around 100 kilos of the spread per week. For Olivia, though, the motivation has stayed the same: she just wants people to taste good food. “When I’m taking the product around Tasmania, I tend to come across a lot of old dairy farmers,” she says, “and they’re always reminded of what butter used to taste like when they were home on the farm.” The nostalgia of handmade produce is a large part of the appeal. “The industrial dairy industry produces butter that’s consistent but not particularly ﬂavoursome,” she says. “It’s hard to explain, but cultured butter is like really buttery butter! It tastes like butter should!”

Adding live bacteria to the mix creates a richer, tangier product, and for the past few years, Olivia’s been producing cultured butter in the garage of her Launceston home. While her husband, Rob, works upstairs, she and her close friend Lili churn cream in machines that she describes as “scaled-up KitchenAid mixers”. From beginning to end, the process is extremely local. “We source our creams from a co-op in the north of Tasmania,” Olivia says, “so that arrives on Friday mornings, and we heat it up and add the lactic bacteria cultures that afternoon.” Later in the week, they shape and package the butter by hand, adding a touch of east coast Tasmanian sea salt. On Saturdays and Sundays, Olivia travels around to Tasmania’s farmers’ markets to sell about half her butter stock to locals, then the rest is sent across the island to restaurants and grocers.

As the business expands, Olivia’s beginning to turn her hand to flavour experimentation. She’s produced a very popular truffle butter, and is currently honing her Tasmanian whisky version just in time for Christmas. In keeping with her maxim of staying local and handmade, the simple gold and black packaging is designed by a mate and local architect, and the official taste tester is Olivia and Rob’s young daughter. “It’s been a big change,” Olivia says, “but it’s something I can imagine doing for a very long time.”

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get to know the 2018 good stuff judges Good news: after a top-notch first year, the frankie Good Stuff awards are back for round two! A program designed to give local artists, crafters, photographers, entrepreneurs, writers, designers, musicians and socially minded types a bit of a leg up, there are ace prizes and opportunities up for grabs for every winner. Entries are now open – head to frankie.com.au/goodstuff to apply and find out more. And while you’re at it, read on for some back stories and advice from the clever types who’ll be sizing up your submissions. INTERVIEWS MIA TIMPANO ILLUSTRATIONS CASS URQUHART

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COMMUNITY

WRITING + PODCASTS

GRACE MCQUILTEN // FOUNDER OF THE SOCIAL STUDIO

BENJAMIN LAW // SCREENWRITER, JOURNALIST AND AUTHOR

A while back, I was working with AMES Australia – a migrant settlement service helping isolated women learn English in their home. I started to get more interested in the ways we can support the settlement of newly arrived migrants, and their pathways into further education and employment.

Growing up in our household, books were never considered a waste of money. It’s not like we had Joyce and Proust and Virginia Woolf lying around, but there were a lot of kids’ books. Whether it was devouring those readers you brought home in primary school, or Roald Dahl and Paul Jennings, I’ve always had a voracious appetite for stories. It was how I really connected to things on a very fundamental level.

Starting The Social Studio was very much a community effort. It wasn’t just me going, “Right, I’ve got this idea – let’s make it happen.” It was really talking to young leaders from those different refugee community groups; local artists and designers; people in the fashion industry; people in the education and training space, and working out how we could make a fashion studio that would also provide training and employment opportunities and pathways.

As much as I hung out in the library and the bookshop, I also spent a lot of time at the newsagents. Keep in mind that most of my high school career was pre-internet – the dial-up world was just starting when I was about 15. For me, magazines were this sudden access to another world. Australian television was very Anglo and British and white, whereas magazines – like The Face that came out of London, for instance – were really multicultural, and the aesthetics were amazing, especially for a suburban kid like me. I never thought I wanted to be a writer until I started reading those magazines.

Most social enterprises have a social purpose or mission at the core of what they do, and that’s the primary thing that drives them. And then, in some way or another, they’ll operate some kind of trading enterprise to generate revenue that supports that core mission. But there’s a really wide spectrum, from very commercial-looking businesses that might donate their proceeds to charitable causes, all the way through to not-for-proﬁt organisations that have a really small trading aspect to what they do, and that might fund a program they run. The Social Studio sits somewhere in between.

A lot of people ask me, “What was your ﬁrst big break?” I don’t think, at least for me, that that thing really exists. I knew very early on that just because I studied creative writing at uni, it didn’t mean that doors would open up and I’d become a writer all of a sudden, and I was quite scared about that. I was really proactive about ﬁnding work experience at a street press. Later, I started writing for and then editing the student magazine at university. It was probably those two things together – as well as writing for a magazine called Voiceworks that came out of Melbourne – that really gave me the chutzpah to be able to approach places like metropolitan newspapers for work, and then eventually glossy magazines, including frankie.

There’s a saying that most social enterprises, if they were to do things retrospectively, wouldn’t start at all, because it’s just so chaotic and tricky and there are so many challenges involved. But once you do start, the rewards of being involved make it so worthwhile and exciting. The people I’ve met, the friendships I’ve formed, and seeing the creative outputs from all the talented artists and creatives involved in the studio has just been wonderful. I haven’t had any kind of signature or handprint in terms of the creative side of The Social Studio – I’ve just been witness to it.

Everyone does and should struggle with an inner critic, especially when they’re starting out, and anyone who says they don’t are either lying or sociopaths. When I went through my university degree, I didn’t necessarily blitz it or anything like that. There were some subjects where I only just scraped through. It’s funny that I’m a TV screenwriter now, because when I did screenwriting for the ﬁrst time, I just passed. The stuff I produced was so bad.

With community work, it’s really important that the communities themselves are engaged and active agents in what you’re doing. So, rather than going in with a perspective of, “I’m going to come and help this particular group of people who may be experiencing barriers or difﬁculties or marginalisation,” it’s better to think, “How can I work with this community to empower them to come up with their own solutions for the barriers they’re facing?” Because ultimately, they understand the issues better than anyone else. .

I think a lot of writers oscillate between crippling self-doubt and this completely unwarranted high self-esteem that borders on ego. There’s never a comfortable middle ground. It’s just like, “I am shit,” versus, “Oh my god, how dare you call me shit?” But I also think you harness that in the work, because when you think about it, you sit at the desk, or you stand at the desk, or you sit in bed and write, and every sentence is wrong until you make it right. .

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VIDEO

CRAFT

MARC FENNELL // FILM CRITIC, JOURNALIST AND TV PRESENTER

PIP LINCOLNE // CRAFTER AND AUTHOR

When I was in high school, the Australian Film Institute ran a young ﬁlm critic competition. I sent in reviews of Mulholland Drive and Donnie Darko, and I was sent back this thing saying I’d won. I thought, “That’s great, does that mean I can say I have an AFI award?” But they were like, “Absolutely not. Don’t ever say that, that’s a lie.” That was the ﬁrst time I went, “Oh wow, apparently my opinions count for something.” Which they didn’t, obviously, but it certainly got me in the door for a number of things.

I grew up with a family that was messy and make-y. We spent a lot of time hanging out at home; painting pebbles, growing mushrooms. My dad used to brew his own beer; my mum would sew clothes. I wasn’t picking up any speciﬁc skills, but I did pick up an attitude to life, which was all about having a crack at making things. When I was 18, I moved to Melbourne by myself, fell in love, and had a baby. I guess I was catapulted into adulthood. From there, I was like, “Right, I’m going to be a grown-up, and I’m going to make things.” That’s when I really settled down to a creative life in earnest.

I had this plan that I was going to be a graphic designer by day and a filmmaker by night. I made a bunch of short films – very bad short films that I’m so glad are nowhere to be seen on the internet – and at the same time, I stumbled into a community radio station that hadn’t launched yet in Sydney, called FBi. I went in and said, “Hey, I can do graphic design. Also, I can review movies.” I made a little animation, and the manager there just looked at me with this face of ‘you should never do that again – that was terrible, and your design work is awful’. And she was right. But she did go, “Why don’t we teach you radio?”

Sometimes now when I make things, they’re too good. I look at them and think, “No, this looks like it’s from a shop.” I try to make things that look handmade, because I think that’s the beauty of craft. When I was little, my nan and I spent a lot of time together. She’d always be knitting with half an eye on MacGyver or whatever was on the telly. I loved that she could make things without always looking at the thing. It would still look beautiful – never perfect, but beautiful. I guess that’s my life philosophy, too: be able to watch The Love Boat and make something that’s not too perfect, then take that thing and give it to someone you love. I had a shop for quite a long time. It was called Meet Me At Mike’s, which is the name of my blog. Obviously, we were selling things, but my greater purpose was to show people you could make things and it would make you feel better. When I had the shop, I got in contact with a book publisher. I said, “There are so many Australian crafters making wonderful things – I would really love to write a book about them and encourage everyone to get making.” They were like, “Let’s do it.” We published a book together, which was also called Meet Me At Mike’s. From there, I got to write lots of other books.

They took this weird, chubby brown kid from a weird religious school and said, “Here, why don’t you review movies,” and I took to it like a duck to water. It was voluntary, and it was just incredible luck, because if you go to places like FBi now there are waiting lists before you can volunteer. I just happened to be there at the right time. I was in the right place at the right time for a number of things, and I think when you’re at the receiving end of luck, you should take the opportunity and work your arse off to justify the kismet. If there’s a reason things have worked for me, it’s in spite of me fucking things up, and largely because I do make a pretty concerted effort to justify these random, unpredictable moments of luck I’ve had. When I did the show Hungry Beast, I worked for Andrew Denton, who is a famous television interviewer and really quite brilliant. One of the things he said was, “The best opportunity is the one that’s right in front of you.” You may not necessarily be doing what you want to be doing right now, but you probably have an opportunity in front of you – a job that maybe isn’t perfect, but if you do it to the absolute best of your ability, if you nail the shit out of that thing, someone will take notice.

Some people in the craft community love things to look perfect. There has been no shortage of people telling me my work’s not good enough, which makes me sometimes think, “Is it good enough?” It is good enough, though – it’s good enough for me. Also, creative communities are full of people that are a little bit insecure and anxious. Sometimes we turn those feelings against one another. I’ve dealt with criticism, and people sending me emails to let me know I’m undeserving of success. I guess it shows that it doesn’t matter what you’re doing, you’re always going to have critics, so it’s really important to just gather yourself up and forge ahead and try to drown those voices out by doing even more fun stuff and making even more things you want to make.

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SMALL BUSINESS

DESIGN

TESS MCCABE // DESIGNER, PUBLISHER AND PODCASTER

BECI ORPIN // DESIGNER AND ILLUSTRATOR

I always wanted to work in magazines when I was younger. I studied graphic design in Brisbane and, after graduating, I got into book publishing. It was a lot drier than cool, funky magazine publishing, but it was also such a great training ground as a designer. I was always doing freelance stuff on the side, and one day, after working at my part-time job then coming home and working on freelance stuff all night, I was like, “Maybe I should just freelance all the time.” I thought, “I’ll do it for six months and if I make no money, I’ll go back and get another job.” But it really took off.

My strongest memory of drawing as a kid is that every time I got to do it, it was fun – that was the most fun thing I could do. So, I knew I wanted to do it as my career. I got into fashion design at RMIT, which was a great course, but I didn’t like it at all, because it was far too technical. It didn’t have enough drawing for me. Then I discovered textile design, which was perfect because it was design-led, but it had a really strong drawing component. It was a way I could combine my drawing skills with design, which was the clincher for me, because all of a sudden I was like, “OK, there’s a way I can do these two things I really like.”

Taking that leap and announcing I was now open for business as this solo person meant that people were like, “Oh great, ﬁnally. Now we can contact you during the daytime and not have to wait overnight.” It was weird thinking of myself as a small business, because, the way I saw it, they have a place of business and more than one person. I was just working at my desk at home. I was also in Melbourne, a new city where I didn’t know many people, so I wasn’t meeting anyone day-to-day in my work life. That led me to start going to Creative Women’s Circle meet-ups.

When I graduated, I kind of accidentally got into freelance work. I had a friend who got a job at Factory X, which is a big Melbourne company that’s now home to Gorman and Dangerﬁeld and Princess Highway. She started designing there and got me in to do t-shirt prints for her. Then it kind of snowballed. I got more and more freelance work, but it took a good ﬁve years after graduating before I could support myself from freelancing. I also ran the clothing label Princess Tina for nine years. We were terrible at it, but it was really fun. Now I say I operate in a space that is DIY, illustration and design, with a few other things around there.

Creative Women’s Circle was started as a way for women to come together and share what they had learned, while talking about all those little challenges and issues you have as a self-employed person. When the original founder became too busy with her young family to keep the meet-ups going, I was like, “I’ll start organising them.” Through that, I started to meet a lot of other creatives who I could collaborate with, and some became my clients. I built the business up from there, learning a lot along the way about quoting and invoicing, and all those other small business things you don’t realise you have to take care of when you leave an employer and go out on your own.

I think it’s strange when people ask how I developed my style. I didn’t develop my style, it just was that. I was definitely influenced by a very specific time – the early ’90s and all the things that were going on then. There was this explosion of streetwear. I don’t know if streetwear is even a term anymore, but it was definitely an explosion of that middle market of fashion where it wasn’t surf wear and it wasn’t high-end – I was really interested in that. I’ve also always been into childlike naivety, and being simple and clean.

The best business ideas come from a really authentic place. Think about how many start when someone is like, “Well, I was looking for this and I couldn’t ﬁnd it, so I created it myself.” Even with my books, I think, “Would I buy this book? Yes, because I want to read this content.” Any time I’ve veered from that and overthought, it just hasn’t really worked. Also, if you’re going to start a small business, it’s a real slog, so you’d better like it. You don’t want to get into something that you weren’t passionate about to begin with, because the actual passion part, the bit where you get to be creative, is often minuscule compared to everything else. There’s got to be some sort of beacon that you’re following. .

My one piece of advice is to work hard. I’m not saying to work yourself to death, but I do think you need to work hard to get anywhere – in particular, in this age of Instagram fame, which is often based on photos, not actual work. I’ve made so many sacriﬁces, especially after my children were born. There was a bunch of friends I didn’t see for years. But I feel so privileged to have found something that I 100 per cent love doing, and that it is design. Yesterday, because of what I was working on, I was shaking with excitement. It’s like a drug – it’s the best drug. .

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PHOTOGRAPHY

ART + ILLUSTRATION

LUISA BRIMBLE // FOOD AND LIFESTYLE PHOTOGRAPHER

JEREMY WORTSMAN // FOUNDER OF THE JACKY WINTER GROUP

Before I started photography, I was working in a travel company. I did all the marketing – creating flyers, a bit of graphic design. Then I had my first daughter – she’s 11 years old now – and I picked up a really basic camera. I probably always wanted to take photos; I just could never afford a DSLR. My first camera was a 450D with the basic kit lens. I started taking photos of the family and people said, “Oh my gosh, you take good photos – you could do this for a living.” So that’s what I did. I took that advice and thought, “OK, let’s do it.”

From a really early age, my two passions were ice hockey and industrial music. I would draw the logos of ice hockey teams all over my books. They were very graphic, almost cartoonish. I did a pre-college course in graphic design while I was at high school, and interned at a design studio. That was one of the beneﬁts of growing up in New York and having creative parents – they pushed me and helped me get on that path. (Though it’s a pretty low barrier to entry there, because it’s everywhere.) I studied design in New York at the Pratt Institute, then dropped out and went to work in magazines for a bit. After September 11 happened, I just left everything behind, and went travelling to Australia.

I started as a family portrait and wedding photographer, then I fell in love with gatherings and food. I approached Broadsheet and asked if I could photograph for them, and they let me. I say it all the time: if you’re a budding photographer, it’s like a baptism of ﬁre – you just go in. I only did one photography workshop, that’s it. I spend most of my time reading books, on the internet, YouTubing. It’s all self-taught.

It was really difﬁcult to be able to stay. I taught, I did retouching, I was a dish-hand – I was on lots of different visas. I was going to be a hairdresser for a while, because it was really easy to get a visa as a hairdresser at that time. I also started this magazine called Is Not with around four other people. It was a publication that went on bill poster sites – so much of where I am today came from Is Not. Jacky Winter largely came from the illustrators we commissioned there. We call ourselves a ‘creative production representation studio’. We started with illustrators, but that has expanded into lots of other creative disciplines. We’re almost like a record label for creative types.

The hardest part of what I do is the hustling part. You’re always hustling. And I’m not so good at knocking on doors – I just want the work to come to me. But the way I do that is by creating content. I’m always collaborating with people I absolutely love, then letting the photos do the talking for me. What I’m doing now is creating cookbooks, and if a job comes in, I take it. If I have no paying job, then you’ll see me collaborating with a lot of people. It’s still a job, because it’s marketing. People ask why I do things for free, but nothing is ever free. For me, it’s about building relationships with people.

The artists I see succeed are the ones that have to do it. If they’re not creating, if they’re not drawing, if they’re not doing something, they’re just not whole. It’s not a matter of ﬁnding your voice in that way, or of going after it – it’s more a matter of discovering it. And I don’t know how that happens; that’s mysterious. A lot of artists that we ﬁnd have been successful also come from a pedigree of self-initiated projects. How the self-initiated projects can actually manifest is a different thing – and that’s where the social element comes into play. I think that’s really important now, in terms of making real connections with other people. They don’t have to be other creators or other artists – it’s about keeping a really broad set of interests and knowing people and getting off the computer and doing physical things.

I’m always worrying where the next money is coming from, but it’s funny, because when I’m at the stage where I’m worrying, a job will come in. I just make it work, I guess. Even with two kids at home. I have a really supportive husband, and beforeand after-school care is a really big help, because you can drop them off in the morning and pick them up in the afternoon and have the whole day to do photoshoots. The more you think about what people would like, the more you’re going to struggle. The moment I decided to just post anything I love, that’s when everything changed. I posted photos that felt warm, with a feeling of homeliness, and began to come out of my shell. You always feel that everyone’s going to judge you because of that image you took. I think, “Just stop it, stop it right there. You don’t need someone’s validation. Just do it.” .

Mistakes can result from moving forward on something a bit too early, before things are actually ready. I think that’s another case for forming a network of peers – so you have other people to bounce ideas and work off before you try to put it out in the marketplace. Sometimes you only have a few opportunities to make impressions on people who are commissioning work. But no mistake is impossible to recover from.

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FASHION

MUSIC

JENNY KEE // FASHION DESIGNER

MYF WARHURST // RADIO ANNOUNCER AND TV PERSONALITY

I ďŹ rst connected with fashion because my mum was very stylish. Her sisters were couture sewers and they used to make all her clothes. I guess that sort of rubbed off onto me. When I was at school, I constantly wanted to have my own look. I was lucky enough to have a dressmaker, so Mum and I would go out and buy the fabric of my choice, then I would style it and ask my dressmaker to make it look exactly like that.

I thought I was going to be a music teacher or a concert pianist or something. I worked really hard in year 12 to do the music course at Melbourne Uni. I have a feeling I got in on the country quota. Watching everybody around me perform, I realised that, while I loved it and I was OK, I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have the magic you need to be able to do it. After the ďŹ rst year, I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t fail â&#x20AC;&#x201C; though I probably came pretty close â&#x20AC;&#x201C; then I crossed over and did an arts degree and majored in ďŹ ne art. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s good to still be able to play piano, but I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t play well. If people come around to my place, I Phil Collins them out the door when they leave â&#x20AC;&#x201C; if Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve imbibed enough.

In 1962, I was 15 and didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t really want to go to school anymore, because it was pretty boring back in the day. I said, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m going to leave and you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t make me continue and I want to do dress design.â&#x20AC;? I carried on and carried on until I got my way. I went to dress design college at East Sydney Tech, as it was called in those days, but I found it a pretty boring course because it was all about sewing and learning to make patterns. I wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t interested in that. I was interested in the whole look of something, but I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to have to make it, and I still donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t. I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even knit.

Growing up in a small country town, I hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t seen many bands â&#x20AC;&#x201C; maybe one or two. We had to go to Adelaide on a bus to see anything big, and that was six hours away. So, when I got to Melbourne, I kind of lost my mind. I was going out all the time and seeing things, and I hadnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t lost that love of music, so I started thinking how I could incorporate my musical knowledge into something relevant and contemporary. I started to write for Inpress, which was a local street press magazine, doing gig and CD reviews. After a couple of years, I got the gig as the music editor, and thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s how it all started.

I worked in the Chelsea Antique Market in London in the â&#x20AC;&#x2122;60s and very early â&#x20AC;&#x2122;70s. Coming back to Australia, I knew I had to do something that was not like anything Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d ever seen. It was so exciting to be back here, and my fellow designer Linda Jackson and I started dreaming up things that were Australian, but very unselfconsciously so. We just wanted to create things that had the ďŹ&#x201A;avour of the country. So Linda created appliquĂŠ Opera House dresses, and I created knits with koalas and kangaroos and kookaburras on them.

Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re sold this fantasy that you get this great job, you have this great success, and then youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re sorted for the rest of your life. Not the case. As youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll ďŹ nd with most musicians, they might have a high, then somehow theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve got to sustain a career. I think itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s quite difďŹ cult to manage the down times. When youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve got a gig that pays well, be really careful with it, because it doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t last. Nothing really does in this industry, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think. And itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a long life. You might go really well in your 20s, but youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve still got to be doing this in your 50s, and itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s like, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Oh god, OK, how do I manage that?â&#x20AC;? No one tells you about that.

There was no business plan and I wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a fantastic businesswoman, but I managed. It probably would have been good to have a proper business manager to help grow the business. But, you know what? I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know if I can really say that, because it was what it was, and it went the way it went, and everything was perfect about it, really. Even when it started not doing so well, that was also perfect.

Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t wait for someone to come along and help you. It might mean a lot more work on the admin side for the artist, but it also means a lot more control, and youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re a lot less likely to be ripped off by other people. I look at many successful artists, and what makes their work good is their belief. You want to be a part of that. Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not trying to write stuff they think youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll like â&#x20AC;&#x201C; theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re writing stuff that they like, thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the difference. If youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve got something to say, say it and do it and believe it.

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054

Photographs Savannah van der Niet

mind your business

i love my shop

working tables for hand-building, sculptural work and glazing; 10 pottery wheels; two kilns; a slab roller; a clay bar; a kneading table; clay recycling facilities; and a beautiful mezzanine area for café seating overlooking the studio.

MOTHER-DAUGHTER DUO MIEKE AND CHARLIE DE DEYNE CREATED A POTTERY HAVEN IN MAS & MIEK CERAMIC HOUSE.

Talk us through a typical day at The Ceramic House – what do you get up to? C: During the week, we have unguided studio sessions where we sit down and create our own work in the company of more advanced students. In the afternoon and evening we run classes together. Other than that, we’re recycling clay, loading or unloading the kilns, prepping glazing, and doing endless other things that consume a ceramic studio.

Where is it? 11 Byrnes Street, Newstead, Brisbane.

How do you want people to react when they walk through the door? C: I hope for people to feel inspired and ready to create. M: We know a lot of high-stress professions frequent our classes. People are looking for creative connectivity in our fast-paced, artiﬁcial world. Time ﬂies as they’re absorbed in working with their hands in clay, and they leave a little dirtier, but with any worries they brought in forgotten.

Describe The Ceramic House in a sentence. An open, light-filled studio for teaching, selling and celebrating the craft of ceramics. How did it all begin? Charlie: Going back 15 years, it started when my father bought my mum a pottery wheel for her 40th birthday. We all joke that he created a monster that day. And I guess a mini monster in me, as she was never able to chase me away from her studio. Tell us about your range of products. C: In our gallery front we sell Mas & Miek Ceramics – a handmade range we’ve been creating together for five years. Our love for clay and exploration of process are the fundamentals of our small-scale practice. We chase the fleeting moments of elemental chance; the slight change in temperature or atmosphere in the kiln that splashes unexpected effects across a glaze.

With so many fragile pieces around, how often are there breakages? M: Our motto in the studio preaches no attachment. It’s only clay! Let’s not get too precious about objects. They are meant to be used, loved and broken, eventually. What’s it like working as a mother-daughter team? M: Charlie and I are blessed with a great relationship, and our connection on a creative level enhances our friendship. But we have normal mother-daughter banter and bickering, of course. Working with the younger generation has so many advantages – for example, social media would have passed me by all together.

What else goes on there besides selling ceramics? C: Mas & Miek Ceramic House consists of a gallery front and shop; a café; and a large, fully equipped ceramic studio. In the studio we conduct classes and workshops for all levels of clay enthusiasts.

Any plans for the future? C: I’m excited to see The Ceramic House blossom. Next year we have some amazing national and international ceramic artists visiting and conducting masterclasses in the studio. M: We have many plans – watch this space.

Describe the space for us. Mieke: Our studio is an industrial warehouse with great airflow and lots of space covered in plants – a white oasis filled with creativity, reclaimed furniture and overflowing with art, pots and books. The amusing thing is that this building used to be a garage for stretch Hummers. C: We have two large

How should we contact you? theceramichouse.studio

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M O N D AY

T U E S D AY

W E D N E S D AY

T H U R S D AY

F R I D AY

S AT U R D AY

S U N D AY

NOTES

new year’s day

australia day

M O N D AY

T U E S D AY

W E D N E S D AY

T H U R S D AY

F R I D AY

S AT U R D AY

S U N D AY

issue 82 on sale

Illustration: Caitlin Shearer.

valentine’s day

NOTES

some nifty gift ideas to spoil yourself, or your pals

FRANKIE X

A LITTLE BIT

2018

FRANKIE

SOMETHING

EDITH REWA TOTES

CRAFTY

CALENDAR

SUBSCRIPTION

TO SAY

lug around your favourite bits and bobs

39 easy-peasy projects

12 months of pretty pictures on your wall

a yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s worth of frankie to your door

stories to make you laugh awkwardly in public

shop online frankie.com.au/shop or find your local stockist frankie.com.au/find

SPACES

FRANKIE X

SMITH JOURNAL

2018 DIARY 160 pages of organised good times

VOLUME 4

EDITH REWA TEES

SUBSCRIPTION

chock full of lovely interior ideas

a touch of native flora you can wear

the perfect gift for curious minds

pieces of me

everybody has a story ROSEMARIE NORTH HAS SPENT 14 YEARS WORKING FOR THE RED CROSS. As told to Mia Timpano

My mum reckons I was always bringing kittens home as a kid. I’d say, “We have to adopt them,” and she’d insist, “Well, I’m still allergic.” My dad was a minister in a church, so he had a huge social conscience – you never knew who was going to be on the other end of the phone, or who would turn up to dinner. It was your job to welcome them, and I think that made me more open to other people.

I’m dead.” Much later on, I realised that wasn’t actually a sustainable solution, and I learned some other ways of coping with grim situations that still allowed me to listen and to hear and feel. I have this little theory called Empathy Plus. In my job, I want your average Kiwi or Aussie to connect with things that they have no connection with, and might ﬁnd very difﬁcult or repellent. If we see another human in a distressing situation, the same bits of our brains light up as in that person’s brain. What we most want to do is help. When we can’t help, then we start thinking, “It’s too overwhelming; they’re too different; I’m only me, so I’m going to push that away and concentrate on other stuff.” My theory is that you can’t leave people there stranded with the empathy – you have to say, “And here are things you can actually do.”

Growing up, I had such a variety of friends, and they often didn’t get on. I had some friends who were petrolheads, and others who were Marxists. I also volunteered from quite a young age in an adult literacy program, and as a visitor in a psychiatric hospital. It was during the era when they locked people up for long periods of time and sedated them. It was an insight, again, into people who live in our community, who we might not easily meet – but they’re around us, and it can be enriching for everyone to make that connection.

That’s not always asking for money. It could be something cognitive, like saying, “These people deserve better,” a statement you can agree with. That helps keep people engaged, and it’s a strategy I use in my communications – otherwise it’s just too grim. Last year I was on a rescue ship in the Mediterranean, and I met literally thousands of people who would have drowned if they hadn’t been rescued. On the ship, there was a mum called Sandra and a baby called Juliette. Sandra was really depressed and didn’t want to feed Juliette, who was freaking out. I tried to read to her and cuddle her. It distracted her for a split second, and then she was screaming again. I remember thinking, “I hope this moment isn’t going to be a deﬁning one in your life.” After the mission, I had a really good session with a Red Cross psychologist, who said that overlaying a grim situation with a wish like mine for Juliette is a protective factor against post-traumatic stress disorder, so that’s led me to this theory I’m practising.

After university, I got a job as a policy analyst for the government. That was in theory quite a fancy job, but in practice, I didn’t really enjoy it. So, I retrained in journalism, and started working as a newspaper reporter. I was gravitating towards social affairs, and got the chance to go to Fiji and Vanuatu with Family Planning International. That’s where I had my ﬁrst experience of going into someone’s home in a village, sitting down on the ﬂoor of their house, and having a chat to them about their life. I thought, “Maybe I could do this for a living.” So I started to look at different aid organisations. I really liked the values of the Red Cross – they’re all about who is in the greatest need. It’s not religious; you don’t look at people on the basis of their ethnicity or gender or age. I thought that was really cool. The New Zealand Red Cross was looking for a communications person to post overseas, so they put me through various tests and training. Once I’d done that, I was ready to deploy, and then it was a matter of waiting for a deployment to come up. I got a bit frustrated waiting, so I went to Switzerland, knocking on the doors of people I’d been contacting from the Red Cross, saying, “Hi, I’m still here, still keen.”

Staying positive requires an active internal conversation. You need to believe that your work is making a difference, and that things will get better for the people you’re helping. You’d always like to do more – that’s quite hard to cope with. But you can’t really dwell on that, because you can only do what you can do. It’s important to look after yourself. I love dancing and go to classes whenever I can. I try to eat well, sleep well, listen to music and write in my diary – a positive coping mechanism that I think everyone needs to do anyway.

I had the great fortune of meeting a really lovely Irish guy who was the head of human resources. I met him around afternoon teatime, and out of the window of his ofﬁce, he saw two other Irishmen having a smoke and said, “Let me introduce you to the head of communications.” These two guys were like, “We haven’t heard anything from Sierra Leone and Afghanistan recently – would you be willing to go?” A couple of weeks later, I was in Sierra Leone on my ﬁrst mission.

We’re not as serious as you might think, though. We’re there for the right reasons, but when you see all kinds of intense stuff, you do ﬁnd yourself making jokes about your toilet experiences. You might be in the corridor singing and dancing with your colleague – we celebrate people’s birthdays. Someone gave me a salad spinner today and I got all excited. You ﬁnd fun where you can.

I was shit-scared. I was there to gather stories about how postconﬂict programs were helping people. It was about a year after the end of the civil war – and this was one of those civil wars where people did the nastiest things human beings can do to each other. They made children take a machete and slaughter their mums; young soldiers were on methamphetamines, rampaging around. I’d never seen so many people with missing limbs. But you get a really warm welcome. And the cool thing about the Red Cross, is that you’re working with people on the ground who have the same values as you.

It’s been 14 years since my ﬁrst mission. I think I’m more patient now, and more aware of everything that people are about. For example, a colleague recently said to me, “I’m really sorry, but can I have these dates off, because I really want to see an old aunt whose husband has just died.” I was like, “Yes, you should see your old aunt.” That’s what it’s all about – being able to go and see your family. It’s not about producing a report or sending some photos. It’s about living your life – and that’s what we want for the people we serve. We want to take away the crappy stuff, so they can get on with having a happy family, planting a garden, going to work and celebrating whatever it is they celebrate.

Everybody had horriﬁc tales of things that had happened to them, and as a comms person, you’re listening for really powerful quotes – for striking impressions. You’re feeling a lot of empathy. After that mission, I thought, “I’ve heard so many grim things and I’m never really going to be able to process them, because it’s too much. I’ll process it when

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Photo Andrew Yep. Thanks to Merchant’s Lane Café, Kuala Lumpur

something to say

live and learn

through books, reports, group assignments and late-night cram sessions and walk out a semester later knowing something. I’ve dabbled in and abandoned so many different things over the years, from my week of being a nipper and a judo master to drawing, languages, embroidery, sewing, yoga and photography. It’s not that learning these things is insurmountable (well, maybe being a nipper was), it’s that my shame suffocates my interest. I try, fail and quit. If I were better able to embrace that feeling of cluelessness – to lie prostrate at the feet of those who know or the website providing free online courses – then maybe by now I’d be the world’s leading Spanish cryptic crossword embroidery master who can save you in rough sea.

CARO COOPER IS READY TO EMBRACE HUMBLE BEGINNINGS.

Being taught makes me feel dumb, and what better way to stay uninformed and without skills than to be scared of the very act of learning? It’s another beautiful cycle of self-destruction. It seems that the only learning I stick with is the blood sports I enjoy, and I persist with these to vent my frustration over my tower of unread how-to books and my many broken dreams.

Every few months I pick up my cryptic crossword book and commit to a life of cryptic mastery. I fantasise about rattling out The New York Times Saturday cryptic in under 30 minutes, and being called upon to help Australian cryptic master David Astle with questions he just can’t crack. For a week, sometimes two, I study the little book and bash out beginner crosswords. A thrill jolts through me every time I solve a clue. I feel stronger and smarter, as though my superpowers are unleashed question by question: at one-across, I’m a regular woman; by the time I reach 23-down, I’m Batman. Or Cardigan-Clad Cryptic Crossword Caz. Nah, Batman.

I once heard a friend say she was looking for a sexual partner who could be her teacher, her mentor. I was confused – we were in our 30s, didn’t she want a partner she could train or show the metaphorical ropes? Her response to my questioning stuck with me. She said: “I always want to be the student, because there’s always going to be so much more to learn.”

The joy of these heady early days of learning soon fades as I progress from the wading pool of beginner clues to the depths of proper ones, with their strange structures and hintless hints. My enthusiasm falters. I become irate and depressed. I start dreading my morning crossword and telling myself I’m too tired to try at night. Slowly the dream and desire wither and die.

My sex-seeking friend inspired me. In the interest of self-development, better sex, and revealing the cryptic master I know lurks within me, I stand here and confess that there are countless things I don’t know but want to learn, from bridge construction to first aid, JavaScript to geography. I’m willing to (try to) remain humble throughout the process. I make no promises about my abilities at the end, but I will fight to finish; I will swallow my pride until I’m nothing more than a giant bloated belly of joy and a brain that has mastered something new. Learning is humbling and exposing, like walking naked through the city at peak hour. And just like a CBD nudie run, the best thing for me to do is to keep going forward.

I tell myself I don’t stick with learning new skills because I haven’t found the one that’s right for me; that when I ﬁnd my thing, I won’t shy away when it gets hard. In truth, I’m just not used to the humbling feeling of learning anymore. It’s been 12 years since I was last at university. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to walk into a room knowing nothing – to then claw my way

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writers’ piece

ON THE ROAD four writers share their tales of blustery, regressive, doped-up travel.

By Sam Prendergast Every summer holidays when I was growing up, my parents, sister and I would take the same three-hour road trip up New Zealand’s east coast to camp near the beach with our large extended family. It was basically childhood paradise. We spent two weeks, sometimes more, sitting around a fire, eating chips and dip, playing cards, and going to the beach. Mr Whippy’s ice-cream truck came literally every night. The ‘campsite’ was a vacant property surrounded by other vacant properties, so it was ideally suited to backyard cricket. And when it rained, which it often does in New Zealand, we’d all cram into a tent to play charades and tell stories. It was entirely as wholesome as it sounds, at least according to my nostalgic memory. Eventually, my grandparents built a house on the campsite and my uncles and aunties bought the properties next door. Houses went up and we all grew into snotty adolescents. A few summers ago, I went back to New Zealand with my partner, Tamsin, and we travelled up the coast with my parents to spend a week camping in what is now my

grandparents’ backyard. There are a few different ways to recreate childhood holidays with your family as an adult. In the first, you all travel together, without any newcomers, as the four-person unit that existed when you were 10 years old. Your parents play out their parental roles and you and your siblings regress. Careers and private lives dissolve. No matter who you are ordinarily, in this moment you are a child. In another version, usually reserved for those who’ve entered ‘serious long-term relationships’ or had children of their own, you travel with your parents but keep a little distance. You hire a car and drive behind them, stopping at leisure and sending messages from the road that read, “Go ahead, we’ll catch up.” In the third – and worst – version, you mash everything together: you and your ‘serious long-term partner’ decide that renting a car is unnecessary, so you willingly enter into scenario number one. When your parents start calling you “the girls” and asking if you have your seatbelts on, you realise, with horror, that they’ve just adopted a new 35-year-old child, and that child is your partner. Twenty hours into our New Zealand summer, Tamsin and I found ourselves crammed into the back of my parents’ car covered in pillows and packets of chips, as though we were pre-teen girls. I only see

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my parents a few times a year, so whenever we’re together, our memories of each other are a little bit off. On my side of the car, my parents had left a giant red bucket and a box of tissues, a reference to the fact that, as a child, I spent 90 per cent of every road trip spewing and groaning about car sickness. “They’re just being thoughtful,” I told myself, ignorant of everything to come. Road trips in my family are punctuated by multiple bathroom and snack stops – one for the pie, one for the ice-cream, one for the midtrip can of L&P. There’s a certain amount of tension that builds up when your parents tell your adult partner it’s too late in the day for caffeine, or that now’s “a good time to use the bathroom”. The weird thing about recreating family holidays is that the balance never ends up quite right. A few people can’t get time off; new partners and children change the hierarchies of power; and everyone ends up confused about the relationship between those two lesbians. “Do we call them girls, friends…?” Five days into the holiday, Tamsin and I had both become adolescent versions of ourselves, asking if we could use the kayaks, sneaking beers from the esky, and waving down Mr Whippy, who still comes by the campsite every night. In retrospect, it probably made my parents happy, but next time, we’re hiring a car.

Photo Lukasz Wierzbowski

writers’ piece

By Daniel Moore Before I get into this story, I need to let you know that I’m an idiot. This isn’t some sort of self-deprecating cry for pity. It’s just true, and fundamental to what you’re about to read. In 2012, I travelled to the US with my then-girlfriend to do a bit of big-city sightseeing. Our first stop was New York. The Big Apple. The city that never sleeps. We arrived at about 2pm on October 28th, and things already seemed a bit off. We were told that, due to severe weather warnings, the subway had been shut down until further notice. “Classic American overreaction,” I thought. We caught a taxi to the place we were staying, and saw that people everywhere were lining up at grocery stores, petrol stations, chemists, and anywhere else you’d buy supplies. With my stupidity and ignorance still defiantly in place, I asked my girlfriend if she’d like to go for a walk. We’d see a few sights in the late afternoon and tire ourselves out so we could try to beat the jetlag, I told her. After 15 minutes, she pointed out that it seemed weird we were the only people out and about. New York boasts a population of over 22 million people (and about six public dunnies… but that’s another story). The only folks outside were those bunkering down their basements, boarding up windows, and buying provisions. The winds were picking up, too, but in a strange way. It would be really calm for about two minutes, and then blustery mayhem. A leaf hit my girlfriend’s face with such force that it genuinely shocked her. She suggested we head back, and you can’t argue with someone who’s just been coward-punched by nature. Things started to really ramp up the next day. The wind and rain were relentless, and people

went into voluntary lockdown. I finally succumbed to pressure and went out to stock up on supplies. “Classic American overreaction,” I still thought. The weather now too shitty to stand around in, I ducked into a bottle shop to grab some wine and a few bags of pretzels, rather than lining up for groceries and water. Arriving back at our apartment ready to proudly announce my heroic haul, I heard the news on TV: we were about to get caught up in a natural disaster. While the rest of New York was preparing for Hurricane Sandy, I was preparing to Netflix and chill. See, I’m an idiot. We were staying about five storeys up. The building swayed, and the glass windows struggled with the ferocity of Sandy’s unnecessary temper. Rain and wind and lightning pounded the city with unrelenting determination. Forty-five minutes in, and we’d finished the pretzels. Weirdly, there were people down on the street, marvelling at the carnage as it unfolded. So, after some wine, I joined them. It was genuinely unbelievable. Here I was caught up in what we now know as the second most destructive hurricane in US history, and I was outside in the midst of it. Within 30 minutes, the neighbouring Hudson River overflowed, and the Lower East Side began to flood. Ten minutes later, the water was at shoulder level. So, I swam across the road and went back upstairs. Lightning struck a nearby power plant, and the city went dark. New York – one of the largest cities in the world – was now shut down. The next morning was weird. The floods had drained, but there was no electricity or transport, and shops were closed. We walked around for hours – absolutely starving and hungover – until, finally, we stumbled across a rundown fast food joint, running on a generator. They were frying up what seemed like it might be food, and the line waiting to grab a bite was two blocks long. This time, we waited.

075

By Helen Razer New technology, as you and your smartphone hardly need reminding, brings new shape to us. But, for every mass convenience, there’s also a troubling effect. The ‘I can do my job on the run!’ thing that made us so grateful for the iPhone is a bit less appealing one decade later, when we realise, um, we must do our jobs on the run. It is expected. I try to imagine how the motorcar first felt when it became affordable to so many, and then, how it felt 10 years after so many in the West became drivers. I wonder how long before people conquered the fear of this horseless carriage. Then, I wonder how long it was before they knew that fatal motorcar accidents had arrived. There’s a new sort of accident that comes with every new widely adopted bit of tech. And I know this is a downbeat view when we’re all supposed to be ‘innovative’ and ‘agile’ and thrilled about a future where robots will take our jobs. Still, future-me will have to be grateful for the small allowance the robot owners give so I can buy the products their robots make. Present-me has never really gotten on board with this whole old-tech motorcar thing, though. This is due to a crap optic nerve. I don’t drive because I can’t drive, and the driver’s licence people, you will be happy to learn, totally agree. I cannot control a motorcar. This makes some people sad for me, because they see it as a great disadvantage. I’m accustomed to it, though. And even, at times, quite grateful, because I know I cannot control a motorcar. Nearly every driver is deluded that they can. Everywhere I’ve travelled, I’ve travelled in a motorcar driven by someone who believes that they drive the car, and the car does not drive them. Which is to say that I, a lifetime passenger, have never

writers’ piece

felt the ‘freedom’ of the road. I’m like your nan who sees your smart TV as a lot of bother and nonsense and not an exciting new way to discover more choice in movies. I have given this freedom ride thing a go, though. Once, I was a hitchhiker. When I was 16, I hitched from Canberra to Melbourne. It didn’t feel free. The truck driver who picked me up in Yass and drove me all the way to the northernmost tram stop didn’t seem free, either. He was a nice bloke, but an overworked one. In Albury, he said, “Tell me a story.” “What sort?” I said. “Any fucking story. A fairytale. A space disaster. I don’t care. I’ve got to stay awake, and unload this stuff in Geelong by nightfall. Just make some noise, I don’t care.” With the exception of one chap who drove me no more than three kilometres before demanding “just a little kiss” as compensation (he didn’t get one), all the drivers were good people. Particularly the truckies. But not one of them, despite their free and generous act of picking up a young, idiotic hitchhiker, seemed free. It was never Kerouac or Toad of Toad Hall liberation. More like Easy Rider or Thelma and Louise, where they knew, at some level, that this driving story could have a very bad end. I want to feel that freedom that some people say they know. I want to drive in a convertible across the USA without persistent terror or the sensation that no one has control. I want to sing along with classic hits radio, as they do in uplifting US films. But, I’m here. Waiting for the robots. Wondering about what terrible new ‘freedom’ the latest tech will bring.

By Pui Pui Tam This story doesn’t start off very rock ’n’ roll.

I was in Mexico, and my leg hurt. I’d stepped off a 30-something-hour plane trip the day before and the anti-inflammatory pills my GP had given me were about to run out. So I asked my local, Spanish-speaking mate to take me to the doctor. Turns out, this is even easier than in Australia. In Oaxaca – the town where I stayed – walk-in GPs are attached to chemists, and the doctors get paid a percentage on the prescriptions they write. With the help of my personal translator (and some awkward mime) I explained my problem and handed over my Australian pill packet. Could I have some more of these, please?

my Mexican illnesses. (I’d also got something close to pneumonia over there – which turned, inevitably, into another medical lecture on mezcal.) Being so organised and adult-like, I even had a pill packet to show what drugs I’d been prescribed. So, I handed it over to my doctor. Just like the Oaxacan GP, he googled the name. And then he started to laugh. “Do you know what you’ve got here?” he asked, crying actual hilarity tears. “It’s oxycodone. People call it ‘hillbilly heroin’… You’ve been dosing yourself with morphine the entire time you’ve been away.” “What?! Fuck! Am I OK?”

The guy googled the drug name and scoffed dramatically. Sure, he could give me the Mexican equivalent, but there was an even BETTER alternative that would have me salsa dancing that very evening. (Insert quick bout of vigorous chair-dancing and some suggestive eyebrows.) Did I want that one instead? OK, sure, yes. Gimme the good stuff. As it happens, the ‘good stuff’ was an over-the-counter drug, so the doctor wrote out the name for me and sent us next door for the re-up. He also gave us a quick promo on the health benefits of mezcal, the local version of tequila. (Every Oaxacan doctor I visited did this.) After picking up the tiny pill packet and knocking back a tablet, I went back to my normal routine of being jetlagged and eating tlayudas: enormous, delicious stuffed tortillas. All was well. I was in Oaxaca for about a month. I ate a lot of chocolate and tacos and fried grasshoppers. I bathed in crisply cool mountaintop pools. I hung out with local potters and laughed nervously while they tried to teach me to make clay. I watched cumbia bands and Mexican wrestling and loudly rooted for a guy dressed as a goth beating up a dude in yellow spandex. I visited churches and markets and farms. I drank a lot of mezcal. And when my leg hurt (which was most days), I took ‘the good stuff’. When I got back home, I thought I would do the responsible, proactive, health-positive thing and visit my regular GP to fill him in on

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“Have you stopped taking it? Do you feel all right?” “Uh, yeah.” “You should be right, then. Hey – do you mind if I tell this story to the other surgery staff? It’s pretty funny.” [pause] “Sure.” “You know what makes this even better? You’ve carried these pills through customs in the USA and Australia. You’re an actual drug runner!” [cue more knee-slapping, eye-rolling, etc.] I should mention that I have a friendly and open relationship with my GP, who provides me with excellent care when he’s not laughing in my face. I should also mention that drinking mezcal with opioids is not generally recommended. And if any members of the Australian Border Force are reading this: I’m extremely sorry and no longer in possession of any of the ‘good stuff’. I do, however, have three bottles of mezcal in my kitchen, and have already booked flights for another Oaxaca trip next year. Because, despite nearly getting pneumonia and accidentally becoming a criminal, I still had a bloody good time. If that isn’t the mark of an excellent holiday, I don’t know what is.

tiffmanuell.com @tiffmanuell

our project

izzy wheels isabel and ailbhe keane live by the motto: if you can’t stand up, stand out. WORDS KOREN HELBIG

Playing dress-ups is almost a childhood rite of passage, up there with deciding which foods you hate and securing your ﬁrst ever best friend. Irish sisters Ailbhe and Isabel Keane were especially creative as kids, though. They’d use any excuse to dress up Isabel’s wheelchair, winding fresh ﬂowers through the spokes for a wedding; adding fairy lights and tiny baubles for Christmas.

her graduation show last June and invited the pair on their show. In the ensuing media storm, government body Enterprise Ireland fronted up some cash and an ofﬁce space, which helped the girls launch their online shop last September. Seven national awards followed, and even Instagram came knocking, allowing Ailbhe and Isabel to tell their story to 227 million followers for one entire day. “It’s just been a rollercoaster!” Ailbhe says.

“She always had really cool, crazy wheels, even from when we were really young,” Ailbhe recalls. The problem was, their inventive decorations were only ever temporary, much to Isabel’s frustration. Most of the time she rolled around in a humdrum regular wheelchair, the basic design of which has changed very little over the past century.

The beauty of Izzy Wheels – beyond just, well, their actual beauty – is their interchangeability. Other spruce-your-wheels companies tend to offer permanent solutions; Ailbhe and Isabel wanted the chance to switch wheel covers according to one’s outﬁt or mood. “If your wheelchair always looks the same, it’s like wearing the same coat or shoes every single day,” Ailbhe explains. Working with Isabel, she designed a simple velcro system to make swapping the waterproof and scratch-proof covers a cinch. “I have dozens, at least. I literally have a wheel wardrobe,” Isabel says. “Making my chair colourful and nice completely breaks down its stigma and shows people they don’t have to ignore it. I know it’s there. You know it’s there. We don’t have to skirt around it.”

Born with spina bifida, a spinal condition that means she’s paralysed from the waist down, Isabel considers her wheelchair a symbol of freedom – but, unfortunately, it’s a rather ugly one. “I’ve always had a really positive relationship with my wheelchair, but I’ve found that difficult to portray,” she says. “I don’t want it to look like a lump of metal made in a hospital, because I have it with me all the time. It’s large and so bland – it’s crying out to be decorated.” That’s essentially how the sisters landed on the grand idea of turning what’s long been seen as a medical device into something far more fashionable. It was mid-2015 and Ailbhe was scouting around for her final art college project. “I came across this brief to empower the lives of people living with a long-term lifestyle-related health condition, and straight away I thought of Isabel,” Ailbhe recalls. Having majored in illustration, print and animation, and recognising that her sister’s wheels were like “one big, blank canvas”, Ailbhe set about creating bright and cheery wheel covers to match Isabel’s sunny personality. “I called the brand Izzy Wheels, obviously after Isabel. And we came up with the tagline: ‘If you can’t stand up, stand out.’”

The girls have since collaborated with 25 international creatives, including famed Irish fashion designer Orla Kiely; mural artist Maser; the Barcelona-based brothers behind Brosmind; and Irish illustrator Mark Conlan, who lives in Melbourne. Their whimsical designs have so far found homes in 25 countries, and by all accounts are proving a refreshing conversation starter. “Wheelchair users hate people feeling sorry for them,” Ailbhe says. “A wheelchair should be a symbol of ability, not disability – it’s what gives you freedom. When people tell a wheelchair user they love their wheels, it’s a really deep compliment. To be able to design something that impacts people’s lives in such a positive way is incredibly rewarding.”

Astonishingly quickly, that college project has grown into a globally recognised business. An Irish TV station spotted Ailbhe’s designs at

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Photo Nathalie Marquez Courtney

goodies for you

thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a wrap make the outside of your pressies match the loveliness within with this snazzy pull-out gift wrap, designed by melbourne screenprinting and textile studio, home-work. PHOTOGRAPHS BRI HAMMOND

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goodies for you

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around the house

homebodies joel and rachel cooper run their fashion label frank & dollyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s from a cottage nestled in the bush on the victorian surf coast. INTERVIEW SOPHIE KALAGAS PHOTOGRAPHS PAUL HERMES

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around the house

Tell us a bit about yourselves, please. Rachel: I’m a mum to three beautiful children, Poppy, Wren and Oak; wife to Joel; and designer of ethical fashion label Frank & Dolly’s. Joel: I’m a lover of all things creative and colourful; a dad; a designer; a music maker; and an adventurer! Best known for making ethical clothing with my wife Rachel, and for throwing the best dress-up parties in town. Where do you live? J: In an incredible valley overlooking 35 acres of forestland in Bellbrae, just off the Great Ocean Road, behind Bells Beach. R: Our house is a three-bedroom, split-level, super-cosy wood cabin. The living, dining and kitchen are all one big room, which is perfect, because that’s how we live – all together, eating and sharing in the day. What goes on in the house (aside from sleeping)? J: Home is everything to us, and we spend a lot of time there! We cook and feast on delicious food, play music and sing the night away. We also design our ranges for Frank & Dolly’s and brainstorm our dreams; have friends over for dinner parties; and laze about on the ﬂoor on Sundays drinking tea and eating bagels. What’s the ﬁrst thing you see when you walk in the door? J: Our big bookcase and loads of plants. The bookcase, which is made from two ladders and old wooden beams, is really the centrepiece of the open-plan living room. It’s colourful and full of all our little treasures – our world globe, plants, record player, and obviously our favourite books! R: A home well lived in and loved! Paintings on the fridge; foliage freshly picked on the table; a big fruit basket ready to eat; lots of books and our comfy couch ready to sink into. How would you describe your decorating style? J: For me, it’s about pieces we love that tell a story. We do a lot of travelling, so our house is pretty much full of fabrics, artworks, cushions and trinkets we’ve found on the road. R: We don’t follow a rule or colour scheme. We value treasures that have soul and history, like our hand-embroidered cushions from Iran, our indigo Batik throws, and a collection of art from our favourite local artists.

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around the house

Do you often change the décor, or does it stay the same? R: We are forever picking foliage and wild ﬂowers from the forest, so our home often feels like the forest has come inside with us! I love this, as it’s ever-changing and the colours are always so different.

and ﬁlmed us all having a feast in the valley as the sun set. Also, our two boys were born in this house, so that was pretty special! Tell us about your studio. Is it connected to the main house? R: The studio is a beautiful little shack sitting among the tall trees. From the house, you have to travel down the valley, over a wooden bridge, past the campﬁre, and into a little creative haven! There’s no mobile reception, so it’s a place where I can disappear for a couple of hours and truly get in my creative zone, dreaming up new collections and designs. It also has a loft, which we’ve slept in with the kids, and an old potbelly stove for cups of tea. J: We have fabric samples on the walls, inspirational images, garments from collections we are working on… it’s an incredible place to create.

Tell us a bit about the land around you. Do you spot much wildlife? J: We wake up to a chorus of birds on the veranda. There are our local King parrots that hang out, as well as cockatoos and galahs. We also see kangaroos, kookaburras and echidnas regularly in the valley. It’s a magical place to bring up three children, that’s for sure! R: The only things that make us leave on the weekends are the ocean ﬁve minutes down the road or a fun dinner party in town. Other than that, we’re immersed in this place! And are you keen gardeners? J: We love our veggie gardens, and always have a nice little crop growing each season. The kids love it, and it’s so delightful to watch them pick the herbs for a morning breakfast, or the produce for a salad. R: We like showing the kids how resourceful you can be with growing your own food and making whole meals from what we have in the garden. I tend to go a bit crazy when it comes to summer and tomato plants – I can’t get enough!

Do you think where you live influences your clothing design at all? R: I’m really inspired by nature. I love the natural colours found in the trees and wild flowers on our property, and the shapes formed in the reflections on the river. I love watching the birds in flight, and the sunbeams through the gums. Sometimes I’ll just sit and take it in, then go back to the studio with a head full of new ideas and palettes for a range. It’s the place where I get in my flow, for sure. J: For me, after a huge day shooting a collection or working on the computer, I get to come home to a peaceful and serene environment, which refreshes me to go again the next day.

What are the biggest challenges of living on a property this size? J: Luckily for us, we don’t have to look after the majority of the land. But there are the usual things like bushﬁres in summer, snakes (though we haven’t seen one yet), and general caution when living out of town. It’s second nature to us now, and we feel so much more at home on land than in the city.

What’s the most precious item in the house, and what’s the story behind it? J: The people inside it! Our family, and all those who visit. Beyond that, my surfboard, which Rachel and the kids painted and had their ﬁngerprints embedded in. It’s amazing. R: My mum has made many beautiful things for us – she is the most creative person I know! So anything that she’s made: embroidered blankets, handknitted jumpers, paintings, toys… the list goes on.

What’s your favourite memory that’s taken place in the house? J: My 30th birthday party! We had a ‘bohemian masquerade extravaganza’. Everyone dressed up; there was a long table feast under low-hanging lights, champagne towers, dancing under the stars, laughing, singing and making the best memories. R: We ﬁlmed our Frank & Dolly’s summer campaign video here last year. I invited 25 girlfriends to our place, dressed them in the full collection,

What does ‘home’ mean to you? R: Somewhere we can connect and relax, make memories and dream, amongst the joyful chaos that is being a young family!

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www.keoma.com.au

experience

healing death with birth two years after he first became a dad, peter papathanasiou became a dad again. except this time, his own dad was missing.

When our first child was born, my dad was also in hospital. I ran between wards, maternity and cardiac, third floor and fifth. Now, we’re heading back to hospital for the birth of our second child. But there’s one difference. The last time I was there, it was to see the body of my dead father.

I feel anxious as we arrive at the hospital, but not for the same reasons as my wife. The last time I was here, 11 months earlier, it was after a phone call to say my dad had died. He was 86 and had been sick for a while, losing an uncomfortable amount of weight and gradually retreating from the world, one routine at a time. He was taken to hospital in an ambulance one night, suffering chest pains and difficulty breathing, and never recovered. He got an infection, fell and broke his hip, and eventually died of congestive heart failure. My mum kept a vigil by his bedside for six weeks, but we still missed the moment he died. Mum was inconsolable as we saw his body, cold and pale in the orthopaedic ward on the fifth floor. She had lost her husband of 59 years.

My wife is booked in for an induction. She’s past 40 weeks pregnant and there’s still no sign of the baby. They let her go longer last time, but not this time. She’s had gestational diabetes, which is known to make the placenta deteriorate early. The diabetes forced her to go on insulin, and otherwise curtail her sweet tooth. The baby grew from the size of a poppy seed to a sweet pea, then a strawberry, mango, coconut, pineapple, and watermelon. So, we pack our bags and head for the hospital. My wife has her birth plan, pregnancy books, electrical TENS machine, relaxation CDs, wheat-based heat packs. I have a pair of boardshorts, which I toss into the car at the last minute.

My wife had given me the option of having our second baby in another hospital. A fresh start, she said. I thanked her for thinking of me, but said no. This was what she wanted. It was where our ﬁrst was born; the setup was familiar; the midwives. I would ﬁght my emotions and somehow overcome my negative association. After all, hospitals are the bookends of life, where so many are born and die.

It’s so much more civilised this time; like going for an appointment. When our ﬁrst baby was born, labour started in the middle of the night, and lasted 18 hours, including two of pushing. But he was born naturally with only an epidural for pain relief. The midwives tell us the second will be quicker.

Come mid-morning, the midwife artificially breaks the waters. We’re told to go for a walk, to climb stairs, to have a strong coffee – perhaps a double shot. Anything to get things moving. Carefully holding my spherical wife’s hand, we do it all. We walk between buildings; up and down stairs; to the car park; the café. I see the place where I ordered Dad his last cappuccino; the gift shop where I bought him a box of chocolates that went unopened. I ended up giving them to the nursing staff in thanks. I avoid the fifth floor altogether. I’m not ready yet.

As with our first, we don’t know the gender. This, apparently, is unusual in the modern day. Most people find out, and almost everyone finds out the second time around. Not us, we’re old school. But we’d struggled with boys’ names. At the 20-week ultrasound, the sonographer asked if we wanted to know. We did, we said, but we also didn’t. We still wanted the surprise. So, in case things got desperate with name planning, we asked him to write it on a piece of paper and stick it in an envelope. Somehow, the envelope remained sealed. We’d resisted the temptation.

Meanwhile, there’s nothing. Returning to our room, my wife is put on a drip of oxytocin and told to do circles on an exercise ball.

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experience

She’s in good spirits, laughing and joking. But we both sense that’s about to change.

sealed envelope from my bag and check the sonographer’s note: “Appears to be a BOY!” We laugh again.

She’s soon on all fours, humming, swaying back and forth. I follow my instructions: remind her of her labour plan; help with her breathing; bring cups of water and ice; rotate through the CDs. The baby’s heart rate is continually monitored, and the rate of the drip adjusted. After not too long, I’m told to go and change.

Immediately, we feel more confident with him – holding, soothing, feeding. If only you could have your second child before your first. He seems to detect our confidence and is instantly calm. Kids, I decide, are like wild animals: they can sense your fear. The two grandmothers visit, along with the now bigger brother – excited, uncertain. My wife tells me to hold the baby; she’s prepared for this moment, and knows our firstborn will rush headlong into her arms as soon as he sees her. He does exactly that, but soon turns to greet his baby brother, who I hold out for him to see. It’s touching to watch him embrace his newborn sibling. No doubt it won’t be long before they’re fighting over Lego toys, then bikes, then car keys.

I race down the corridor in only my boardshorts. Barefoot, I feel like I’m heading to the beach or pool, not a birth. Back in the room, I skip towards the shower, but in my haste miss seeing the water on the ﬂoor. I slip on the tiles, only to catch myself against the doorframe. Both now on our hands and knees, the midwives ﬁre me a look of disapproval. At that moment, the last thing they need is a husband with torn ankle ligaments.

Passing the new baby to my mum, the yiayia, she’s soon sobbing lightly. She’s thinking of Dad, who will never get to see his second grandchild. At 86, Mum complains about her many aches and pains, yet somehow always ﬁnds the energy for the next generation. She picks up every single biscuit crumb my son drops by hand, and still smothers him with kisses. Deep down, she knows she’s incredibly lucky.

I’m given a hand-held shower and told to point it at the base of my wife’s spine. My knees start to hurt, but I dare not mention it. The pushing begins; the encouragement and anticipation build. Earlier than expected, I’m told the baby’s coming. Hairy and wet, the head appears. My wife wants to give up, but is told to keep going. I keep reminding her that what she’s experiencing is healthy pain, and that every contraction is one less to have, and that soon there will be zero.

The next morning, as I prepare to leave the hospital with my sleeping newborn and sleepy wife, I know I have something to do. I excuse myself and take a detour via the ﬁfth ﬂoor. My heart is racing, palms sweaty, mouth dry. Slowly, I walk the corridors, one careful step after another. I sit in the visitor area, pretending to watch the TV and read a magazine. I even see a few familiar faces on the nursing staff. They recognise me instantly and ask how I’m doing. When I say why I’m there, their faces light up. What wonderful news, they say. It sure is.

After 16 minutes of pushing, the baby is born. At three hours total, the labour is short, but intense. I’m in awe of my amazing wife. Despite being petite, she’s now delivered two babies, both in excess of four kilos. I’ll think twice the next time I complain of man ﬂu. It takes us a while to compose ourselves and check the gender – we’re wet and tired and emotional. It’s another boy; we laugh and cry. After we return to the room and get dressed, I retrieve the

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looks we like

waste not, want not DOODLAGE DESIGNER KRITI TULA CREATES THREADS WITH A GREEN MESSAGE.

When did you start Doodlage and how has it developed since then? Way back in 2009, I participated in a national competition on sustainable fashion where my collection was called Doodlage. Since then, I’ve done a lot of research on the need to adopt more sustainable practices in fashion. I started the label in 2014, working only with up-cycled industrial scraps and recycled fabrics – we often try to incorporate fabrics created with banana, eucalyptus and other plant-based fibres, too. Today we’re leaders in ethical fashion in India, strategically working to build more awareness around sustainability. Talk us through your approach to up-cycling. It’s impossible to ignore the amount of fabric that goes unused every year in India, and the scraps that end up in landfill. It’s calculated that about 16.36 per cent of fabric is wasted through mass production, which in 2010 was about 8 billion square metres per year in just India, Bangladesh and China. We’re focused on creating garments from industrial scraps, and increasingly use fabrics created from postand pre-consumer waste, like recycled PET bottle polyester. Our vision is to create India’s first sustainable label, giving the masses an alternative to fast fashion. Where did the name Doodlage come from? Each up-cycled outfit needs special care, as you don’t know what kind of defects the next set of scraps will come with. We have to add a little character to each piece to make it spotless for the consumer – usually an additional panel or a hand-embroidered detail that makes it as individual as its wearer. So, it’s a bit like doodling. Tell us a little about your current collection. The new collection talks about the world at war, the dying environment and the urban chaos we live in. It brings together kilos of discarded industrial fabrics, patched and embroidered over with prominent colours like marsala, navy blue, sap green, charcoal and lighter undertones of pastel blue, steel grey and beige. The techniques used in this collection include patchwork, panelling and hand embroidery. The busy under layers represent the current situation of urban chaos, superimposed with delicate florals of hope. What’s your creative space like? It’s a two-storey studio and workshop. The first floor is where the team creates samples and works on producing orders, and the second floor has a muchneeded garden space, plus painted walls, indoor plants and a long table for everyone to work together. The back of the studio is where we keep our garments for visitors and customers who drop by! Do you see any part of your work as typically Indian? Our major clientele is still based out of India and UAE, so I would say, in terms of silhouettes, a large portion of the collection is created with that in mind. The embroideries we work with are not necessarily influenced by Indian aesthetics, but the ease at which we can incorporate them in each collection might be Indian. As we move to expand our presence in the international market, we foresee some minor changes to our collections, to become more inclusive. Where can we see more of your stuff? doodlage.in or on Instagram @doodlageofficial

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music talks

a few things you should know about...

and here we are. It’s fun ﬁguring each other out and gently steering them in a certain direction, and just being surprised. BAND PRACTICE IS A WEEKEND GETAWAY Fi and I live in central Victoria, near the Goulburn River. It’s a good two-hour drive for the others to get there, but we’ve got three houses – our landlord’s a legend, so we got them really cheap and there’s plenty of room for people to stay. They’ll come up for the weekend and stay two or three nights – it’s like having a little clubhouse. We hang out; drink a lot of beer; take magic mushrooms; play with our dogs; cook; eat; go swimming; and generally slack off. It’s not rush, rush, rush.

SUPERGROUP TROPICAL FUCK STORM, ACCORDING TO ITS FOUNDER, GARETH LIDDIARD. Interview Giselle Au-Nhien Nguyen

TOURING CAN GET WEIRD We’ve just been touring in America’s south, and we found ourselves playing a gig in an abandoned Fox TV studio. It turned out Southern Baptists used it because they had a spa in the middle of the abandoned newsroom, and they baptised people in it. We went out the back and there was a carnie ride, a house of horrors thing, set up in this TV studio – it was bizarre. We nearly got murdered by the Baptist hillbillies who set it up, because we broke in and walked around. We made a video in there, and they caught us mid-ﬁlming, so we were confronted on camera. The sweet-talking was kind of hilarious – they were like, “What the fuck are you doing here?” and we were just like, “Hi!”

THEY’RE DITCHING THE BAGGAGE I’d been doing The Drones with Fi Kitschin and the guys for yonks, and it occurred to me, “Fuck, I could be in another band, just do something different.” If you’re in a band for that long, you start wondering what it’s like outside. The Drones have all good baggage, but it’s heavy – you have to deal with a lot of the history and what people expect. This band is fresh – we can do whatever we want and not care what anyone thinks. It feels really invigorating.

LADIES RULE THE ROOST This time around, the main thing was to be in a band with more women in it than there are in The Drones. We’ve been touring for decades, and Fi is the only girl, and although she gets on with the guys really well and has a cool time, I thought it would be nice if she had some girlfriends for once. They’re all really cool people, and a lot of fun. I’m the Kim Gordon of this band. THE NAME IS OPEN TO INTERPRETATION We had a studio for a couple of years in Fitzroy, Melbourne, shared with Dan Kelly and Jacky Winter. We decided we needed a name for it, and Dan said something was a tropical fuck storm, so we thought, “Let’s call the studio that.” When the new band got together, we needed a name again, and that was the silliest one we could think of. I have no idea what a tropical fuck storm is – just a massive shemozzle; a fun mess.

THEY’RE STILL SURPRISING EACH OTHER You write to suit the people you play with, and if you play with the same people all the time, you keep having to reinvent the wheel. With Tropical Fuck Storm, it’s a clean slate, and I’m getting to know Erica Dunn and Lauren Hammel as musicians. Erica has done backing vocals on tour with The Drones, and I saw High Tension play when Lauren had just joined as drummer. We got in touch through a mutual friend

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road test

tip of the hat ROWENA GRANT-FROST AND ELEANOR ROBERTSON TRY SOME SUMMER HEAD-TOPPERS ON FOR SIZE. Illustrations Evie Barrow

BUCKET HAT

FEDORA

LEGIONNAIRE CAP

FLOPPY HAT

My first impression of this hat is that it has either been mass manufactured by an otherworldly space gremlin, or Elon Musk. It’s insanely light and thin, and for some reason I find myself muttering, “My god, this hat is a disruptive technology!” as I pull it out of the box. I also convince myself it’s made out of styrofoam since it’s so damn light, but the tag informs me it is, in fact, made from polyester. The tag also promises the hat is “ONE SIZE”, but I have concluded my head must be at least THREE THOUSAND SIZE, because I really have to pull down hard to squeeze it over my skull. After finally managing to jam it onto my giant noggin and wearing it for maybe five minutes, I’m left with an angry red line across my delicate forehead and a sweaty scalp. Would not recommend. RGF

OK, this hat doesn’t fit me either, and I’m starting to feel discriminated against. Why do hat makers hate me? (It’s fine – I know I have a ginormous noodle. I made my peace with it a long time ago.) I can’t even make this hat fit by violently shoving it onto my head – it’s surprisingly stiff, given it’s made out of straw and the band has basically zero give. On the upside, perching it on my head gives me an extra eight centimetres height, and the pinch down the crown gives me the dignified appearance of a naval destroyer. I’m not sure what purpose the teeny-tiny brim is supposed to serve, but I doubt it’s sun protection. I’m guessing this hat is mostly about compensating for the wearer’s lack of personality, so if that’s what you’re looking for: buy it. RGF

When I was in primary school, it was a social death sentence to wear the legionnaire cap. I remember a large overlap between wearing it and being branded ‘the stinky kid’, whether or not you actually stank. So, it was with a non-trivial amount of trepidation that I put on the stinky-kid hat and actually wore it outside my home. To my surprise, it was by far the most comfortable and pleasant hat I road tested; wearing it was like chilling out inside my own personal beach tent. And all that neck protection! Since I no longer live and die by the cruel sword of infants’ school exclusion, I can admit I would wear this hat voluntarily. I reckon if I paired it with a Dune Rats t-shirt, people would think I was on my way to a music festival to be arrested for throwing full cans of beer at the talent. ER

Big floppy hats are my natural choice of head cover, because they make everything else you’re wearing look cooler (and they’re pretty good at preventing sunburn, which is a bonus). As someone who wears the same three cotton jersey wrap dresses almost every day of my life, I value that. I wore my big floppy hat to a local fete, where I had a pleasant afternoon sipping green apple sangria in the sun and smiling at local babies. I also caught the eye of another woman wearing an identical large floppy hat, and for a perfect moment everything was right in the world. If you’re a hat wearer, I encourage you to buy one of these babies at your earliest convenience – or, if you are me, drag one of the three you already own out of your cupboard and desperately try to iron out the brim creases with a hair straightener. ER

096

road test

VISOR

DROVER’S HAT

BASEBALL CAP

BOATER

My mum never wore one of these hats in the year 1998, and yet, somehow, this hat makes me look like everyone’s mum in the year 1998. Combined with a white polo shirt and a tennis racquet, I feel like it would guarantee my admission into some schmancy tennis club where everyone’s kids are named either ‘Maddie’ or ‘Cooper’. There are some deﬁnite good things about this hat: (1) It ﬁts me; (2) The brim is very long, making for good sun protection; and (3) It leaves the top of your head unrestricted, so you don’t end up with hat hair. There are also some bad things about this hat: (1) It makes me look like everyone’s mum, including your mum, probably; (2) I look like I’m from the year 1998; (3) It’s actually quite ugly, let’s be honest. RGF

This hat has a miracle effect: just by plonking it on your head, it transforms even the most soft-handed city wanker (hello, that’s me) into a fair dinkum top bloke/sheila (that’s me with this hat on). It’s a bloody miracle, this hat is. It also has a slightly musty oilskin smell, but I feel like that’s something I can move past. Because I take my hat reviewing very seriously, I also asked other people to try this hat on. Overwhelmingly, most people looked like they should be background extras on McLeod’s Daughters (is this good? I don’t know), but it gave at least one person pretty unmistakeable Wolf Creek vibes (this is deﬁnitely bad). So, uhh, what can I say? This hat will crank your Aussie credentials to at least jolly swagman levels, but if you pair it with a ﬂanny, you’re stuffed. RGF

I don’t know if there’s something wrong with the shape of my head, but it takes just a gentle slip of breeze to knock normal snapback baseball caps right off me. It was no different with this one. Barely ﬁve minutes after putting it on, I was tear-arsing down the local piss-stained alleyway as it blew just out of my reach. By the time I managed to grab it and jam it back on my weird pinhead, I was thoroughly cheesed off. I tried to secure the cap a little more by putting my ponytail through the hole at the back, but I caught a glimpse of my reﬂection in a shop window and the power-walkinggrandma vibes were just too much. I left the cap sitting on top of a pile of hard rubbish on the side of the road. ER

Every time I see private school boys wearing these stupid ﬂat straw hats, I laugh at them internally. That’s the boater’s main use: not as a hat, but as a symbol of arbitrary discipline. Nobody would wear one voluntarily; they have no designated space for your actual head, so they just perch on the very top of your noggin and make you look like an idiot. I know this is true because as soon as I put mine on, my friend started laughing at me and didn’t stop until I took it off. I offered her $5 to put the hat on and let me take a picture of her in it, but she said I couldn’t afford her price for that kind of humiliation. Then a couple of days later she sent me a text message that read, “Still thinking about that stupid hat.” ER

097

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LIBERTY TANA LAWN

celebrating creative + clever folk

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try this at home Photo Lukasz Wierzbowski

releases – and don’t forget to try an equal mix of female and male authors. Otherwise, things could get humdrum pretty quickly.

how to start a book club

LOCATION, LOCATION // Club members’ lounge rooms; your local pub; a not-too-noisy restaurant; the closest park. These are all excellent book club locations. (If your members are geographically diverse, however, you could host meetings online via Skype or similar.) Pick a place where you can hear each other chat, but also knock back a drink or snack – your club is for book talk, but also an opportunity to catch up with mates and get a bit silly.

GET INVOLVED IN A LITTLE GROUP READING. Words Giselle Au-Nhien Nguyen

CREATE A PLAN // Here’s the thing: unfettered discussion doesn’t often work. (See: work meetings; family forums; any gathering where you want to actually get things done.) Perhaps start by letting each person have a moment in the spotlight, to offer their thoughts and a brief assessment of the book – after that, you’re ready to dive into a free-for-all. Circulating a list of questions ahead of the meeting can help set discussions on the right track. Consider things like character ﬂaws, writing style, plot twists, favourite quotes, or even which protagonist you’d most like to take on a date.

BOOK NERDS, ASSEMBLE // The first step is to find your book club crew. Have you got bookish besties already, or are you keen to make new friends? Shout out to your existing circles, post fliers at the local library, or create your own digital gang on a website like meetup.com. Once you’ve got some bites from literary-minded types, you’re best off capping numbers at 10, for maximum book chat and minimum chaos. SYNC YOUR WATCHES // Decide how often your book club will meet – once a month is a good starting point, as it gives everyone time to actually read the book and formulate some feelings. Find a day and time that suits everyone’s schedules, and make sure you stick with it. It’s OK if people miss the occasional club meet-up, but for the sake of your diaries and sanity, it pays to keep things consistent.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T // No book is ever going to please everyone in your group, so be prepared for a range of conﬂicting opinions. But remember: if someone disagrees with you, it’s not personal – in fact, it makes for a more interesting discussion! – so try not to ﬁght back, all guns blazing. It’s good to be challenged and to challenge your friends, so consider choosing divisive books that raise ethical questions, like The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas, My Friend Dahmer by Derf Backderf, or Christos Tsiolkas’ The Slap. Just make sure your book club stays fun and respectful at all times.

FIND YOUR NICHE // When it comes to the direction of your book club, you have two options: change gears every meeting, or lock in a bit of a theme. Maybe you want to focus primarily on Australian literature, graphic novels or books that have been adapted into movies – chat amongst yourselves to ﬁgure out your common interests. But don’t feel like you’re limited to just one book per meet-up – it’s also fun to discuss what each person’s individually reading.

KEEP THE CONVERSATION GOING // Between ofﬁcial meetings, there’s no reason not to keep in touch. Create a club Facebook group for sharing thoughts on novels you’re currently devouring, suggesting titles to others, or simply appreciating the hot bartender at your last catch-up. Book clubs aren’t just about, well, books – they’re also for forming friendships over nerdy shared interests, so make the most of those new (and old) connections.

BE DIVERSE // Even if you’ve settled on an overarching focus, there’s plenty of room to keep things interesting. Switch between ﬁction, non-ﬁction, memoirs, young adult, classics and new

100

look what i made

fauxsaics DESIGNER NICK MISANI CREATES TILED ARTWORKS WITH A DIFFERENCE.

It all started with some childhood doodling. While most of us were busy sketching wonky bubble letters and those pointy ‘Stussy S’s in our school diaries, Nick Misani went for something a bit zhuzhier. “My mum still has letters I wrote when I was little that are full of drop caps, fancy borders and unrestrained use of curls,” the Milan native says. That fascination with ornamental lettering never went away and, many years later, Nick found himself working alongside renowned Italian-American typographer Louise Fili in New York. Under her expert tutelage, Nick honed his strokes, swashes and knowledge of historical typefaces, including tiled mosaics – then he stumbled across an Instagram competition asking entrants to “letter where they live”. “I created the first ‘fauxsaic’ – a digital, typographic mosaic – on a whim, though the technique had been developing naturally for months without me realising,” Nick explains. “Working with Louise Fili, I had the pleasure of looking at photographs of gorgeous mosaics every day. I spent many hours digitally restoring them and often had to recreate missing or obscured areas.” Mosaics were the perfect convergence of his three main fields of interest – typography, interior design and decorative arts – so Nick took his competition entry and ran with it. Four months and 16 illustrations in, Nick believes he’s digitally placed around a quarter of a million tiles in his travel-inspired Fauxsaic series. Each piece is constructed online using programs like Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop – but, similar to traditional mosaics, he uses techniques like digital ‘grouting’ and individual tile colouring to give them a realistic feel. “They each have to be created with a sensitivity to the methodology used to cut tiles in real life,” he says. “For example, smooth curved lines are difficult to create when cutting stone, so most tiles in real mosaics have squared-off sides, even if they form a curve.” The painstaking accuracy of his work makes the process a slow one, with a fauxsaic taking anywhere between 12 and 24-plus hours to design. Each place name in the series represents somewhere Nick has personally visited, as he prefers to imbue his pieces with the vibe of the city. The San Diego illustration is bright, bold and features cactus flowers in the background, for instance – meanwhile, the Boston mosaic sticks to a classic black and white palette, which Nick sees as being more appropriate for the historic city. Asked if he would ever attempt a real-life, handmade mosaic, Nick remains hopeful, if a little overwhelmed. “I love the physicality of the process and the permanence of the outcome, and I’m so familiar with the different tiling patterns at this point that I’m dying to jump in and do it for real. That said, I’m intimidated by how laborious, costly and time-intensive mosaics are. My fauxsaics take a long time to make, but that’s nothing compared to the real deal.”

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NEW STALLHOLDERS COME AND JOIN US!

Are you an artist, crafter, flower and plant grower, boutique wine or beer producer, or artisan food maker?

Join us at the Esplanade Market, Melbourne’s only makers’ market by the sea, on every Sunday. We pride ourselves on being one of the original “Australian local makers’ markets” with a 47-year trading history. Bookings are casual or long-term. We’d love to see you. Apply online via our website stkildaesplanademarket.com.au. Email esplanademarket@portphillip.vic.gov.au for more info.

good morning, sunshine

nd di a e s

if breakfast is the most important meal of the day, why not choose your food based on your morning mood? WORDS AND RECIPES LUCY CORRY PHOTOGRAPHS BRI HAMMOND STYLING AIMEE CARRUTHERS AND SOPHIE KALAGAS FOOD PREPARATION CASSANDRA MORRIS, FIGANDSALT.COM STYLING ASSISTANT CAMILLA WALKER

105

good morning, sunshine

i’m feeling… hungover CHILLI AND CUMIN FRIED EGGS *

OK, you probably shouldn’t have had that last drink (or the three before that), but you did. There’s no time for the self-blame game – only a breakfast that will quell your throbbing headache and soothe your tormented tummy. Try these chilli and cumin fried eggs with a very strong coffee and a nap.

INGREDIENTS 2 tsp extra virgin olive oil 1/2 tsp whole cumin seeds 1/2 tsp dried chilli ﬂakes 2 eggs, at room temperature salt and pepper toast or pita bread, to serve

HOW TO Set a small frying pan over medium heat. Add the olive oil, followed by the cumin seeds and chilli. Cook for about 30 seconds, then gently crack in the eggs. Tip the pan so you can scoop up a little bit of the hot oil and spoon this over the top of the eggs, then cover with a lid and cook for three minutes. Remove the lid – the whites should be set and crispy around the edges and the yolks just starting to set. Take the pan off the heat and carefully slide the eggs onto a waiting plate. If you like your yolks hard (no judgment, it takes all kinds), cover the pan and keep cooking the eggs for another three to ﬁve minutes. Sprinkle over lots of salt and pepper and eat with lavishly buttered hot toast.

Makes a hangover-beating breakfast for one.

107

good morning, sunshine

i’m feeling… rushed SPEEDY CRANBERRY BREAKFAST BARS *

In an ideal world, we’d all have time to sit and ponder the issues of the day over a balanced and nutritious breakfast. Back in reality, though, these grab-and-go breakfast bars are great for throwing in your bag on the way out the door. (The best bit? You can whip them up in minutes the night before.)

INGREDIENTS 150g butter 4 tbsp golden syrup (or honey) 1 tsp pure vanilla extract 1 tsp ground cinnamon 1/4 tsp salt ﬁnely grated zest of two oranges 2/3 cup milk 1 1/2 cups rolled oats (the sort you use for porridge) 1 1/2 cups desiccated coconut 1 1/2 cups dried cranberries 1 generous cup pumpkin seeds 100g white or dark chocolate (optional)

HOW TO Line a 27x17cm baking dish with baking or greaseproof paper, leaving some overhanging the sides. Put the butter and golden syrup in a large pot and melt gently over medium heat. Remove from the heat and add the vanilla, cinnamon, salt and orange zest. Stir briskly and add all the remaining ingredients except the chocolate. Mix well and tip into the prepared baking dish. Press the mixture into the tin using your (clean!) hands, or a glass, to make a smooth, even layer that’s about 2.5cm thick. Pop the dish in the fridge to set for at least 30 minutes, then cut into bars. If you’d like to fancy it up a bit, you can add a Jackson Pollock-esque splatter of chocolate on top before putting it in the fridge to set. To do this, melt the chocolate over very low heat, then drizzle as artistically as you can using a teaspoon or piping bag.

Makes 20 large breakfast bars.

109

good morning, sunshine

i’m feeling… smug PAN-FRIED HALLOUMI WITH BABY KALE, HERITAGE TOMATOES AND HERBS *

Feeling fresh as a daisy, full of self love, and can’t stand the thought of shovelling greasy food in your precious gob? Start the day with this plate of nourishing greens – with a little bit of extra colour thrown in. (Just remember: you don’t have to photograph your meal before eating.)

INGREDIENTS 1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil 100g halloumi, cut into thick slices 1 small clove garlic, peeled and sliced 3 spring onions, ﬁnely sliced 3 handfuls baby kale, washed and squeezed dry 1 cup small tomatoes a handful of fresh herbs, roughly chopped (mint, coriander and basil are all good)

HOW TO Heat the oil in a large, heavy frying pan. Add the halloumi and cook on both sides, until golden (about two minutes each side). Remove from the pan and set aside. Add the garlic, spring onions and kale to the pan and stir-fry for two minutes, then add the tomatoes and cook for another three minutes. Return the halloumi to the pan to heat through, then tumble everything out onto a waiting plate. (Feel free to arrange it artfully if you’re feeling especially smug.) Scatter over the herbs and serve immediately.

Makes a generous breakfast for one very hungry person.

111

good morning, sunshine

i’m feeling… cosy FANCYPANTS PORRIDGE *

Porridge is basically the culinary equivalent of a cuddle, especially when you add a dash of liquor or some lush tropical fruit. So, go ahead – grab a blanket and warm the cockles of your heart with these two scrummy oat recipes. (If you’d like to lessen the alcoholic impact, add the whisky and water together.)

PLUM AND COCONUT

WHISKY AND MARMALADE

INGREDIENTS

2 tinned plums, stones removed (about 1/4 cup fruit),

1/3 cup rolled oats

plus one for garnishing [note: if you can’t ﬁnd tinned

a tiny pinch of salt

plums, try this with cherries]

1 cup water (or milk, for a creamier porridge)

1/4 cup rolled oats

1 generous tbsp orange or ginger marmalade,

1 tbsp desiccated coconut

plus a tsp more for garnishing

a tiny pinch of salt

2 tbsp whisky

1/2 cup water

2 tbsp cream

2 tbsp coconut cream or yoghurt

HOW TO HOW TO

Put the rolled oats, salt and water in a small pot. Set over

Put the plums, rolled oats, coconut and salt in a small pot.

medium heat and cook, stirring often, for ﬁve minutes

Mash together until smoothish, then add the water.

until the porridge is thick and ‘ploppy’.

Set over medium heat and cook, stirring often, for ﬁve

Stir through the marmalade and whisky and cook for

minutes until the porridge is thick and ‘ploppy’.

another minute, then scoop into a bowl.

Scoop into a bowl, then top with the coconut cream and

Drizzle with cream and spoon a little extra marmalade

extra plum to serve.

on top, too. Serve immediately.

Both recipes make posh porridge for one.

113

good morning, sunshine

i’m feeling… leisurely LAIDBACK BREAKFAST PLATTER *

It’s important to wave goodbye to the daily grind once in a while and treat yourself to a leisurely graze. That’s where the breakfast platter comes in, with a pick ‘n’ mix of delights from the nearest deli – add these simple recipes and you have your own personal buffet.

SMOKED SALMON AND DILL CREAM CHEESE

PINK PICKLED ONIONS AND RADISHES

INGREDIENTS

125g cream cheese, at room temperature

1 1/2 tsp salt

zest of a lemon, plus its juice

1 1/2 tsp caster sugar

1/4-1 tsp hot sauce

3/4 cup red wine vinegar

125g hot smoked salmon

2 tsp capers

2 tsp dill, ﬁnely chopped

1 medium red onion, ﬁnely sliced

salt and pepper

3 medium radishes, ﬁnely sliced

HOW TO

Put the cream cheese, lemon zest and 1/4 teaspoon

Put the salt, sugar and vinegar in a small pot and stir

of hot sauce in a small bowl, then beat with a fork until

until the salt and sugar have dissolved. Heat until nearly

smooth. Taste it for hotness, and add a little more hot

boiling, then remove from the stove and add the capers,

sauce if needed (there should be a hint of spice,

onion and radishes.

not a full-on tongue assault).

Transfer to a bowl or jar and let steep for at least 20

Flake in the hot smoked salmon and dill. Fold it

minutes before using. If you’re making these in advance,

into the cream cheese, adding a little lemon

cover and store in the fridge.

juice if it seems a bit stiff.

Makes about two cups of pink pickles.

Season to taste with salt and freshly cracked black pepper. Cover and store in the fridge until ready to serve.

Makes more than enough to lavishly spread on a couple of bagels.

115

good morning, sunshine

i’m feeling… frisky SEXY FRENCH TOAST-STYLE CROISSANTS *

Hot tip: if there’s a chance you may ﬁnd yourself with a special overnight visitor, stash a few croissants in the pantry the night before. Turns out French toast is even sweeter (and more Gallic) when bread is replaced by a crescent pastry – and drowning it in berries and chocolate doesn’t hurt, either. Oh là là!

INGREDIENTS 2 eggs 1/4 cup milk ﬁnely grated zest of one orange 4 croissants 2 tbsp butter 2 tbsp neutral-tasting oil 2 cups sliced strawberries 75-100g dark chocolate, roughly chopped 2 tsp icing sugar

HOW TO Turn the oven to 50°C, then put the eggs, milk and orange zest in a large, shallow bowl. Whisk to combine – you don’t want any streaky bits. Slice the croissants in half horizontally (as if you were cutting them open to make a sandwich). Dip four croissant halves in the egg mixture at a time, letting them soak it right up. Set a large, heavy frying pan over medium heat and add the butter and oil. When it foams, pop in the croissant halves and fry gently for about three minutes on each side. Once they’re done, remove from the pan and let them drain on some crumpled paper towels. Pop them in the oven to keep warm while you dip and cook the next batch (you may need a little extra butter and oil). When all the croissants are cooked, grab two plates. Put two croissant bottoms on each plate and scatter over the strawberries and chocolate. Place the croissant tops back on and dust lightly with icing sugar. Serve immediately, with a glass of pink ﬁzz or some strong coffee.

Makes a generous breakfast for two (or more, depending on your appetite!)

117

good morning, sunshine

i’m feeling… broke CHEAP AND CHEERFUL SMASHED PEA CROSTINI *

If avocado on toast is likely to send you bankrupt, why not give this smashed pea crostini a whirl instead? It’s easy to whip up from random bits in your fridge, isn’t governed by the seasons, and can be made in a pinch.

INGREDIENTS 2 tsp butter or olive oil 1 small clove garlic, peeled and sliced 1 cup frozen peas 1 tbsp water 2 slices stale bread (preferably baguette, pita, or wholegrain toast) salt and pepper 1 tbsp fresh mint, ﬁnely chopped

HOW TO Melt one teaspoon of butter or olive oil in a small pot set over a medium heat. Add the garlic, followed by the peas and water. Crush the peas with a potato masher or a fork as they cook, until you have a rough purée (this will take about three minutes). While the peas are cooking, toast the bread and spread with the remaining butter or olive oil. Arrange the toast on a plate and pile the crushed peas on top, allowing for a bit of artistic scattering. Season well with salt and pepper, sprinkle some mint for extra fanciness, and serve.

Makes breakfast for one (or two, if you’re really skint).

119

good morning, sunshine

i’m feeling… fancy LA-DI-DA PEACH MELBA PARFAIT *

Celebrate the one you love most (that’s you, silly) with this super-pretty take on the classic Peach Melba. Best consumed with an antique teaspoon and pinky in the air.

INGREDIENTS 1 ripe, luscious peach (or two tinned peach halves), peeled and chopped 1/2 cup raspberries (fresh or frozen) 3 tbsp roasted almonds, roughly chopped 1/2 cup full-fat Greek or coconut yoghurt store-bought sponge ﬁngers (optional)

HOW TO Take a large parfait or wine glass. Put about a third of the peach and raspberries in the bottom and sprinkle over some of the nuts. Top with a generous spoonful of yoghurt. Repeat these layers until you reach the top of the glass, then ﬁnish with the remaining fruit and nuts. Serve immediately, or cover and store in the fridge for up to eight hours. (For a super-fancy touch, pop a couple of sponge ﬁngers on top as a garnish.)

Makes one posh breakfast parfait.

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our project

the cofﬁn club across new zealand, rebellious seniors gather each week to make their own caskets, eat cake and laugh death in the face. WORDS SUZI TAYLOR

Raewynne Latemore knows who she wants to be buried with. She’s stuck a giant Elvis poster to the inside lid of her cofﬁn so “he can be lying on me for all eternity”. Pearl, on the other hand, has a thing for poultry. She’s decorated her casket with pictures of chickens, and wants egg sandwiches to be served at her wake. Then there’s Robyn, who has sealed into the lining of her cofﬁn every single love letter shared between her late husband and herself.

of laughter and conversation. Between tape measures, nails and paint pots, you’ll find giant kettles of tea and plates laden with lamingtons, scones and chocolate biscuits. Visiting Katie and the coffin club members of Rotorua earlier this year, Briar discovered the get-togethers are about a lot more than preparing for your own farewell party. They are a way for people to connect with others in the community, and confront their own mortality with both a sense of humour and a sense of control. “The DIY coffin movement is a bit like the birthing movement of the ’70s,” she says. “There was a time when people started to wake up to the idea that women are entitled to have control over their birth. Before that, everyone just assumed that you go to hospital and get told what to do, and people came away traumatised by that. Now, we’re seeing a similar movement of empowerment around death.”

When filmmaker Briar March first came across a news article about the New Zealand-based ‘coffin club’, she knew instantly she was onto something interesting. “When I’m looking for a film idea, I tend to look for things that pop out at me: strong, universal metaphors and visual motifs that are symbolic in some way,” she says. “So a coffin – it’s loaded with so much. And then the idea of people getting together every week to make their own coffins, I just thought – man, that’s a story!” The coffin club was the brainchild of Katie Williams, who, having worked as both a midwife and a palliative care nurse, knew a thing or two about living and dying. Katie felt that funerals were too often bland and impersonal affairs, and wondered whether sending people six feet under in caskets they’d built and decorated themselves would make the whole occasion a lot more fun. So, she got a few elderly fellas together and they had a crack at making their own coffins, working out of a corner in Katie’s garage.

Briar found the vitality, humour and irreverence of the cofﬁn club members utterly infectious. This was bold, unchartered story terrain, she realised, and a conventional documentary just wasn’t going to cut it. “So I decided to tell the story as a musical!” she laughs. Hybrid ﬁlmmaking approaches like docu-drama had long fascinated Briar. “Collaborating with the ‘social actor’ and getting them to perform in their own way about their situation can really add another level to someone’s story,” she says. “To me, the genremixing made sense – you’re blending that joyous, celebratory quality of a musical with something that is considered dark or taboo.”

That was almost 10 years ago. The Rotorua cofﬁn club has since expanded to the local hall, and has 60 active members. The idea spread, and similar clubs began to spring up in towns all over New Zealand. Now, every week, seniors get together in halls and community centres to literally prepare to die. Amidst the hammering and sawing, you’ll hear music blaring and a buzz

The short, created as part of Kiwi filmmaking initiative Loading Docs, opens inside a run-of-the-mill funeral parlour, before the silver-haired attendees burst into song and dance, popping out of caskets and singing to the camera. There’s bright red lipstick, sequinned costumes, bowler hats and spirit fingers. We meet Raewynne with her Elvis coffin, and Pearl with her chicken design.

122

our project Photo Mark Lapwood

The lyrics celebrate the ethos of the coffin club, but pull no punches when it comes to the funeral industry and “the price of a stupid wooden box”. It’s joyful, defiant and surprisingly moving, perhaps because our cultural aversion to embracing death, and our propensity to compartmentalise deep-seated emotions, mean that we struggle to hold big, conflicting feelings in a single moment – the “long, deep sob of that mysterious, wondrous happiness that is one with pain”, as Victorian novelist George Elliot puts it.

I was afraid to really do before. Some of the fear was taken away.” She recounts meeting a feisty centenarian called Ynys who still lived independently at home. “Honestly, to this day, I’ve never met anyone quite like her,” Briar smiles. “She was very frail, but she encouraged me to interview her in her bed, and the whole time she was laughing, saying, ‘I love life so much!’ She’d give me all these titbits of wisdom about life and how wonderful it was. I guess, when you’re that age, you reach an understanding of what really matters.”

So, how exactly did Briar turn a story about death preparation into an all-singing, all-dancing, razzle-dazzle musical? She admits that at the outset, she had no idea how she was going to tackle it. Despite being an experienced, award-winning documentary ﬁlmmaker, Briar had never made a comedy, nor a musical, before. So she started out as she usually would: researching, recording interviews to camera, transcribing. It was heavy-going, with page after page of transcripts and only three minutes of screen time all up.

Briar was also struck by the importance of connecting with others and giving back to your community, no matter your age. “I realised how much this club transforms people’s lives,” she says. “When you’re an active member, you turn up once a week; you make your own coffin; you build relationships with other people and visit them when they’re sick. But then people keep coming back, and they make coffins for families who can’t afford them.” In a low socio-economic area like Rotorua, there’s high demand for affordable caskets. The average box costs around $2000; the coffin club makes them for $350. They also make and donate baby coffins to the local hospital.

“I realised I was overcomplicating things,” she says. “In the end, the key themes came through: that the club was about community, and that death and dying could be a celebratory thing.” So, the lyricist got busy, the song was written, and then came showtime. “I’d never had an experience like that before,” Briar says. “We were asking people to learn new skills like singing and dancing, and at some points it was actually scary, because I was worried about their wellbeing. We ended up ﬁlming long, 12-hour days in a very cold warehouse space, and some of these people are quite elderly.” But, as it turned out, they threw themselves in, learning lyrics and dance steps with gusto.

Briar is familiar with the ethically messy terrain of factual storytelling. Of recording and reconstructing stories entrusted to you – handling them with care, weaving them together in a way that holds truth, but also resonates. And she knew at the outset of this project that asking people to step so far out of their comfort zones was going to be a challenge. “I’ve made lots of ﬁlms, and I’ve been in situations where you do feel like you’re taking a lot from people,” she says. “But with this ﬁlm, it was very different. I felt like, even though we were asking them to do a lot – learning dance routines and songs – that experience really gave them something. It was amazing.”

For Briar, making the ﬁlm was a profound experience. “It made me think about my own death, and that of my parents, in a way that

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nine to five Photo Savannah van der Niet

on the job

In high school, all I wanted was to be a forensic scientist, so I studied chemistry and science. After working in chemistry for a few years, I realised it wasn’t for me. I started volunteering with museums and the National Trust, because I’d always been interested in history and heritage. I absolutely loved that, so I went back and did a part-time graduate diploma in applied history, then found work with the Queensland Government and Queensland Rail in their heritage units. Eventually, I left to work for myself and focus on historical research. It’s funny that the detective work I loved from forensics is exactly what I’m doing now, but it’s much more pleasant. The people I’m dealing with have been dead a lot longer!

MARIANNE TAYLOR IS A HOUSE DETECTIVE. Interview Sophie Kalagas

Technically, my job title is ‘architectural historian’. Clients come to me wanting to know more about the history of their house – when it was built, previous owners, how it might have changed over time, and the families that lived there. It’s usually people who’ve recently bought a house, but I also have clients who’ve lived in one for years and are curious, or they want to make changes, but do it in a way that’s sympathetic to its history.

I often get asked if any of the houses I’ve been in are haunted. One lady had some paranormal investigators out to see if they could sense any spirits, and they apparently detected an old guy named Jack who died in the kitchen. She got in touch with me to see if the historical research backed up what they’d found. It turned out there was a Jack who owned the house, and he did die suddenly, but he’d moved by that time. Plus, Jack was a very common name back then.

I set up my business, The House Detective, about six years ago. On a day-to-day basis, I visit archives, libraries, search online and chase up previous house owners, trying to ﬁnd as much information as I can. I search through records that might be relevant, and look over historical certiﬁcates of title for the property. The majority of my time is spent looking at online newspapers, as well as sites like ancestry.com, putting together family trees. I’m glad I didn’t do this 20 years ago – so much more is online now!

To be a house detective, you need to be very curious. You also need to be a bit pedantic, in that you can never take a fact at face value – you have to cross-check everything and double-check dates and ﬁgures. You need to be passionate, not only about architectural history, but social history, too – what families were like, how things worked, and how lifestyles affected the designs of the houses, depending on the era. Sharing the history of these houses highlights the importance of keeping them – that’s the most satisfying thing. You see an old house, and someone will be like, “Oh, that’s a tumbling down wreck, let’s demolish it.” But when you tell them the story of who lived there and all the incredible features inside, it helps build appreciation. The funny thing is, I’ve never researched my own house. It’s a typical case of the cobbler’s children having no shoes. I’ve got all the documentation, I’ve just never gotten around to doing it.

Generally, the fancier the house and more wealthy the residents that lived there, the easier it is to find information, because they showed up in the papers a lot. They tended to be more prominent figures, so there’ll be photos of them and often of their house, too. When it’s more of a budget house – say, an old worker’s cottage – often it can be quite difficult to find out about the people who lived there, because they didn’t show up on land ownership records. Sometimes you hit the jackpot and there’s an amazing photo or architectural plan or something. That’s why I love it – I never know what I’m going to find!

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Summer in Australia is the season for unexpected guests and long, lazy lunches outside. It is the perfect time to slow down, indulge your creativity and bake something marvelous for your friends and family to devour. This six tiered vanilla cake with vanilla buttercream icing is set to top off any table spread and impress all of your guests this summer. Our Special Purpose Cake, Sponge & Steamed Bun flour is exactly what you need to ensure expert results. And, as an early gift from us here at Lighthouse Baking, we have put together a recipe eBook, full of our favourite seasonal recipes, free for you to download off our website. It is the perfect thing for Christmas entertaining inspiration. For this incredible cake recipe, baking advice and your free eBook, visit our website;

[ gift guide ]

JERICHO ROAD CLOTHING Ever seen kids’ clothes and wished they came in adult sizes? Well, that’s exactly what we make: quirky, colourful pieces with fun prints to make you feel fabulous. All our clothing is designed in Brisbane and ethically manufactured. jerichoroadclothing.com.au

ALEXIS, ECLECTIC A slow fashion label based in rural New South Wales. We play with standard ofﬁce wear, like the button-up blouse and tailored pants, adding bold prints and bright colours. We also have a range of printed silk scarves. alexiseclectic.com

FLAT+FITTED Melbourne-made bed linen that feels just like the snuggly sheets you get in a five-star hotel. Our sets are simple and affordable, plus our Scandi-inspired designs are timeless, so they’ll fit right in with your existing bedding. flatandfitted.net.au

LITTLE MATTERS An online designer ﬂorist creating affordable, luxury collections and gifts using Aussie blooms and fresh farm produce. We’re famous for our signature apple bouquet – come to us for custom gifts, weddings, corporate orders and more. littlematters.com.au

FROCK ME OUT We design gorgeous, often vintage-inspired prints, then turn them into dresses, tops, jumpsuits, kimonos, skirts and (very soon) bathers. Our clothes ﬂatter lots of body shapes and are ethically made from natural fabrics. www.frockmeout.com.au

DARLING PAPER CO. Totally charming stationery and desk supplies, including journals, notebooks, desk planners and other bits and bobs, like washi tape and paper clips. Our paper products are handillustrated and printed ethically in Adelaide. darlingpaperco.com.au

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PANGEA MAPS We make 3D wooden contour maps inspired by nautical charts. In fact, we can create maps of almost any waterscape, including lakes, rivers, islands and coastlines – even one-off pieces that are meaningful to you. pangeamaps.com

L’ASCARI Small-batch beard balms and solid colognes for him; perfumes for her; and unisex roll-on fragrances. We also sell organic skincare goods, pampering products, candles and aroma reed diffusers for your abode. lascari.com.au

ARTISANS.GLOBAL An eclectic online space run by a Japanese/Australian husband-and-wife team, showcasing goods from artists, designers and craftspeople. You’ll ﬁnd fashion, homewares, art, and plenty of gift ideas in our collection. artisans.global

FRESH SOCK CO Fancy receiving a fresh pair of socks every month? We’re a sock subscription service, posting out socks that are designed to show a little ﬂair down there – no more boring black footwarmers! Oh, and we do gift subscriptions, too. freshsockco.com

KORE BAGS Our simple-but-classy pouches and purses are handmade from the softest natural milled leather, and dyed to match the colours of the season, making them the ideal accessory for holding your mobile, cash, cards and sunnies. korebags.com.au

SPARKKE A progressive, female-run alcohol company making delicious craft brews and wine. We proudly emblazon our cans with messages that ignite conversations around issues like gender equality, sexual consent and climate change. sparkke.com

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AACUTE We’re a team of three very close sisters whipping up delicioussmelling and distinct candles, alongside jewellery that’s full of whim and fancy. Mass market doesn’t inspire us – people in our community do. aacute.com.au

PAPER PLANE A constantly evolving New Zealand-based store selling unique products from artisans, designers and makers to the world. Our range includes ceramics, leather goods, traditionally made knives and more. paperplanestore.com

WILLOWYNN Designed in northern New South Wales by a soft sculpture artist, we sell sewing patterns for making soft toys, fabric creatures and art dolls. Our patterns are easy to follow, full of handy tips and available to download. willowynn.com

PUDUNKART Pudunkart is all about affordable art prints, graphic design services and jewellery (mostly statement earrings) made by me, Katie. My style is quirky and fun, inspired by the Memphis Group, pastels and nostalgia. pudunkart.co.nz

KOLLAB We sell everyday organisational essentials that are beautiful, functional and, most importantly, affordable. They give run-ofthe-mill shopping bags, lunch boxes and coolers a fresh injection of individuality and style. kollab.com.au

NATASHA GARDOS I’m an illustrator working with watercolour to create delicate, muted portraits and scenery. As well as commissioned originals, I sell a variety of products printed with my artwork, like buttons, postcards, giclee prints and pouches. natashagardos.com

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FEMKE TEXTILES Handmade and hand-printed textiles featuring Australian botanicals for you, your home or your bicycle. Every design starts as a hand-drawn sketch, inspired by bike rides around the streets of Melbourne. femketextiles.bigcartel.com

NORDIK Beautifully crafted and environmentally friendly handbags and purses made from Icelandic salmon leather and Italian cowhide. The Nordik look is Scandinavian minimalist, inﬂuenced by our designer’s Icelandic heritage. nordik.co.nz

SILVER STORK We curate bespoke care packages for new mums, mums-tobe and their babies. Every package is personalised, ﬁlled with quality, useful goodies, and is also a bit exclusive – a treat for time-poor mothers and mums in remote locations. silverstork.com.au

RUBY RED STAR HOMEWARES We sell creative, stylish homewares from Australian designers and makers, all of whom have an environmentally friendly product ethos. Visit our online store for art, prints, candles, pots, planters, tableware, rugs, gifts and more. rubyredstar.com.au

OLI & GUS Clothing for young, active lads, created by two busy mums (who are also great friends). We’ve introduced a women’s range as well, giving all the hot mamas out there a bright, quirky alternative to everyday fashion. oliandgus.co.nz

THE LITTLE GIFTER CO. An ever-expanding range of wholesome goodies to nourish your body, mind and soul – from bath and body products to soy candles and aromatherapy perfume oil blends. We’re based in Perth and stocked Australia-wide. thelittlegifter.com.au

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KUMO Kumo is a women’s clothing label inspired by modern Japanese aesthetics. Our collections feature whimsical Japanese prints and versatile, ﬂattering silhouettes. All pieces are designed and made in Melbourne. kumoclothing.com.au

PETITE GREEN Our terrariums are living art. Each one contains a delicate balance of rocks, soil, moss, plants and ﬁgures to form a tiny landscape resembling nature. We also take pride in sharing the joy of greenery, running regular workshops. petitegreen.com.au

ANNIE ZORZO ACCESSORIES Leather and fabric handbags and accessories, wholly designed and made in our studio on the outskirts of Lismore, New South Wales. Our range is super-colourful, eclectic and has loads of personality. We also do custom orders! anniezorzo.com

STUDIO ONETHIRTY Bespoke textiles, handcrafted furniture, cushions and lighting, dreamed up in our Sydney studio. Our range is made in Australia and inﬂuenced by the natural landscape – all textiles are based on hand-drawn designs. studioonethirty.com

BUTTERBING COOKIE SANDWICHES Our brownie cookie sandwiches come in heaps of delicious ﬂavours, including peanut butter, salted caramel and honeycomb. We also make giant cookie sandwiches all stacked up for weddings and special occasions. butterbing.com.au

SURF COLLECTIVE We’re an online store bringing together awesome stuff from over 70 small, independent Australian surf brands: fashion, swimwear, surf-inspired jewellery, sunglasses, surf hardware, art and loads more. surfcollective.com.au

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PYJAMA PROTOCOL A range of Melbourne-made men’s and women’s PJs, including long pants, tops, shorts, singlets and cute nighties in a variety of unique prints. Our ladies’ nighties and singlets have built-in shelf bras to give a little support. pyjamaprotocol.com

KANDILA COMPANY A Melbourne-based candle company giving back to the community – 50 per cent of our proﬁts go towards providing education to kids in developing nations. All our candles are lovingly handcrafted from GMM-free soy wax. kandilacompany.com

TOJI SAKE Super-premium junmai daiginjo sake, handcrafted in Melbourne. -ji (brewmaster) selects the ﬁnest ingredients: rice from Our To the world-renowned Niigata Prefecture and water direct from the Asahi mountain ranges. tojisake.com.au

PETE CROMER Pop past my online store and you’ll ﬁnd vibrant artworks inspired by Australian fauna and positive vibes. They come in the form of limited edition prints, collaged artworks, greeting cards, resin budgerigars, enamel pins and more. petecromer.com

PEACOCKS AND PAISLEYS Designed in Australia and printed by artisans in India, we sell printed bed and table linen, as well as upcycled rugs and kaftans. Our pieces are ideal for folks who appreciate products with a soulful story. peacocksandpaisleys.com.au

OLIVIA&CO. Minimalist monogrammed leather goods, from pouches and bags to wallets and cardholders – even dog collars! We do super-fast shipping from our Sydney studio and our products are really affordable, too. oliviaco.com.au

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WHITE NOVEMBER Jewellery inspired by all things celestial and light, including earrings, necklaces, brooches, rings and more. Our pieces are handmade using recycled precious metals and ethically sourced local materials. whitenovember.com.au

LEKKEL & CO Run by a husband-and-wife team in Gippsland, we sell outdoor lifestyle gear – ﬂoor cushions, totes, beach clutches and picnic caddies – all made from super-durable fabrics that’ll live through all sorts of weather conditions. lekkelandco.com.au

JESSIE PITTARD Delightful, functional ceramics – from small bowls and mugs to large serving platters – designed to be used and enjoyed every day. I have a special range for kids, plus one-off sculptural pieces, jewellery and limited edition prints. jessiepittard.com

DRØMME Artisanal and modern handcrafted textiles, all lovingly made using age-old weaving and printing techniques out of north-western India. Think of us as your anti-boring home furnishings store. dromme.com.au

URBAN GREENS We sell themed grow kits, each containing ﬁve Aussie seed varieties, seedling pots, soil, plant markers and a recipe booklet. They make lovely sustainable gifts for foodies, cooks, gardeners, cocktail makers and health enthusiasts. urbangreens.com.au

IRIS PRACTICE Each of our magical and medicinal bath soaks has its own unique purpose, so you can pick the one that’s just right for you (or someone you love). All our products are responsibly sourced and ethically created. irispractice.com

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THE HUNTRESS & CO. Soy candles, reed diffusers, room sprays and incense – all inspired by the nostalgic feeling of adventure and the outdoors. I also handcraft one-of-a-kind dream catchers with locally sourced driftwood from the Gippsland region. thehuntressandco.com

FICTIONAL OBJECTS A small Australian design company making ethical, highquality textiles and bed linen. We do free shipping and have lots of communication with our customers, so everyone gets exactly what they’ll love. ﬁctionalobjects.com

THE TIMEKEEPER A mindful watch company making quality unisex timepieces and a social impact with every purchase. We donate 100 per cent of our proﬁts to positive mental wellbeing projects to support young folks in need. thetimekeeper.co

MIKASH SKINCARE Handcrafted skin and bath care products for adults, pregnant ladies and bubs. We make everything from scratch in Melbourne using the best organic ingredients. Custom products are available for speciﬁc skincare needs. mikashbaby.com

ELLIS A range of beautiful and unique resin jewellery and objects, each dyed, poured and ﬁnished by hand. Our moulds are very individual – some are created from textures and shapes found in op shops and vintage stores. ellisresin.com.au

HARRY & POP We sell contemporary kids’ swimwear, ethically made in Melbourne. Our designs are unisex and our premium fabric is UPF 50+, because harry & pop puts sun protection ﬁrst without compromising on style. harryandpop.com.au

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Illustration Cass Urquhart

learn something new

a pirate’s life for she INTRODUCING SOME OF HISTORY’S MOST INFAMOUS LADY BUCCANEERS. Words Mia Timpano

ANNE BONNY

at stealing a ship. She offered to lead the band of river pirates, and within days they’d stolen an even bigger ship. And thus, Sadie became a pirate herself. She sailed up and down the Hudson and Harlem Rivers, doing the odd bit of pillaging, farm-raiding and mansion-robbing. She made a few men walk the plank, too, adding ‘ritualised murder’ to the skills section of her CV. Although her pirate career only lasted a few months (she ﬁgured it was probably too dangerous when farmers started ﬁring back at them), she earned a second nickname: Queen of the Waterfront. She also made a truce with Gallus Mag, who gave her ear back. Sadie kept it in a locket and wore it till she died.

Anne was born in 1702, the lovechild of a servant lady and a lawyer who was cheating on his wife. Since word had gotten out that Anne’s dad had an illegitimate daughter, he dressed her as a boy and called her Andy. Legend tells of Anne getting mighty shitty at times: at 13, she allegedly stabbed a servant girl with a table knife, and bludgeoned a man who tried to rape her (which, to be honest, is quite OK). Not long after, she ditched the bloke to whom her father betrothed her, opting instead to marry a pirate by the name of James Bonny. For this, her father cut off all ties. Arm in arm with Jimmy, Anne moved to the Bahamas – a sanctuary for English pirates at the time – where she started hanging out at piratepacked watering holes. It was here that she hooked up with famous pirate Calico Jack, captain of the pirate ship Revenge. Following the birth of their baby boy, Anne divorced Jim and, along with her newfound pal Mary Read, stole a ship and successfully snagged a bunch of treasure in the Jamaica area. Anne fought alongside pirate dudes, and was noted for her prowess in combat. When they were eventually arrested and Jack was sentenced to death, her last words to him (apparently) were: “Had you fought like a man, you need not have been hanged like a dog.” Anne escaped execution, but no one knows how or what happened to her afterwards. She was 18. .

Here’s a lesson you can take from Madame Ching: when you marry a Chinese pirate captain, always make sure he agrees to share his power with you, and lets you fully participate in his piracy – otherwise, what’s the point? Ching was working as a prostitute when she married the pirate Cheng I, and together they pirated up a storm in the South China Sea. When Cheng died in 1807, Ching devoted herself to the family pirate business, which, by that point, comprised a crew of around 40,000 rufﬁans, aka the Red Flag Fleet. Her ﬁrst order of business was to set up a code of laws, which dictated that a) anyone giving orders that didn’t come from Ching herself would be beheaded; b) anyone disobeying a superior would be beheaded; c) pirates that took a wife had to be faithful; d) pirates that raped women would be killed; and e) if a pirate had consensual sex with a female captive, the pirate would be beheaded and the female would have cannonballs attached to her legs and be thrown into the sea. Under Ching’s rule, the Red Flag Fleet was unconquerable – until 1810, when the Portuguese Navy got the better of them at the Battle of the Tiger’s Mouth. Ching accepted the Chinese government’s offer of amnesty; called it a day with the water-based shenanigans; took her booty and opened a casino. She died at 69, at peace and with grandchildren.

Think your family life’s complicated? You’ve got nothing on Mary Read. Born in 1685, Mary was, like Anne, the result of a secret affair. Mary’s mum’s husband, a sailor, was lost at sea. Then their son died. So, her mum hatched a plan: dress Mary up like a boy, tell the in-laws she’s her dead half-brother, and continue receiving their ﬁnancial support. It worked. As for Mary, she never stopped dressing like a boy, even as an adult. She got a job on a ship, joined the British military, and proved herself to be a top soldier. When action died down, she hoofed it to the West Indies, but was taken by pirates en route. Thinking Mary a guy, the pirates forced her to join their ranks, and she eventually crossed paths with Anne Bonny and Calico Jack. The big historical controversy (at least, as far as the internet’s concerned) is whether or not Anne and Mary were ‘pirates with beneﬁts’. Apparently Mary – who went by the name of her deceased half-bro, Mark – only revealed to Anne that she was a woman after Anne put the moves on her. Then Jack cracked it, accusing them of having an affair. Anne told Jack he had nothing to stress over, because Mary was actually a girl – even though that obviously doesn’t rule out sexy times. Mary was captured along with Anne and Jack, and died from a violent fever while in prison. .

CHING SHIH

MARY READ

CHARLOTTE BADGER Considered by many to be Australia’s first female pirate, Charlotte Badger was born in England to impoverished parents, who she tried to support by stealing a few guineas and a silk handkerchief when she was 18. This indiscretion earned her seven years’ penal servitude in New South Wales. She wound up at the fucked-up-sounding Parramatta Female Factory (something in between a prison and a workhouse), where she gave birth to a baby girl. With her newborn in tow, she jumped aboard The Venus, a ship bound for Van Diemen’s Land – aka Tasmania – to carry out the remainder of her sentence as a servant. The ship’s captain, one Samuel Chase, enjoyed flogging women for his entertainment, which shat Charlotte and her fellow convict Catherine Hagerty. Together, they convinced the men to mutiny and seize the ship while the captain was ashore – Charlotte (apparently) got in on the action, dressing as a dude and getting her mitts on a pistol with which she flogged the captain right back. With a cargo of supplies intended for Hobart, the pirate crew detoured across the Tasman and jumped off at Rangihoua Bay in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand, where Charlotte’s co-conspirator, Catherine, soon died. Little is known of Charlotte thereafter, but it’s believed she integrated with the local Maori community. She was twice offered passage back to Sydney and refused, saying she would prefer to die surrounded by her Maori pals.

SADIE THE GOAT If you happened to be wandering around New York’s ‘bloody’ fourth ward in the latter half of the 19th century, you’d want to avoid a chinwag with local lass Sadie Farrell, aka Sadie the Goat. The odds were, once she had you close enough, she’d headbutt you in the stomach (hence the goat moniker), then rob you. She did get on people’s nerves doing this – Gallus Mags’ nerves, in particular. Gallus was a local female bouncer, who was known to drag unwanted patrons out of her venue by the ear… with her teeth. She also bit Sadie’s ear off in a ﬁght, and pickled it for safekeeping. In 1869, Sadie, an ear short, happened to be on the waterfront, observing the notorious Charlton Street Gang sucking

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rant Photo Sandra Lazzarini

the day, bro?” or, “Day off today?” or, “Fancy giving me your soul?” It’s in these situations that I ﬁnd it hard to ﬁgure out the appropriate ratio of politeness to acceptable detachment. Usually I’ll give a half-arsed smile and say something like, “I’m just having a browse, thank you.”

the courtesy burden DANIEL MOORE DOESN’T WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND.

It’s a line we’ve all wheeled out to make it clear to the salesperson looming over us that we’re happy to be left alone to shop in peace. But sometimes, no matter how hard you try or gracious you are, they won’t take the hint. And if you don’t return their seemingly impossible level of enthusiasm, well, you’re one gigantic A-hole, bro. I’m also confused as to why my rating on a certain car-ride service ﬂuctuates when I literally do the exact same thing on every journey. Beyond being ready and in the right place for pick-up, surely my only requirements are to be polite, say please and thank you, and not throw up anywhere? Surely my worth as a passenger isn’t reliant on my willingness to wafﬂe on about the driver’s obscure music genre of choice?

I was brought up to be polite. I was taught to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and to treat people with respect. And you know what? It’s served me pretty well. I get on with others, I make friends easily, and I’ve only ever been punched in the face once. But what I can’t get my courtesyconscious head around is when people demand I grace them with maximum friendliness in situations that might not otherwise expect it. Let me explain. If I’m walking down the street with my headphones on, happily howling along to some form of ’80s punk rock, and someone sporting a shit-eating grin and a clipboard extends their hand towards me, I will ignore them. Because I don’t know them. It’s kind of weird to be so overly friendly with strangers on the street, if you ask me. Plus, I don’t know where that hand has been. Heck, I don’t know where my hand has been!

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t mind a bit of friendly chit chat. Perhaps I’ll mention the weather, then, as a follow up, marvel at how it’s sometimes different. But that’s where a car ride conversation ends with me. So, am I a bad person? And why do I respond to affability with wariness? I think it comes down to this: I don’t trust people who are too nice. What are they hiding? What’s their motive? Not so much the naturally cheery chaps who go about their days with a merry spring in their step – they’re harmless and jolly and not trying their darndest to engage me in witty banter. It’s the people who seem faker than Trump’s all-over tan that really get my gears a-grinding.

So, my question is this: what is the appropriate level of courtesy one can offer during forced interactions, without seeming like a massive douche? Walking into a hip retail store staffed by ‘the youth’ terriﬁes me. I know as soon as I step inside I’m entering a vortex where everyone looks like Justin Bieber and is so happy they just have to dance and high ﬁve and say things like ‘bro’ and ‘fam’ and other awkward pleasantries. It’s like walking into a nightclub that’s been inconveniently cluttered with clothes and accessories.

When friendliness is used as a manipulation tactic, it’s icky. Being nice should be about respect and courtesy, not a way of getting people to sign your petition or exchange ﬁve-star ratings. And while we’re at it, to the Justin Bieber carbon copy trying to sell me a pair of jeans with more holes than an anti-climate change argument – just chill, bro.

I’m terriﬁed, because I know as soon as I make eye contact, I’m going to be bombarded with questions like, “What’s on for

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hands on

strike up the band six local creative types design merch for musical acts of yore. INTERVIEWS SOPHIE KALAGAS PHOTOGRAPHS NATALIE JEFFCOTT TEES FROM AS COLOUR

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hands on

ASHLEY RONNING X-RAY SPEX For this project, I’ve chosen the incredible 1970s English band X-Ray Spex. The group’s frontwoman, Poly Styrene, formed the band by placing an ad that said: YOUNG PUNX WHO WANT TO STICK IT TOGETHER. That explains it all, really. They made awesome, raucous, bratty punk music. High energy, lo-fi anthems of mass production and identity. They brought fun to a punk scene that was, at the time, overly masculine and destructive. I’ve known of X-Ray Spex for a while, but really got into them last year, as their debut album Germfree Adolescents has been in the high rotation section of my housemate’s record collection. I’ve spent a lot of time dancing around the lounge room to “Let’s Submerge”, and singing the title track, “Germfree Adolescents”, really loud: “Scrub away, scrub away, scrub away!” Their usual aesthetic for merch was to have a lot of high-contrast photo collages with day-glo text and accents. It’s such a strong visual image for that moment in punk. To update it, I went for an inky and bold illustrated look, keeping it fun and colourful. Day-glo colour was priority one! I listened to a lot of interviews with Poly Styrene while coming up with ideas, and she spoke a lot about her fascination with mass consumption and synthetic products. I decided to go with an obstacle course lab full of bubbling glassware, adding the five test tubes at the end of the line as a nod to the cover of Germfree Adolescents. I made the original design using pens, brush and ink, then took it to Photoshop for touch-ups. It was then screen-printed onto the tee and finished off with puff paint details, which made it pop! It was a great challenge to combine my style with the existing strong look of a band I love, but hopefully they’d be happy with it.

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CELESTE POTTER THE SHAGGS For a long time, I didn’t know who The Shaggs were. I’d rarely hear their music, but when I did, my mind was totally blown. Their songs were completely out of time, but made perfect sense to one another; the dissonant, chaotic, hacked-up sounds of three sisters who’d never listened to the radio before. It’s like they were following secret musical rules from another universe. I don’t think they made any merch – just one record with a photo of them on the front. It was a fairly standard, late-’60s cover. There isn’t anything very special about it. When coming up with my design, I thought about how they followed musical rules that nobody else knows or understands, and asked, “What if The Shaggs happened in the wrong universe? Maybe there was a glitch in time and space and they fell through one of the other inﬁnite universes into ours? Maybe they should have happened inside the belly of a giant orange cat?” So that’s what I drew. I design a lot of band shirts in Photoshop, so I did what I knew best. I have lots of special techniques, like using a giant collection of textures and brushes to make things look very natural and hand-drawn. I’m proud of the sunburst effect I made on the guitars with Photoshop brushes – I wanted to represent them very accurately, so I went to a lot of trouble to draw their instruments exactly as they appear in photographs. I don’t think the sisters ever wanted to be in a band – their dad forced them into it, and they gave it up soon after he passed away. So I don’t know that they’d be happy with this band tee. Also, I think they were Christians, so wouldn’t have believed in orange cat universes.

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EILEEN BRAYBROOK HOLE Hole’s ’90s classic Live Through This was one of the best albums of the decade, for sure. I was so inspired by Courtney Love when I discovered it in my early teens. It was angry, melodic, riot grrl rock, with riffy grunge guitars and unguarded vocals. I’ve always admired people who can be really vulnerable, yet still vocal and expressive at the same time – anger can be so empowering. Hole had awesome vintage merch with a great girly, Barbie-inspired band logo. I would have killed for it when I was 14! (Or like, now.) ‘Live through this’ is a really strong phrase that has multiple meanings. In my design, I’ve treated it as a message inwards, rather than a plea to someone or something else. It’s meant as an encouraging, hopeful statement in the way I’ve presented it, which is a bit different to how it’s used in the song lyrics. I’ve used an old double bed knitting machine to knit the phrase into the main panel. For the past few months, I’ve been playing around in my studio trying to knit words, so it was good to have a reason to get it right! I’m really happy you can see the letters – it did take a bit of trial and error; a few goes and some late nights. The wild, shaggy pile was done by hand afterwards using a latch hook tool for some added amethyst magic. I read that Courtney Love wrote the song “Violet” about an old boyfriend who she’d put a hex on, so it was ﬁtting, I think. Overall, the t-shirt came together in quite a pain-free way – I think choosing an album that meant a lot to me growing up made it easier.

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PATIENCE HODGSON THE BREEDERS I picked up an Amps single in 2001 for one dollar at an op shop, because I liked the cover. I played the heck out of it and caught all kinds of guff from my music-obsessed flatmates for playing “rubbish tunes”. A visitor pointed out that The Amps were Kim Deal from The Pixies’ side-side project – her main side project being The Breeders – so I set about getting some Breeders CDs. Then, holy shit: it was like nothing else. Songs driven by bass; cradled by sludgy guitars; incredible vocals. A band of females who looked like real females, not popstars. God, it was so inspiring. To be honest, though, I find their usual merch style pretty boring! It’s usually a screenprint of an album cover or band logo on a dark-coloured shirt. I’ve flipped that into something completely uncharacteristic of the band. Bright colours with glitter and tinsel to celebrate how much I love them. It’s a party – a baby shower, I guess! I was pregnant when I made the design, so I ran with that theme to celebrate everything that Kim and Kelly Deal never wanted to be: ‘breeders’, like the rest of the people in the town they grew up in. I couldn’t help myself. I think they’d hate it, but find it hilarious, too. I’m convinced they’re all such humble people that they’d find a way to appreciate the laudation. I questioned what I wanted to do over and over again. Choosing my favourite band of all time really set the bar high. In the end, it is mostly collage – I love the outrageous neck chain! So tacky, but its addition lifted the ‘ancient earth mother’ look of a wonderfully pregnant body into the here and now. (Also, the tinsel pubes.)

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SANDRA ETEROVIC THE TRIFFIDS I was too young (or too uncool) to have been into Perth band The Triffids when they brought out their albums in the late ’70s and early ’80s, but songs like “Bury Me Deep in Love” and “Wide Open Road” were somehow always there. Their style has been described as the missing link between Nick Cave and The Go-Betweens. Sadly, they disappeared with the ’80s, and I couldn’t find evidence of any merch on the ‘net, other than record covers in various indie styles. For my design, I’ve been heavy-handed with the symbolism. I partly chose the band because I was also a fan of The Day of the Triffids, the 1950s sci-fi book that inspired their name. I also like an excuse to paint something botanical, so there are band members being swallowed by carnivorous plants, a wide open road, and a subterranean heart that may refer to “Bury Me Deep in Love”. There’s also a jaunty gold vest that their guitarist David McComb wore, complete with signature bandana. My favourite detail, though, is the lost shoe sitting next to the heart. Funnily enough, for someone who used to design t-shirts for a living, I’ve never actually painted directly onto fabric before. I was really scared the paint would bleed in, stretch, and that the paint brush would snag. Working out a way to prevent that was the biggest challenge. Luckily, I’m a hoarder. I found some foam board in the perfect size, inserted it between the two layers of fabric, then pinned the t-shirt down. My one regret is that I didn’t refer to the wild flowers of the band’s home state of Western Australia – a native orchid would have made a fine triffid.

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ESTHER SANDLER KATE BUSH Kate Bush is one of my heroes. I love her unusual vocal melodies and the strange ideas she explores in her music. To me, her songs have the perfect ‘singability’ – slightly too high in key to manage without being very over-the-top and dramatic, and perfect for singing in the shower. I remember listening to Hounds of Love on repeat in my old bedroom when I was finishing up my fashion and textiles course. Picture me in a room with paper and fabric spread all over the floor, trying to motivate myself and using Kate Bush to keep me going! Researching for this project, I found some amazing photos of her wearing great ’80s tees, and they influenced my own design. I took inspiration from the theatrical and dramatic feel of Kate’s music, as well as her personal style and presence as a powerful woman, capturing this through a reference to her song “L’Amour Looks Something Like You”. My design shows a hand holding a mirror with the face of Kate Bush staring back in the reflection. I tried to channel a bold and graphic illustration style and a playful-yet-feminine colour palette. It was a bit of a challenge to work out how to transfer a design I’d created onto a tee. I ended up hand-painting the majority of it in black with fabric ink, then using flocking for the bright red and pink details. Flocking adds a velvety texture to areas with special glue, and provides not only a colour contrast, but also a tactile contrast that can be admired up close. I also added embellishment with some French knots around the outside of the frame. I’d like to think that 1980s Kate Bush would like this tee, and be keen to add it into her wardrobe rotation.

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the folks next door rowena grant-frost talks us through some famous on-screen neighbours.

MINNIE AND ROMAN CASTEVET IN ROSEMARY’S BABY

STEVE URKEL IN FAMILY MATTERS

It’s often said that New Yorkers don’t know their neighbours, even though they’re literally surrounded by them. But New Yorkers probably have extremely good reasons for ignoring the people next door – a neighbour might be a murderer (see Rear Window), or, in the case of Rosemary’s Baby, all your neighbours might be members of a coven of Satan worshippers who want to use your body as a vessel for the devil’s offspring. There’s an uncertainty throughout Rosemary’s Baby as to whether Rosemary’s suspicion of her neighbours – the eccentric Castevets and their band of predatory pals – is well-founded and true, or whether she’s losing her grip on reality. As Guy, her unsupportive husband, likes to say: Rosemary has “the pre-partum crazies”. While the movie’s ending seems to suggest Rosemary’s supernatural suspicions ARE true, it might equally suggest that her paranoia has completely overwhelmed her. Either way, the moral is: never move to New York. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

If a psychiatrist ever showed me an Urkel-shaped inkblot to try and understand my squiggly brain, I would probably associate it with words like ‘suspenders’, ‘nasal’, ‘nerd’. Chewing my ﬁngers, I would nervously tell the shrink about that one episode where regular Steve Urkel – such a daffy dork – was suddenly transformed into SEXY ‘Stefan Urquelle’, and why do I even remember this, do you think it means something? Oh, oh, and then there was Urkel’s over-the-top infatuation with his neighbour, Laura Winslow! That’s a bit creepy, right? I mean, this has to explain something, RIGHT? The psychiatrist would then say “no” and politely ask me to go away, because they cannot help me with my weird problems. There’s no cure for ‘every inkblot looks like Steve Urkel or some other 1990s sitcom character’, so I’d better just learn to live with it, I guess. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

COSMO KRAMER IN SEINFELD

If I had to choose between living next door to the Flanders family (those God-fearing and eternally cheerful dweebs) or the Simpsons (the well-meaning and impulsive chaos-mongers), I would probably choose the Simpsons. They’re just a bit… bouncier. The Flandersesess (I don’t know what the plural is, sorry) eat liver for dinner and like it. Family patriarch Ned’s idea of a very crazy night is a white wine spritzer. He also has a habit of adding ‘diddly’ and ‘doodly’ to his words at random. Some of The Simpsons’ best episodes are ones where kind-hearted Ned is allowed to forget about the rules for just a minute and relax and have a bit of fun. Unfortunately for Ned, a ‘fun’ episode usually involves something horrible happening to him, like the time a hurricane hit his house, or he accidentally committed bigamy in Vegas, or the Leftorium – his store specialising in products for left-handers – went bankrupt.

Some time around Seinfeld ’s fourth season – right when the show realised it could become the very best sitcom that ever was – someone told the studio audience to shoosh. Up until that point, there had been a loud ‘yay’, or a whoop, or a spontaneous clap every time Kramer opened a door, fell over, cracked a joke, or stood there doing not very much at all. People were wild about Kramer. They didn’t even pretend to like the other characters as much, even though Elaine clearly rules. It’s hard to know what people saw in him: was it the gravity-defying hair? The hot tub? The constant falling down? Kramer is also a TERRIBLE neighbour – he likes to go into Jerry’s apartment without permission and help himself to food, or Tupperware, or whatever else might be lying around. Good thing I wasn’t in the audience, I guess, because I probably wouldn’t have stopped booing.

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NED FLANDERS IN THE SIMPSONS

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GREENWICH VILLAGE IN REAR WINDOW

TOTORO IN MY NEIGHBOUR TOTORO

Of all the fantasies Rear Window offers – marrying Grace Kelly; being an action hero photographer; playing ‘choose your own adventure’ through your neighbours’ windows – maybe the best one of all is the dream of affordable Manhattan real estate. (Because I am a stickler for very good research, I googled house prices in Greenwich Village – the ﬁrst price I glimpsed with my delicate eyes was 13.5 million dollarydoos.) Hitchcock’s movie is set in a time when ordinary people could afford to live in the heart of the Big Smoke. The grab bag of neighbours is a big part of Rear Window’s initial charm – as Jeff, housebound and bored, watches his neighbours for fun, he comes to realise just how deceptively bland they seem. His neighbours are actually quite spicy! Of course, the spiciest neighbour is the evil Thorwald, who maybe murders his wife, so, uhh, perhaps it’s a good thing we all live in terrible windowless boxes now. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

OK, OK, I’ve just ﬁnished watching My Neighbour Totoro and I have some questions: 1. Is Totoro only the BIGGEST of the three magic rabbit spirits, or are each of the three rabbity things a different type of Totoro? 2. Is Totoro a name or is it a taxonomic rank (like a species or a genus)? 3. What’s the deal with the cat bus? While I’d really like to know the answers to my very important questions, I’m also not so sure they matter that much. There’s something enchantingly weird about My Neighbour Totoro – understanding its gentle strangeness is maybe a bit beside the point. If there’s one thing we can all agree on, though, it’s that Totoro is most probably the CUTEST neighbour on this list. The human neighbours in the ﬁlm – Kanta and his granny – are all very nice and everything, but I’ll take the funny, round-bellied forest goblin any day. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

WILSON IN HOME IMPROVEMENT

If someone were to make a sitcom about me when I was but a slightly weird 12- to 17-year-old, the number of scenes involving me falling in love with my next-door neighbour would be approximately ZERO (important contextual information: my next-door neighbour was an old guy named Bruno who owned a bunch of strip clubs). One thing is clear from my teenage years: I was no Winnie Cooper. And Bruno, bless his phlegmy cough, was no Kevin Arnold. In The Wonder Years, Winnie and Kevin grew up together and meant everything to each other, even if they didn’t know it at the time. In the show’s ﬁnal episode, the narrator – a grown-up Kevin – explains what he’d come to understand: “Once upon a time there was a girl I knew, who lived across the street… When she smiled, I smiled. When she cried, I cried. Every single thing that ever happened to me that mattered, in some way, had to do with her.”

WINNIE COOPER IN THE WONDER YEARS

Before The Block, a terrible reality show where the gross overinflation of house prices is turned into a fun competition, there was Home Improvement, a terrible sitcom about a dude named Tim who enables house-flippers by selling them tools. Tim, you see, is a bit of a tool himself – he’s a man-child who’s overconfident, embarrassingly inept and makes feral grunting noises, including one that sounds like, “AwoOooouhhhhH?” I don’t like Tim. Sorry. His one saving grace might be that he seems to listen to advice from his neighbour, Wilson, but I’m not sure this really counts for much. Wilson – full name Dr Wilson W. Wilson Jr, PhD – is everything Tim isn’t: he’s thoughtful; he’s patient; he likes to quote both Western and Eastern philosophers. A running gag is that we never get to see Wilson’s face and, honestly, I don’t blame him – if I lived next door to Tim Taylor, I’d be cowering behind a fence, as well.

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our project Photo Bri Hammond

big feels club

In a bid to counter all that, the pair launched The Big Feels Club earlier this year. It’s a grassroots attempt at sparking new ways of talking about crisis and distress, hopefully helping to break down some of the associated stigma and shame. “Public stories of people who’ve had big, scary feelings are usually, ‘I was doing it tough, I asked for help and I got better,’ or, ‘Look at these people who are completely fucked,’” Graham says. “So we were like, ‘How do we make a space for people who aren’t ﬁxed, but aren’t fucked, either?’” “Our vision is a society where hard life stuff is seen as an opportunity to connect with other people, and asking for help isn’t difﬁcult because it’s not something only desperate people do,” Honor adds.

HONOR EASTLY AND GRAHAM PANTHER ARE MAKING SENSE OF THE MESSY STUFF OF BEING HUMAN. Words Koren Helbig

Big feelings can sometimes make you feel like a total weirdo. When you’re super-anxious, really scared or experiencing some other yuck emotion, it’s easy to feel completely alone, like a faulty human mistakenly set loose on an otherwise normal planet.

Their key approach so far is the Big Feels Book Club, which began as a one-off experiment at Graham’s house. “A really random mix of people came along, some of who identiﬁed as having their own stuff going on, and some who were just interested. It was no- questions-asked; just turn up, listen to a podcast and have a chat,” Graham says. In meetings since, members have looked at news stories, YouTube videos and a Tony Robbins doco, all related in some way to crisis and mental health – but they haven’t read a single book. “One of the difﬁculties was how to keep it in the discussion space, rather than the therapy space. That’s why we call it a book club,” Honor explains.

Melbourne-based musicians and mental health advocates Honor Eastly and Graham Panther have both lived through the rather pointy end of feelings like these. About a decade ago, Graham’s life quite suddenly fell apart for no particular reason. He experienced episodic breaks in reality, struggled to even drive or go shopping, and tried all sorts of therapy and pills to get back on track. Honor, meanwhile, spent 16 days on suicide watch in a psychiatric hospital in 2014, after years of depression took a major turn for the worse.

The idea’s proven unbelievably popular, with folks writing in from all over Australia and New Zealand, as well as Hawaii, Laos, Berlin and the United Kingdom. For now, The Big Feels Club reaches out to people beyond Melbourne through a fortnightly newsletter – a cherrypicked collection of the most interesting mental health-related things Graham and Honor have spotted or discussed. “Having access to those kinds of conversations has changed my life. Now we sort of package it up for others,” Honor says. But the couple has big plans in their mission to make personal crisis an opportunity for connection, and are currently investigating a bunch of options while chatting with philanthropic bodies. According to Honor, “The Big Feels Club is not necessarily about ﬁnding all the answers, but ﬁnding other people who are asking the same questions.”

Having seen the mental health system from inside, and then subsequently worked in the industry as ‘lived experience’ advocates and consultants, the couple gradually realised something big. Lots of our ofﬁcial approaches to mental healthcare, while hugely important, can inadvertently make the person going through it all feel more isolated – and also like a bit of a loser. “For many of us, the only people we unpack our messy stuff with are professionals who haven’t had that experience themselves, or aren’t allowed to tell us,” Graham says. “So we end up feeling more alone and weird than when we ﬁrst asked for help.” Honor’s experience has been largely the same. “It took 10 years before I found someone else who’d had similar experiences to me – and it was because I was in hospital.”

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therapy. In ofﬁces, hospitals and even your local park, ‘laughter coaches’ do their darndest to get people chuckling. The outcome? Supposedly, a stronger immune system; the ability to make more rational decisions in stressful situations; and an overall sense that pain or mental anguish is more manageable.

the science of laughter SOPHIE KALAGAS INVESTIGATES WHAT GIGGLING MEANS, BIOLOGICALLY SPEAKING.

Scientist Robert Provine has been studying our sniggers for years. What he’s discovered is that babies laugh approximately 300 times a day, while adults only let out about 20 titters. Alas, laughter peaks at the age of ﬁve, so savour any gag that has you rolling in the aisles. It’s not just humans that get the giggles, either. Apes and rats have been found to emit laughter-like sounds, in the form of pants, chirps and high-pitched squeaks. (These are particularly brought on by a good old tickle.) From an evolutionary standpoint, animal LOLs are thought to be a sign that a threat isn’t as dangerous as it seems – or it could just be about teaching baby critters how to play and bond with their peers.

There’s nothing like a good chuckle to lift your spirits. But not every LOL is created equal. There are two main kinds of laughter: impulsive, natural laughs triggered by something you ﬁnd truly amusing; and voluntary, posed laughs brought on in social situations, like when your boss makes a not-all-that-funny joke, or you want to ﬁt in with a group of chortling peers. Research shows these different types of laughs spark activity in separate parts of the listener’s brain, so be warned: you might think you’re an expert schmoozer, but your boss will instinctively attempt to decipher the purpose behind your laughter.

Laughter has a highly contagious effect – look no further than a ’90s sitcom like Friends for proof. These TV comedies employed a laugh track – ‘canned’ audience laughter that marks the show’s punchlines – to subconsciously inspire a chuckle in the viewer. Think about it: you’re far more likely to crack up over an onscreen gag when you’re in the company of a chum who’s also in stitches. In fact, Dr Provine found we don’t even need to witness the joke to start laughing – just the sound of your pal’s glee is enough for your own brain to mirror the emotional reaction.

A hearty laugh gets the whole body involved, starting with a network of muscles in the face. When something funny hits our eyes or ears, the brain tells these 15 pulleys to crinkle the eyes and contort the cheeks, resulting in a gleeful grin – meanwhile, the brain stem is informed that hilarity is ensuing, and the lungs will need to manage the dual tasks of laughing and breathing. A splutter of air and noises bursts forth, in the form of ‘ha’s, ‘ho’s and the occasional ‘heh’. The heart pumps faster to replace expelled oxygen; the stomach muscles tighten; and the rest of our muscles relax, allowing the laughter to hijack the body’s energy.

An extreme case of contagious laughter transpired in Tanzania in 1962. Three girls studying at a village boarding school began to laugh. Then, they experienced ‘emotional incontinence’, aka laughter tears. The symptoms spread quickly from classmate to classmate, until 95 of the 159 students were uncontrollably chortling. The laughter epidemic was so powerful that the school closed down for a time, and even on reopening, the giggling continued. Two-and-a-half years later, the outbreak ﬁnally came to an end, prompting deep investigation into why it occurred. Sadly, we can’t blame a prank gone viral – it’s believed the laughter was a case of mass hysteria, brought on by stress. Which is no laughing matter.

All this happens in approximately 75 milliseconds – moments later, our endocrine system kicks into gear. Cracking up sends the stress hormone, cortisol, packing, while a stream of happy-making endorphins ﬂoods the brain. Basically, laughter is your body’s side-splitting, snort-inducing way of relieving anxiety and tension, which is why it’s been trialled as a form of physical and emotional

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