2018 mar/apr frankie magazine

design • art • photography • fashion • travel • music • craft • home • life

ISSUE 82 MAR/APR 2018 AUS: $10.95 INC GST NZ: $12.95 INC GST UK: £7.99 ISSN 14497794

9 771449 779000 01

IN STORES

MARCH 2018

Shop now at spotlightstores.com

It s National Craft Month this month and we’re celebrating all things crafty and the way they bring people together. Get your imagination going, your hands making and family & friends creating.

Learn a new skill or pass one down, teach a crafty hack or discover a lost art.

Spotlight has everything you need to celebrate love, life and friendship in the craftiest way possible.

SHOW US WHAT YOU’RE MAKING /spotlightstores

ONLY AT

@spotlightstores

Better together

Hey Brisbane, Whether your cafe is a dream in your head or you’re a bit further along your coffee journey, we’re here for you. Literally. Our new home in East Brisbane is about getting our people closer to our customers so we can offer our top-notch service and support, or even a yarn over a coffee.

Allpress Espresso, 26 Wellington Road East Brisbane QLD 4169

B tter together

Come say hi and see why we’re bett

issue 82 talented contributors photographic bri hammond, paul hermes, heather lighton, mia mala mcdonald, thom perry, anthea and lyndon torres, savannah van der niet, hilary walker, lukasz wierzbowski

editor-in-chief jo walker jo@frankiepress.com.au editor sophie kalagas sophie@frankiepress.com.au

editorial sophie beer, caro cooper, lucy corry, rayna fahey, rowena grant-frost, koren helbig, leta keens, daniel moore, giselle au-nhien nguyen, rachel power, sam prendergast, helen razer, eleanor robertson, rebecca varcoe, jo walker illustration evie barrow, sophie beer, jacqui burnes, kirbee lawler cover artist tallulah fontaine

assistant editor & online editor mia timpano mia@frankiepress.com.au senior designer aimee carruthers aimee@frankiepress.com.au designer & studio manager anjana jain anjana@frankiepress.com.au general manager gaye murray gaye@frankiepress.com.au digital director suzi taylor suzi@frankiepress.com.au marketing manager anastasia michael anastasia@frankiepress.com.au

advertise in frankie national advertising manager victoria yelland riddell victoria@frankiepress.com.au • 0410 300 849 account manager – victoria isabella ubaldi isabella@frankiepress.com.au • 0424 218 955 advertising sales executive – directories emma white emma@frankiepress.com.au • 0416 146 658 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 frankie@subscribenow.com.au frankie.com.au/subscribe ph +61 2 8296 5447 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

it manager josh croft proofreader rachel morgenbesser

email addresses are published for professional communications only

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/submissions internships/work experience: unfortunately frankie is unable to facilitate any work experience or internship programs 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

frankie.com.au

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.

IF YOU COULD SEE YOURSELF IN THE FUTURE, WHO WOULD YOU BECOME? Work in fashion marketing, photography, animation or become a qualified designer in fashion, games, interior and graphics.

With 25 years experience and more than 20 campuses worldwide, Raffles College is an innovative design school, offering associate and bachelor degrees.

Apply now for the February intake (scholarship opportunities available.)

YOUR FUTURE AWAITS YOU...

www.raffles.edu.au Instagram & Facebook - @rafflessydney TEQSA 12039 | CRICOS 02761J | RTO Registration Code: 91240

first thought

we love words around these parts.

Big words. Small words. Words that read the same backwards and forwards. Obscure words that we’ve never heard before. (Turn to page 110 if you’d like to know what ‘borborygmus’ means, for instance.)

But however much we like words – and this issue, as ever, is full of them, so you know we do – there’s one pairing we’re not quite so fond of: ‘guilty pleasure’. The thrown-about phrase suggests something that brings you joy should actually be kept on the down low, lest you cause others to smirk and titter at your expense.

A cheesy daytime soap you’ve come to love. Instant powdered coffee sipped from a souvenir mug. Staying in your pajamas all day because you can’t be arsed choosing an outfit.

Having spent countless hours scoffing MILO straight from the tin while devouring old episodes of The Nanny with equal fervour, we’re inclined to believe the concept of a ‘guilty pleasure’ is utter tripe. There’s no shame in treating yourself to something that makes you smile (and who decides which pleasures are ‘guilty’, anyway?), so proudly snip your split ends while you listen to top-40 pop, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

After all, if we all had the same hobbies and tastes, the world would be a very boring place. xx Sophie and the frankie team

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Anika George always wanted to become a designer, but needed an extra boost to change careers. She studied part-time at Shillington, and now designs for Nike at AKQA, a revolutionary creative agency.

Sydney • Melbourne • Brisbane New York • London • Manchester

“The best thing about Shillington is that it promises a marketable portfolio at the end of the course, and it delivers on that promise as long as you’re willing to put in the work. Getting that design portfolio is crucial to the job search post-graduation.

If you’re serious about changing careers but feel stuck in your current one, Shillington is an amazing place to help you make that difficult transition.”

Kickstart your creative career in just 3 months full-time or 9 months part-time. shillingtoneducation.com

contents

24

56

88

30

67

what’s inside

46

science of boozing:

school’s out:

PAGE 30

PAGE 67

Drunken apes, hangovers and breaking the seal

Four folks tell us what it’s like to be a teacher these days

going blank:

the great outdoors:

PAGE 38

PAGE 90

A rather loving ode to tuning out

Some handy camping tips and tricks before you head into the wild

a hairy history:

great balls of fluff:

PAGE 56

PAGE 102

The origins of some notable hairstyles for dames

Katherine Sabbath shares her scrummy pom pom cake

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contents

78

96

102

012 your say

067 the educators

014 frank bits

072 tune-yards

024 hidden mothers

074 face off

028 kitty, daisy and lewis

076 i love my shop

030 science of boozing

078 pretty things to hold and wear

032 up and dressed

086 films to make you sob

034 crafty

088 right of refusal

038 going blank

090 into the wild

040 road test

096 lgbti elders’ dance club

042 music with mates

102 yum, pom pom cake

044 disorderly conduct

108 a bump on the brain

046 the thing about cuba

110 some rather obscure words

052 snazzy stationery for you

114 looks we like

054 on the job

116 writers’ piece

056 hair today, gone tomorrow

120 flowers with feelings

060 for the birds

126 hear my eyes

062 everybody has a story

128 hold the wine

011

your say Photo Lukasz Wierzbowski

dear frankie JUMP ON A SOAPBOX AND TELL US WHAT’S ON YOUR MIND. LETTERS@FRANKIE.COM.AU

Dear frankie, My middle name has instilled in me a lifelong love of lady pirates. So, I was shocked when I read Mia Timpano's article on the most infamous lady buccaneers, and there was no mention of Grace O'Malley – the pirate queen who refused to bow to Queen Elizabeth I, since queens don't bow to each other. I loved learning about new pirates, though, and thought I'd share the enthusiasm.

More historical bad-arse ladies I've never heard of, please and thank you. xoxoxo Ciara Peig Condren

Dear frankie, After an incredible, bewildering year of allconsuming full-time uni, I've found myself in the quiet holiday aftermath, stumbling around and trying to regain a sense of identity, purpose and creativity in my days. What a relief and pleasure it was to be reminded of people like Joel and Rachel Cooper, who pursue richness of life with such a gentle yet constant passion. Reading about and seeing their love of fun, nature and art in your pages was just the kickstart I needed to re-find the "joyful chaos" and colour in my own life. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Love, Ellie x .

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Dear frankie, you’ve helped me a lot. You tell the stories of the most ordinary people who do the most extraordinary things, and in doing so, you help readers everywhere understand that you don’t have to be special to do good. As an artsy, awkward adolescent who wants to make her mark on the world, you’ve let me know that to be great, I can just be me. And that’s wonderful. Lots of love, Alana

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Dear frankie, One of my favourite things about you is your beautiful and unique posters. Opening issue 81, I was expecting some sort of Christmas-y piece, but no. When I saw that the poster was a clown smiling with the banner ‘good but not the best’, I was almost brought to tears with laughter. It was very relatable, and I took away the message, “You may not have it all; you may not be the best; you may not be where you want to be; but you’re still doing good. Smile and be proud of how far you’ve come”. It now hangs above my bed where I see it and smile.

Thank you. Annie .

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THE LETTER OF THE ISSUE WINS A TRUSO HOLD ALL LEATHER WALLET, RRP $159, FROM TRUSO.COM.AU Dear frankie, Well, you really saved my butt. My first Christmas lunch for the year and what happens? An unexpected guest shows up! I snuck out to the shops before gift-opening time to get her a present, then quickly excused myself to go to the 'loo' to wrap it up. But alas!

I had no wrapping paper. Then what do I spot? Issue 81 sitting on my bedside table with all the lovely extras (including wrapping paper). In a flash, the present was wrapped and I was back in the group, with no feelings hurt and my butt saved. Thank you. Love Ashleigh xx

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Dear frankie, I am a creature of habit, and buying your wonderful magazine has become one of them. Every time a new issue is released, I drop everything to snag a copy. Today was no different.

Despite the sweltering 33-degree day, I hurriedly walked down to my local newsagent and grabbed the latest edition. Now, back in the comfort of my air con, I get to enjoy the beautiful pages of issue 81. Thank you for always providing a magazine worth braving the WA heat for. Love always and forever, Emma x

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Looking for your next read?

We have you

covered!

NEVERLAND MARGOT MCGOVERN OUT APRIL Kit has returned to her island home, but it’s a place she hardly recognises: the witch and the mermaids are hiding and the pirates have sailed away. But Kit would rather die than leave Neverland …

SHOUT OUT TO THE GIRLS OUT MARCH Let’s hear it for the Australian women who have shaped our history and are expanding our future!

Featuring vibrant illustrations from local female artists, this is a book to excite and inspire.

FIND US ONLINE @PenguinTeenAustralia

@PenguinTeenAus

TIN HEART SHIVAUN PLOZZA OUT MARCH Funny, romantic and deeply moving by turns – a fitting follow-up to the critically acclaimed, award-winning Frankie.

I AM SASHA ANITA SELZER OUT APRIL One boy’s extraordinary experience of wartime survival. One mother’s incredible courage. Based on an astounding true story.

frank bits

pushing cushions vege threads intimates Are you in the market for some knickers with an ecologically friendly bent?

Organic clothing aficionados Vege Threads have released a new range of undergarments that are 100 per cent plant-dyed, and made from end-roll and scrap cotton as well. Ranging from $39 to $79, they’re a little on the pricey side, but they’ll certainly earn you some environmental brownie points. (Greenie points, maybe?) vegethreads.com

Is it just us, or do cushions seem to be the new rock ‘n’ roll? It was all sex and drugs in our day – now we just can’t keep up. Either way, Melbourne label PLAY by Sage x Clare are making the most of this cosy moment of homewares history, with a collection of round cotton cushions drenched in happymaking colours. At $69 each, they sure are nice to look at. sageandclare.com

winging it

scrunch time The nice types at Moon Picnic won’t stop fooling around with coloured paper and turning it into cool stuff, no matter how many adult responsibilities pile on their plates.

Their latest sweet-as idea? Paper ice-cream placemats! Use them to stop dribbles, then scrunch them into seven scrummy flavours – it’s as easy as that. Find them in packs of 21 at moonpicnic.com for around 26 clams.

Poor old pigeons.

If being called ‘rats of the sky’ doesn’t make them feel bad enough, popping their name into a thesaurus comes up with words like ‘chump’, ‘laughingstock’ and ‘fool’.

It’s time someone gave those feathery fellows a confidence boost. Thank heavens, then, for French brand Main Sauvage, who’ve created an alpacawool soft toy in their likeness. See, pigeons?

Some of us reckon you’re pretty cool. mainsauvage.com

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shine so bright Bachelor Girl have been giving us permission to shine since the late ’90s, and now the team at Izola in New York are jumping on board, too, with this surprisingly inspirational shoe brush. It’ll have your clodhoppers and selfconfidence glistening in no time.

Around $35, izola.com

frank bits

cosmic greetings What if the ‘truth’ that is ‘out there’ is in fact unwavering support from your loved ones? Paula Marchant of The Little Paper House Press could have saved Scully and Mulder a whole lot of time and angst.

Designed and printed in Sydney – along with a bunch of other nice papery things – this greeting card will set you back $6 over at lphp. etsy.com

getting to know emma fradd from heaps good friends What inspires your lyrics? Sometimes my friends say really small but beautiful things that make me love them even more – and if it makes me think, “Hmph, that’d be a great lyric,” usually it makes the cut! What do you typically get up to on a Saturday night? Dancing with my buddies until our heels are swollen, then go home and make Vegemite toast.

Or writing music with Nick in his studio. Or I like to watch wrestling. Elton John or Bruce Springsteen?

Although Springsteen’s “State Trooper” makes me feel like I’m in a Quentin Tarantino film, Elton is my dad cooking us pizza on a Friday night when I was growing up. Elton it is! Favourite hangover breakfast?

It doesn’t differ much to my regular, which is small fried chunks of sweet potato; two fried eggs; half an avocado; and a ‘thank you’ to my roommate Pia for holding back my hair. Who gives the best hugs in the band? Nick. Long arms are his not-so-secret weapon.

Where do you feel most at home? I really like people.

Hanging out one-on-one with someone, doing the things they love to do with them. Activities range from watching documentaries or eating somewhere new, to helping a buddy write music and going to the beach.

What’s next for Heaps Good Friends? We’re releasing our debut EP Hug Me in early March, followed by a national tour! On the side, we’ll be writing some new music; Nick will buy a new synthesiser; and Dan will probably have to replace his car sometime soon. I’m sorry, man, but she’s falling apart.

a rosette by any other name As far as Leila Sanderson is concerned, you don’t need to win a race or jjoin a political party to jjustify pinning a ribbon on your chest. Any of life’s milestones are worth acknowledging with a rosette – and Leila makes some of the finest around.

Handcrafted from precisely folded ribbon, each one is made to order by the Melbourne-based lass herself, using 18th-century millinery techniques.

Fancy, huh? Have a gander at skinnywolf.com.au

le chic chien Could your pooch stand to look a little more… French?

Before you pop a baguette and dog-sized beret in your shopping trolley, amble over to misterwoof. net and check out their stripy Franklin turtleneck instead. Available in a range of sizes – from chihuahua to alsatian – it’ll keep Rover warm and add a certain je ne sais quoi to their look. Wouaf, wouaf !

radical yes!

What do you get when you cross a ballet slipper with a wetsuit? These neoprene slip-ons from Radical Yes!, as it so happens. Word has it they’re super-lightweight and quick to dry if you get the urge to go tap-a-tapping through puddles or along the seashore. If you’d like to slide some on your tootsies, they’re $169 from radicalyes.com.au

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frank bits

of mice and molars

talking great gigs with… cash savage

wiggle it, just a little bit

Tell us about the first time you performed. I’ve always been a performer – I used to hold concerts for my family when I was a kid. My first real band performance was on the back of a truck at a Battle of the Bands in Kensington, Melbourne. We came second. My mother said I didn’t sing loud enough. How does your personality change when you’re on stage? I don’t think it does. I know I look pretty serious, but I’m just concentrating.

My bandmates say when I look at them on stage, they’re not sure whether it’s because they’re nailing it or making a mess.

What’s your trick to winning over a crowd? I think most people are looking for connection. I like to look the crowd in the eyes.

A performance is a give and take – we’re all in it together and can influence the experience for ourselves and for each other.

Have you ever stuffed anything up on stage? I’m not worried about musical mistakes. We don’t rehearse for shows. Because of this, the band are adept at moving together if someone does something different. Sometimes I worry about falling over. I’m not particularly dexterous and like to move around. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet. Favourite post-gig snack? Finding decent food late at night is often hard. In Europe, the venue brings out a deli platter after the performance, which is just the best. What advice would you give someone performing for the first time?

Enjoy yourself. At the end of the gig you will most likely look back and wish you’d been more in the moment. Sometimes I find myself counting down how many songs are left because I really don’t want the show to end.

We’re flailing our (non-inflatable) limbs in excitement, because, well, is this not the greatest enamel pin you’ve ever seen? It’s the tribute to our favourite air-dancing tube man thing that the world’s been missing; it costs around $6.50; and, despite coming from the folks at No Fun Press, it’s all kinds of amusing. One for each lapel, please! nofunpress.com

Get this: in French and Hispanic cultures, when little tots lose a tooth, they’re not visited by a winged sprite, but a light-footed, giftbringing mouse. (We thought rodents were only interested in cheese and rubbish bins, but who are we to question a fetish for juvenile fangs?)

The folks at Coral & Tusk have created an ittybitty embroidered pillow to help the Petit Souris on his tooth-trading way, complete with a pocket for holding notes, money, or other pintsized treasures. Which is a bit sweet of them, eh? coralandtusk.com

lrnce Even though LRNCE’s blankets are made in collaboration with traditional weavers, embroiderers and dyers of North Africa, inspired

by Morocco and its surrounds, you’re also allowed to like them just because they’re pretty. Almost too pretty to wrap yourself up and drool on, really.

Ideal for the fancy visitors-only, shoes-off, perchon-the-edge-of-the-couch room of your house.

The Marrakesh-based makers also sell bed linen, accessories and striking things for your tootsies, which we don’t recommend drooling on, either.

Drooling over them is OK, though: lrnce.com

it's business time Leicester-based maker Jen Pyrah? Present! Hand-painted Flight of the Conchords badge set? Present! OK, let’s get this meeting underway. Using the moniker Wren & Wilson, English lass Jen turns her illustrations into wearable niceties, and she’s been kind enough to offer us five sets of Jemaine, Bret and Murray pins (around $36 each) to give away. Just stop by frankie.com.au/win and cross your fingers nice and tight. wrenandwilson.com

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frank bits

’ave an avo New York designers Chen Chen and Kai Williams totally get people’s need to fondle fruits with curious textures, so they’ve made an avocadoinspired planter from cement and a real-life avo mould. The best news? At around 30 bucks, it won’t stop you putting a down payment on your first home. (House prices, on the other hand, are a completely different story.) shop.chenwilliams.com

hysteria by happy socks Most times in life you’d probably welcome the opportunity to have your socks knocked off. Not so with this jazzy sock collection from Hysteria by Happy Socks.

We’d like to keep them on, thank you very much. So we’ll just sit here quietly and think about how pretty our feet are. happysocks.com/hysteria

follow the rainbow A rug on the wall, you say? What’s next, a settee on the ceiling? Good grief! Truthfully, though, we’re willing to accept whatever topsy-turvy world lies ahead of us if it’s half as sweet as this Follow the Rainbow wall rug from Danish brand OYOY. For more Scandi delights, head to oyoy.dk

madge goods You’d have to try pretty damn hard to be grumpy while donning these vibrant threads from Sydney label Madge Goods – and surely no one is that petulant. They’re made from comfy fabrics like silk, cotton and linen, which really just add to the happy-making vibes.

For real – have you ever attempted to throw a wobbly while draped in buttery-soft textiles?

It’s quite a challenge. madge.com.au

jagged little pill box Architecturally inclined fellas Gunnar Rönsch and Stephen K. Molloy reckon perfection is death – but the process of trying to attain it is OK, because it drives them to do a little better. Well, if that’s what it takes for them to create designs like this, then we do hereby support their philosophy. Swish, sleek and made of solid brass, this little pillbox makes sorting your meds a not-so tedious affair, and for that we are grateful. Around $24, fundamental.berlin

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frank bits

scoops of flower say hello to jaimee fryer, aka poolshop Describe your tunes in five words, please. Dreamy, poppy, shoegaze, emotive loops. What do you do for a crust?

I work for my sisters, mostly: Charlie Grainger, who owns a specialty coffee joint called The Tiller in Brisbane, and Theresa Grace Fryer, an incredibly talented videographer who I write scores for any chance I get. For a side crust, I paint animal portraits and also take the odd commission for larger wall murals. Where’s a good spot to pop your feet up in Brisbane? The German Club. It has a ripping trivia night, $5 beers and schnitzels the size of your face.

A heavenly way to carb-load, but beware of the pork knuckle – I’ve seen it give people meat sweats. Who do you go to when you need to have a whinge? My partner.

She can hack it. How do you go about writing a song? Has to be in my bedroom, door shut, with nobody home – quiet enough that the neighbours won’t hear anything. The riff comes first, usually, then the main chords, then the lyrics come after the atmosphere is set. Any irrational fears?

Monkeys. I don’t want to sound like a kook, but they just seem so unpredictable and put me on edge. Where did the name Poolshop come from? I’d drive past this old pool shop every day on the way to work, liked the typeface, and thought the word matched the vibe of the music. It makes you think of the colour blue, or being in water. For some reason I felt an attachment to that. Do you have a life philosophy? In everyday life, religion and politics, peacemaking is more important than power.

“Four helpful spoons masquerading as flowers” sounds like the set-up to a particularly lovely Enid Blyton tale, but it’s in fact the description of this measuring scoop set from giftware enthusiasts One Hundred 80 Degrees.

Ranging from 1/4 to one teaspoon, the ceramic foursome will lend a hand in the kitchen, and look quite dashing while doing it. Around $37, modcloth.com/ shop/180-degrees

gone fishin’ If this is what our gillsporting pals see when a line is dangled in their subaquatic home, we can understand why they take the bait. After all, the Gone Fishin’ print from Lucky Horse Press has lured us in, hook, line and sinker. That vintage feel; those fluoro hues – yep, we wouldn’t half mind pinning it up on the wall. Snap(per) it up at luckyhorsepress.com for around $30.

kindling The latest collection from Melbourne brand Kindling is named after the Japanese word komorebi, which refers to the way light passes through a tree’s leaves. That could be why we get the urge to sprawl out in a sunny park whenever we see it – either that, or because it looks so darn comfy. Whatever the reason, you can cast your eye over the range at kindling.com.au

give us a ring Sure, it may look like a simple hexagon, but this unassuming hunk of geometric wood is actually a multi-talented tool for your kitchen. Need somewhere to plonk your egg so it doesn’t go rolling off the counter? No worries! After a napkin ring to keep your table setting nice and neat? Sure thing!

Pop a few together and they’ll even form a handy trivet for hot dishes. Oh, little fellow – what can’t you do? Around $14, pana-objects.com

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Chunky Move Studios offers a variety of contemporary dance and yoga classes from complete beginner to professional.

If you’ve never danced before or it’s been a while, there is a class to suit everyone.

Book your class today by downloading the Chunky Move Studios App from the iTunes App Store or by visiting chunkymove.com.au

CHUNKY MOVE STUDIOS Located in the heart of Melbourne’s arts precinct 111 Sturt Street, Southbank chunkymove.com.au

frank bits

kitten dame in training Fear not, moggie appreciators: just because a cat does not currently dwell in your place of residence, doesn’t mean you won’t have a furry overlord of your own one day.

Netherlands-based illustrator Sophie Gunter has whipped up some stickers to commemorate her future cat lady status, and you can get in on the action, too, for around $1 and a quick trip to zwartkapje. etsy.com

you make me Do you suffer from nonawesome jewellery? Well, we might be able to help you out. We have five retro radio necklaces from You Make Me (around $52) to give away to deserving readers in need of rad chest adornments, and nabbing one is as easy as heading to frankie. com.au/win. (Then again, you could stop by youmakemedesign.co.uk if you’d rather not rely on good luck.)

wool4school 2018 Aussie secondary school students with a knack for clothing design – lend us your ears! The Wool4School competition is back in 2018, and calling on budding fashion-y types to reveal their inner innovator, designing and sketching a multi-functional outfit made from a minimum of 80 per cent Australian Merino wool. Registrations are now open at wool4school.com, and, just FYI, there are some pretty excellent prizes and opportunities up for grabs. Good luck!

what a pair of studs the vallentine project Once upon a time, Melbourne designer Bianca Vallentine made swish things for you to wear on your person. But then, fed up with fly-by seasonal cycles, she set her sights on something more enduring: your bed. Now her label, The Vallentine Project, creates abstract linen for you to snooze, read and loll about on, with every piece handpainted by Bianca and her local team. Want to see more? Head over to thevallentineproject.com

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Did somebody say handmade Tasmanian jewellery? Hot diggity! With their powers combined, Hobart ladies Ruth Valentine and Rosalie Malham (and some clever local collaborators) are Tinfoil Collective – purveyors of super-cute, colourful and sparkly accessories they design and make by hand. These here half moon studs can be purchased for 20 shiny dollars, and they come in a range of ace shades to jazz up your lobes. If you like what you see, perhaps stop by tinfoilcollective.com.au

frank bits

rhino wıno What do you do when you’re a designer living in South Africa and you’ve just been gifted a cordless drill? Make a range of animal-shaped wine holders, of course. Vusi Ravele began with a rhino, before building a veritable winetoting zoo – head to nativedecor.co.za to have a look.

g’day, mate In the best possible way, the ‘G’Day’ collection from EAT.ME.DO. looks like it was designed by a highly patriotic kindergartener from the ’90s.

It’s an aesthetic we never knew we wanted, and yet here we are, longing to drape ourselves in coloured pencil-drawn Bubble O’ Bills; pom pom wattle; and jumpsuits scribbled with Aussie slang.

In reality, it comes from the sugar-coated brain of Melbourne lady Lara Ivachev, and it’s available for a gander at eatmedo.com

our play For Togetherness Design aker Esther Sandler, emons symbolise Melbourne’s multicultural, ffruit tree-filled suburbs; tthe approach of warmer weather; and a tasty citrus w ift to a meal. They’re also just cute as all get out, and we wouldn’t half mind a dangling these ceramic vversions from our ears.

Should you like to do the S ssame, they’re going for $58 at togethernessdesign.com a

mmm, soap Yes, they’re wrapped up like lollies, and yes, they’re scented with the likes of spearmint, French pear and Manuka honey, but we don’t recommend chowing down on DAN300’s range of soaps unless you fancy a mouth lathered up with bubbles and foam. (If that floats your boat, go right ahead.) You’ll also find encouraging messages printed inside their lovely packaging, but that’s beside the point. Stop by dan300.com.au, if you wish – prices range from $16.95 to $25.

the not-so-big house Hey, tiny tots – drool, chew and clamber on this A-frame dolls’ house all you want. The sturdy plywood structure has been handbuilt in South Australia with the intention of being passed down to your own tiddlywinks, and you have Such Great Heights to thank for your new long-lasting, Mid-centuryinspired heirloom. Now to fill it with tiny ’50s furniture. $179, suchgreatheights.com

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frank bits

a blooming beastie Behold, friends, the wonder of the Mini Monster planter!

It dangles happily from a hook or ledge, looking like a doofus with delightfully colourful limbs – until a sprig of greenery enters the picture.

Then it springs into action, carrying it in its noggin like some sort of zany, monsterappropriate head of hair. It’s also $85 from shuh.bigcartel. com, or we have two to give away. Just pop by frankie.com.au/win and do a wee luck-bringing jig.

five minutes with our cover artist, tallulah fontaine Tell us a bit about yourself, please. I’m a 26-year-old freelance illustrator originally from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. I currently split my time living in Toronto and Los Angeles, where I work on various editorial and personal projects. Who is the rad lady in your drawing and what is she thinking about? That drawing is originally from a panel in a short comic I made called Everything Nice.

The story was on my own experience coping with the end of a long-term relationship. So, it’s me combing my hair during a moment of peace, in a time when everything was rather difficult and chaotic. How does where you live influence your art? I reference a lot of my day-to-day life in my personal work. The people I spend my time with in different cities, the plants and colours, will all work their way into my drawings at some point. What kind of media do you use? I mostly use watercolour and soft 2B pencils, which I sometimes manipulate and colour digitally in Photoshop. Who do you make your art for?

Right now, most of my work has been commissioned for various publications or bands. I haven’t had the chance to make as much personal work lately, which will be a focus for this year. I also make art for my mum, because she’s always my biggest fan. What’s your studio like? It’s pretty minimal at the moment, since I’m working out of a sublet. I have a big, long desk; a small wooden chair; and some framed pieces on the wall above by Audrey Helen Weber and Lucy Qinnuayuak.

fanning out Should you wish to cool yourself down with a handheld device whipped back and forth in front of your clammy face, these folded fans from Papier Tigre should do the trick.

They’re made in France from a single piece of waterproof paper, and make overheating seem rather appealing indeed.

Nab one for around $15 at papiertigre.fr

feline clean big bud press

If this kitty-cat wash bag could talk, it would say, “Meow! Shove all your bathroom accoutrements inside my head!” (Which is much more obliging than most moggies, who simply turn on their heels when they see us approach.) Granting its wish is as easy as visiting darlingclementine.no with about 30 bucks to spend, then emptying your drawers of make-up and toiletries. Simple, eh?

If this isn’t the dandiest reminder you’ve seen to add some vitamins to your diet, we’ll eat our widebrimmed, slightly off-kilter, prickly straw hat.

Yep, we’re that serious. It’s called the OJ tee, and comes from Big Bud Press in the US of A, inspired by 1970s athletic gear and, presumably, delicious citrus fruits. Fancy nabbing one for yourself? It’s around $45 from bigbudpress.com

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look at this

hidden mothers photographer megan jacobs is bringing mums back into frame.

WORDS KOREN HELBIG

escaping the sheet she’s beneath. That evolution began with a woman named D, who sits alone and childless in her photo, a mop of braided hair spilling down her one exposed arm. Megan initially photographed D with her son and daughter, before learning that she had another little girl who tragically passed away. “I just said, ‘I don’t even know how to begin to talk about this. This must be so painful for you,’” Megan recalls. “And she said, ‘That’s been one of the hardest things.

People feel like they have to pussyfoot around this, but I want to keep the memory alive. I need to be able to talk about these things.’ After that conversation, the photo just felt like a natural fit.”

Photography was a complicated business in the early days. Aside from all the camera twiddling required to get an exposure just right, the subject also had to sit perfectly still for a minute or more to achieve a sharp image. Add a wriggly kid to that mix and, without some careful parental management, you’d end up with little more than a blur for a memory. In the 19th century, photographers devised a peculiar solution to this conundrum: keep mum in shot, but chuck a sheet over her to hide her.

New Mexico artist Megan Jacobs first discovered this odd bit of history via Linda Fregni Nagler’s book, The Hidden Mother. It’s a collection of historical baby portraits, each with a strange human lump lurking in the background – a mother crouched behind the chair, awkwardly obscured by a black sheet or embroidered curtain, holding her child still. “The Victorians were interested in just the baby or the child,” Megan says. “In some instances, the mother is cloaked totally in a sheet and there are three children next to her.

It’s a really haunting collection, in some ways.”

It made Megan question how else she could break the hidden mother mould, allowing each mum’s personality to shine through while simultaneously shattering stereotypes. She later depicted one mother entirely covered up aside from her tattooed arms, which are wrapped gently around a toddler. The tattoos might be the antithesis of the wholesome, clean-cut image too often depicted in major mothering magazines, Megan says, but this mum’s gesture couldn’t be more loving.

Inspired by the book, and as both a photographer and mum herself, Megan decided to create her own take on the hidden mothers idea.

“I was really interested in remaking these images in contemporary terms, to look at the unrecognised things mothers do to support and nurture their children. Could this format of the mother being obscured be a visual metaphor?” she says.

In Megan’s favourite shot, an arm and breast are revealed as the mother feeds her bub. “It was just so organic. The baby was hungry and Eileen was like, ‘I’m going to feed her.’ It’s this physical communication – she wasn’t even looking at her baby, but she just knew. That unspoken relationship is pretty incredible.” This year, Megan plans to take more photos to finish the series and “embrace that breaking through the sheet even more”.

After amassing a choice collection of floral vintage sheets – chosen as a nod to traditional forms of femininity and domestic spaces – Megan tapped into a local mothers’ group and started inviting women over for photo shoots in her living room. Luckily, most kids weren’t at all weirded out by their mum suddenly disappearing beneath a sheet. “It was funny, because so many mums would just do the peekaboo game,” Megan says.

When exhibiting Hidden Mothers, Megan pairs each photo with quotes from historical woman scholars and poets, including Adrienne Rich, Ellen Bass and Audre Lorde. She wants to highlight the joys and tensions of modern motherhood, and the sacrifice of self that being a mum often involves. “I hope people are struck by the beauty of the pieces, but beyond that, I hope they scratch at that visual metaphor of what it means to cover the mother,” she says.

“I hope it prompts people to ask questions, and strikes a dialogue.”

In her resulting Hidden Mothers photo series, Megan did allow some mums to partially show themselves – maybe just a hand or arm

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look at this

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look at this

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music talks

are some really good ones. You never really get bored of them, and you know everyone, because there are a lot of locals and people who are always there.

my favourite things...

WITH KITTY DURHAM OF KITTY, DAISY AND LEWIS.

Favourite Spice Girl: My sister was their number one fan. She made a carpet on our bedroom floor out of magazine cut-outs and clippings, and our dog came in and pissed all over it. She was really upset. My favourite was probably Scary Spice; I thought she was cool. She seemed like she didn’t give a fuck, really.

Interview Giselle Au-Nhien Nguyen

Favourite song to dance to: I love “Street Life” by Randy Crawford.

I used to dance to that all the time. I love the production on that song – the chords, the strings. If I’ve got a song on my mind or a record I’ve recently bought, I’ll have that in the back of my head and want the DJ to play it. The last record I bought was a song my brother showed me. It’s called “Don’t Push It Don’t Force It” by Leon Haywood. It was recorded in 1980 and it’s proper jazz.

Favourite comfort food: I love homemade curry. My dad used to make a lot of that when we were kids. That’s probably my favourite comfort food – just rice and curry. I remember being in the kitchen with my dad when I was younger – he never followed recipes, he just used whatever was there. A bit of this, a bit of that.

Favourite thing about being in a family band: We’ve been doing it for such a long time that it just feels normal, and we’re all really used to each other. We play different instruments and swap around a lot, but we play them in our own ways – me and Lewis both play guitar, the three of us all play drums, but we’re all very different.

So, if I’m writing a song, I can picture who can bring what to the table, and everyone’s got their own skills. It keeps the music interesting.

Favourite fictional character: I used to be obsessed with Robin Hood – really, because I had a crush on Errol Flynn, the actor. I was a bit of a tomboy, so I liked making bows and arrows and swords and stuff like that, and my brother and I would play.

Favourite song to play live: One I’ve enjoyed lately is “Team Strong” off our new record. I wrote it about something I was going through at the time, and how my friends helped me – they were like, “Fuck it, we’re going to go out, get drunk and have a good time; forget about things.” We did a tour in Europe for a few weeks and there were people singing along, and I always find that weird – the fact they’ve taken the time and listened to it so much that they know the words. Especially a song like that, where the lyrics are quite specific to certain people. It’s an emotional song for me, so it was nice to see people enjoying it.

Favourite karaoke go-to: One of my funniest memories of karaoke is me and Daisy doing Salt-n-Pepa’s “Let’s Talk About Sex”. We were on the Brighton Pier, really drunk, and we just got up – I don’t know why we did that song. We didn’t know any of the raps, so we made it up on the spot. I don’t know what the hell we were singing about, but we got away with it.

Favourite place to hang out in London: I live in Camden, and there are always places to go there. Some of my favourite pubs are in Kentish Town. I usually just hang out at the pub most nights – there

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learn something new

your stressed-out brain with dopamine – and since dopamine is a neurotransmitter involved in controlling rewards and pleasure, a pint or two can make you feel pretty ace. You also socialise better. A recent study from the University of Pittsburgh comparing groups of drinkers and non-drinkers found that the drinkers were more likely to talk, smile contagiously and involve everyone in the conversation.

science of boozing DRUNKEN APES AND BREAKING THE SEAL: MIA TIMPANO INVESTIGATES THE EFFECTS OF DOWNING A TIPPLE OR TWO.

But just because you’ve downed a Jägerbomb, doesn’t mean you’re the life of the party and/or a sex god – as much as the ethanol may be distinctly telling you you are. In a 2013 study, researchers discovered that nearly everybody reckons they’re more attractive after they’ve had a drink. (This was also true when participants had only been plied with a placebo.) What’s more, boozed-up individuals will consistently rate their speech-giving abilities more positively than when they’re sober – even if they categorically suck (independent judges confirmed they did).

As any barfly will tell you, humans have a complex relationship with alcohol – but what they may not tell you (either because they don’t know or they’re too busy wailing misremembered Red Hot Chili Peppers lyrics at the general public) is that we’ve actually been getting pissed since before we were even human. Our closest primate relatives, chimpanzees and gorillas, were getting wasted on the yeast in over-ripe fruit some 10 million years ago, and in doing so, loading up on lots of extra calories. This gave the tree-dwelling creatures a distinct advantage when it came to nabbing food in the forest – few other animals can tolerate alcohol.

You’ll also need to go wee-wees more frequently than usual. That’s because plonk messes with your brain’s production of antidiuretic hormone, or ADH. This hormone has one job: to keep water in the body. But booze blocks the nerve channels that secrete ADH, and without it your kidneys become lame at reabsorbing water – thus, fluids pass through you like water through a tap. There is no ‘seal’ to break, however; this is bogus drinkers’ lore. What gives you the impression that you’ve ‘broken your seal’ is that it takes a little while for the cider in your system to get around to suppressing the ADH – but once it has, you can expect to be visiting your porcelain friend (or popping a squat at the nearest dumpster) roughly every 15 minutes.

Not only can humans tolerate it, but our form of ADH4 – aka the enzyme in our system that prevents alcohol from entering the bloodstream – is 40-fold more effective than the ADH4 found in other primates. This means we can drink all other species – even those similar to our own – under the table. There’s one problem with ADH4, though: it (along with its other enzyme buddies) digests alcohol by converting it into acetaldehyde, a Grade 1 carcinogen responsible for that jack-hammering sensation in the side of your skull and the sweaty ham-like complexion you wake up with after a night out on the grog. In other words, you get a hangover.

On the upside, a small amount of hooch could improve your ability to speak a foreign language. Dutch researchers found that folks attempting to master the local lingo had better pronunciation when they were very slightly sozzled. That said, if you choose to make alcohol a regular part of your diet, do so in the knowledge that consuming between 14 and 21 units per week can increase your risk of developing hippocampal atrophy – a form of brain damage associated with memory loss and disorientation. So go slowly into that good night.

So, why do we love getting off our tits so much, given how violently sick we can (and frequently do) feel afterwards? Well, before you’ve reached the point of shovelling fries down your face, then throwing them up in the same poetic gesture, alcohol will have sprayed

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DRMARTENS.COM.AU

Photographs Heather Lighton

experience

up and dressed MICHELLE ROGER HAS A LOT TO SAY ABOUT FASHION, DISABILITY AND ACCEPTANCE. Words Lucy Corry

Realising she could change the way she felt about her situation – and how others saw her – was a major turning point. “I’ve always loved fashion, but when I got sick it became really difficult. I had periods when I’d get inspired and get dressed up, but two or three years ago, my health was really bad and I was in pyjamas all the time, or a pair of old trackie-daks. I was so unwell I couldn’t shower or wash my hair.

Some days, getting dressed is a major achievement for Michelle Roger. The sheer effort of getting out of her pyjamas is enough to send her horizontal for the rest of the day. That’s just one of the reasons she’s so determined to do it – and to record it for posterity.

“Every time I put a shot on social media of me in an outfit, it’s like I’m giving a middle finger to a society that says I don’t exist,” she explains. “It might look like a selfie, but in reality it’s a political statement. Being positive about myself; enjoying fashion; wearing a short skirt – those sorts of things make people quite uncomfortable.

But I’m unapologetic about who I am and what I want.”

“One day I thought, ‘I can’t keep living like this. I need to do something.’ So I got up, got dressed, took a photo and put it online.

It was very self-nurturing. I made it to 10 days of documenting my outfits, then 11, then 12... I wouldn’t necessarily shower, but I’d get dressed, run a hand through my hair and feel like a person. Each of the photos kept me accountable for that.”

Michelle has dysautonomia, a chronic illness that is slowly robbing her of her mobility and cognitive powers. Technically, ‘dysautonomia’ is a blanket term for a motley crew of disorders that affect the autonomic nervous system, but in basic terms, it throws your body’s autopilot out of whack. Most often, it causes a person’s heartbeat, blood pressure, temperature and digestive system to malfunction with unpleasant and unpredictable results.

What began as a little exercise to cheer herself up soon turned into something bigger. Other people started seeing her posts – grouped together on her blog under the heading “Up and Dressed” – and commenting, telling Michelle how she had inspired them to make a similar effort. “It became something for other people as well as me, and that was quite heartening. I got messages from folks saying, ‘Because of you, I’m going to try to put some lipstick on,’ or ‘Today I’m going to brush my hair and put on a nice jumper.’ They realised you can be sick, but you can still take care of yourself in some small way.”

“If you’ve ever fainted, you’ll know there’s a period right before when your vision starts to go; your blood pressure drops; you feel nauseous and clammy; and you might shake and have goosebumps.

That’s my basic day-to-day,” Michelle says. “As well as that, I really struggle with brain fog and have problems with attention and concentration. My memory is shocking and finding words can be hard. If I’m quite unwell, even talking is really difficult.”

Dressing up – or even just getting dressed – has since become a way for Michelle to re-engage with the world and reclaim some space as a disabled woman. She makes a point of seeking out brightly coloured or patterned versions of the compression stockings that are so vital to keeping her circulation going, teaming them with funky op shop finds or vintage treasures. (Tips for finding the most fun, affordable and comfy compression stockings can be found on her blog.) Michelle’s walking stick is a work of art, too, rather than standard-issue hospital grey.

Her illness might be doing its best to drive a wrecking ball through her mind and body, but Michelle is not taking things lying down – unless she really has to. Her blog, “Living with Bob” (Michelle’s nickname for her condition, because “have you ever tried to say or spell dysautonomia?”), tells the raw, unfiltered story of how the illness has turned her life upside down and inside out. The former neuropsychologist writes frank, frequently hilarious and searingly honest posts that reveal the reality of living with an oft-misunderstood chronic illness – and documents some of her favourite get-ups, as well.

“I realised you can make the things you have to do or use every day a little bit special, without having to put in any extra effort.

If you’re feeling really sick, you can put on a nice pair of PJs instead of your daggy old ones. Now, when I’m too sick to get up, I wear a beautiful 1930s bed jacket that I got from the UK, and the water bottle beside my bed is a cut-glass one. Even though my world is tiny, I try to make the most of it.”

“From the moment I wake up till the moment I go to sleep, I’m taking my illness into account, but I’m still living, still having fun,” she says. “I wish someone had sat me down when I first got sick and said, ‘Look, Michelle, it’s going to be OK. There won’t be rainbow-farting unicorns, but it’s still going to be all right.’”

Michelle says her Up and Dressed posts are part of an explosion of online content created by disabled or chronically ill people, showing the rich realities of their lives. “Every time I post an outfit, I’m acutely aware it’s not just my love of fashion that’s on display. It’s a general trend in society that you don’t see people with disabilities unless it’s a pity show, or someone has overcome their illness to climb Everest. You don’t see people just living their lives, and fashion is part of that. Taking a photo of myself in front of my shed is a way to show people that, hey, I got up and made an effort (even if I had to lie down afterwards).

Michelle’s version of ‘Bob’ requires her to wear a pacemaker to regulate her heartbeat, and take a variety of drugs to keep her body functioning. She can no longer drive or work, and is increasingly reliant on her wheelchair, ‘Lucille’, to help her get around. She has to eat a high salt diet (“My cardiologist says, ‘If you can taste the food it’s not salty enough’”) and drink copious amounts of fluids to help boost her blood pressure.

While her husband David and their two sons “completely get it”, others still struggle to understand her condition. “Now I’m in a wheelchair a lot of the time, people outside my immediate family say things like, ‘Aren’t you embarrassed to go out in public?’ They assume you must be miserable all the time. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. If you focus on your illness, you’re judged for only thinking about yourself. If you focus on living, you’re perceived to not be that sick.”

“Yes, bits of me aren’t working; yes, I will be taking meds for the rest of my life; but I’m not ashamed. I don’t think I should be and I want to show people that you can embrace who you are. It’s a real move away from the medical model of disability and illness. It’s not something a lot of doctors get, but we’re trying to take control of our lives. For me, that’s as simple as taking a photo of myself wearing bright compression stockings with an op shop dress and putting it out there.”

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crafty

really cross stitching channel your world-weariness into this embroidered protest sign.

WORDS AND PROJECT RAYNA FAHEY PHOTOGRAPH BRI HAMMOND

NEEDLES: There are all sorts of needles out there, and crossstitch has its own special type. Cross-stitch needles are thin, with a blunt end and a long thread hole. Again, it’s not essential to use a specialist needle, but it does make stitching a lot easier.

If you believe the internet, ‘craftivism’ is a hot new craze sweeping the planet. Happily, this couldn’t be further from the truth, as craft and protest have been merrily cohabiting since your great, great, greatgrandmother’s time. The Luddite, Suffragette, second-wave feminist and peace movements were among many to share a passion and understanding of the power handmade objects have to subversively communicate ideas. Craft has the power to change minds, and a radical craft circle has the power to change the world. .

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THREAD: Embroidery thread, aka floss, comes in small skeins that are made up of six strands of thread entwined together. Each colour has its own code, so you can follow patterns and get the colours exactly as they’re intended to appear. There are quite a few companies who make embroidery thread – all with their own code systems – but the main one is DMC from France. This pattern uses DMC codes as the colour system. If you already have thread from another company, you can find converter tools online.

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THE BASICS FABRIC: The most common material used for cross-stitch is known as Aida cloth. It has a special weave to make sure the holes in the fabric are evenly spaced, so your stitches stay nice and square and even. Aida cloth comes in different ‘counts’ that indicate the number of threads per inch. Most cross-stitch is completed on 14-count Aida – you can use a different count, but make sure you do a little sample to see whether you need to use more or less strands of thread when you stitch.

> Head this way for the project

Rayna's book Really Cross Stitch is out now through Herbert Press, an imprint of Bloomsbury.

As a special treat, we have three copies (worth $19.99 each) to give away, so head to frankie. com.au/win to enter. Project has been tweaked slightly to fit frankie formatting.

EMBROIDERY HOOPS: Embroidery hoops aren’t essential to use, but they do make life a lot easier and will help keep your fabric tension nice and tight. There are already millions in the world, so if you don’t have one, check the craft supplies at your local op shop before you buy a new hoop. To use, simply lay your fabric between the two rings and tighten the screw to create tension. It’s best if you can use a hoop that’s a little bigger than your project area, so you don’t have to keep moving it around and squashing your stitches.

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crafty

DESIGN SIZE: 192 x 147mm, 833 stitches

MAKING A STITCH

DMC COLOURS: 891 Carnation DK / 563 Jade LT / 310 Black

There are two methods of making your X. The first is for working horizontal rows. Start by working a row of half stitches ( / / / / ), then work back ( \ \ \ \ ) to complete the Xs. Use this method for most stitching. The second method is to complete each X as you go.

Use this method for vertical rows and randomly placed stitches.

MATERIALS 14-count Aida fabric / embroidery hoop / fabric scissors / embroidery scissors / tapestry needle / DMC stranded cotton thread / good lighting!

It’s important that all the Xs are crossed in the same direction, i.e. the top thread of the X should always angle the same way.

It doesn’t really matter which way they slant, but if they’re mixed, the finished piece will look wonky.

Be careful not to pull the thread too tight, as it will distort the fabric and make it harder to straighten at the end. When you pull your thread through the canvas, ensure it sits flat and firm, but not tight.

GETTING STARTED Place your clean, dry and ironed fabric inside the embroidery hoop.

Separate a 1000mm (40”) length of your embroidery thread so you have two strands, and thread your needle.

FINISHING A STITCH

Start at the top of the pattern, as it’s loads easier to stitch downward than upwards. Thread your needle through from the back of the fabric, leaving 40mm (1.5”) of the thread at the back. When you begin your first row of stitching, make sure the tail of the thread is tucked under each stitch and secured.

When you reach the end of a piece of thread, run it under the stitches at the back so they hold it tight. Trim off any spare bits of thread, but make sure there’s at least 20mm (1”) held tight at the back so it doesn’t come undone.

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make bigger things happen

rant Photo Lukasz Wierzbowski

an empty 30 seconds – waiting for the pedestrian light or on hold to an unnamed government agency – whipping out my phone is as natural and practised an action as my jaw tensely clenching. I flick and scroll, hunting for the meaning of life on my screen. I’ve trained myself to constantly seek distraction through my smartphone.

going blank IT’S TIME TO STOP SCROLLING AND START STARING, SAYS CARO COOPER.

All this stimulation has left me with a giant, muscular thumb and flaccid staring bones. I’ve forgotten how to stare; how to just observe. I’m not talking about meditation and mindfulness – I’m so far away from inner peace that even mentioning the ‘m’ word makes me reach for my phone. I’m talking about that dreamy feeling you get when you ease into a deep gaze. When you just stop for a minute of mouth-breathing observation. Your mind is still racing with shopping lists or counting the days since you last had a bowel movement, but your eyes are locked in one place, just watching and, most importantly, your hands are still.

There’s a French film from the oeuvre of a director you’ve probably never heard of where, after a series of trials in love and life, the protagonist embraces unabashed solitude by dining alone. Not just without human company, but without a book, newspaper, notebook, or any distraction at all. It’s dining stripped bare. She observes passersby and other patrons, not averting her eyes when they look back; a waif dining alone with nothing in her hands but the stem of a wine glass. She sits, she stares. And she survives – thrives, even.

She learns, far more quickly than I have, that sitting and staring are not to be feared. She doesn’t need company or distraction; she need not consume anything but the food on her plate, of which she eats little, anyway. (OK, yes, it was an episode of Sex and the City, but Carrie probably wore at least one beret that episode, and besides, you’re missing the point.)

Maybe the feeling of staring is a kind of mindfulness and I’ve just never meditated properly (which is possible, I’m genetically anxious). Whatever it is, I recommend trying it – though it’s not as simple as it sounds. There are rules. For example, you can’t be closer than three metres from the person you’re staring at, and even then, it’s still better if they’re facing the opposite direction or distracted. Remember, you’re not Marina Abramovic ’ . Or maybe you are, and if so, hi! Never stare at a person while following them – you’ll cross the line from relaxation to incarceration. Stare at objects for as long as you want, but not a stranger’s front door or handbag.

The ocean and sky are the most relaxing and non-invasive options.

In theory, minimising the time I spend scrolling should open me up to more conversations with strangers, which is great, as I have limited human contact in my life. My two best friends are my chiropractors (I got a second chiropractor after my psychologist told me to expand my social circle). I haven’t conversed with any new folks yet, but perhaps I need to be the person who makes the first move. Baby steps. For now, I’m happy stoking the social awkwardness I inspire in others by staring deep and pensively into their hairlines and handbags.

The first iPhone was released in 2007. That’s only 10 years ago, or, in terms of my skin, about 37 per cent collagen elasticity. In 10 years, the way we wait, the way we sit or pass the time, has transformed radically. When I was in my 20s, my sister constantly scolded me for staring at people. She’d catch me on the front steps of our Brisbane sharehouse, staring out at the foot traffic. I liked watching. Not in a perverted way, but also not entirely not in a perverted way. I don’t do that anymore. Now, when I find myself with

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road test

the spice is right CARO COOPER AND ELEANOR ROBERTSON PUT THEIR TONGUES TO THE TEST WITH SOME FIERY HOT SAUCES. Illustrations Evie Barrow

HANDSOME DEVILS CO. QUALITY HOT SAUCE

EL YUCATECO JALAPEÑA HOT SAUCE

LOUISIANA CHIPOTLE HOT SAUCE

After a quick once-over of the Handsome Devils packaging, I knew exactly what I was in for.

‘Handsome Devils’ is a manlyman name. The logo screams bougie faux-woodsman, and the tagline, “curiously crafted by Australian gentlemen”, reminds me of every hop-breath craft beer connoisseur who’s ever tried to lecture me at a bar.

The website shows pictures of men with exquisitely groomed bushranger beards (they also sell beard oil?!?!) and Akubras.

Sure enough, this hot sauce is high on heat and low on flavour, with a horrible bitter aftertaste.

There are no fruit or acid notes to speak of, and the smoke is minimal. Does anyone actually use this on their food, or is it only for those sad, macho chilli-eating competitions? Perhaps fittingly, the only way I could make this hot sauce taste good was to mix it with mayonnaise. ER

It’s hard to find good Mexican food in Australia. What a middle-class whinge. “These tacos are just not... authentic enough. Not like those divine ones we had from that darling food truck in LA.” Annoying as it is, though, it’s pretty true.

Thankfully, there’s always an assortment of brightly coloured El Yucateco sauces at every overpriced, underwhelming Aussie Mexican joint. It doesn’t help with the meagre portion sizes, but it does bring a little of the spice and flavour you’re after to any dish. This jalapeño sauce is an aggressive algal green, which means it’s healthy and can be counted as a serving or six of vegetables. It’s a mild but somewhat acidic sauce with a strong onion flavour and a kick that lingers. El Yucateco should brand this as a zombie virus sauce, because it brought my grey, soulless dinner to life. CC

I’ve been told my asthma is largely psychosomatic, like all my ailments. When I saw that I had to eat a ‘smoky hot sauce’, my lungs started to close up and I was filled with dread. Beyond worrying that I would turn as blue as my empty ventolin inhaler, I also had visions of sickly, sticky barbecue ribs and large men in paper bibs eating sweet smoked meats.

Yet again, my worrying was for nothing. This sauce isn’t the smoky BBQ sauce of my nightmares, but rather a deeply delicious chipotle sauce made of only four ingredients, all of which I knew. I ended up splashing it on everything – eggs, tofu, kale, my cat. The label also says “one drop does it!”, which surprised me, because I thought they were tougher in America’s South. CC

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CHOLULA HOT SAUCE As I write this, I’ve had my bottle of Cholula for about four days, and it’s almost all gone. It’s a very low heat sauce, but it has such a delicious and complex flavour that I’ve been putting it on everything. I even had it on a ham salad sandwich the other day, which turns out to be the best idea I’ve had in the kitchen since I discovered foil-wrapped roasted beetroot (ohmygod).

They should advertise this stuff by giving bottles of it to cute baby actors and having them drink it down like formula. The children would probably have to be paid hazard loadings because of the salt content, but in this era of unstable work, I’m sure they’d find a willing tot.

Until then, I’d prop it up on a scallop shell like Botticelli’s Venus and bathe it in a soft golden glow. ER

road test

TABASCO GREEN PEPPER SAUCE Green Tabasco is a great entry-level hot sauce for anyone who’s been traumatised by touching an ornamental chilli plant in 1997, then rubbing it in their eyes, leading to hours of painful and humiliating milk eye baths. I won’t leave you in suspense: I was that young capsaicin casualty, and green Tabasco was one of the first hot sauces I tried after deciding I was ready to overcome that horror. Its low heat, nice vinegar hit, and pleasingly tangy jalapeño dimension is a good replacement for whatever other horrible shit you currently put on your scrambled eggs. Or you could shake it into a Bloody Mary made with spicy V8 juice and ascend to a higher plane of brunchdom. Or you could scrub the label off the cute little green glass bottle and use it to hold a single gardenia on your windowsill. ER

SRIRACHA HOT CHILI SAUCE Like every other tight-jeanwearing urbanite who’s chosen love over money, I’ve eaten a lot of cheap Vietnamese food in my time. Sometimes good, sometimes just cheap. But even when it was essentially MSG-flavoured water, there was always that bright red bottle of Sriracha standing tall on the table, ready to save the meal. This sauce tastes of my youth and so I will always love it, just like I’ll always love the plasticky smell of My Little Pony dolls.

Sriracha has become a bit of an icon in Australia, and with its solid kick, strong flavour and low price, it deserves it.

There’s no denying, though, that it’s the Heinz Ketchup of hot sauces – we should never be ashamed of our love for it, but it’s good to branch out and try new things, too. CC

RED CLIPPER JALAPEÑO, GREEN TOMATO & CORIANDER SAUCE I wanted to like this. It’s in a smooth, oblong, apothecarychic bottle; it’s got green tomato and coriander; it’s a bit chunky, so you get little bursts of flavour when you eat it. Unfortunately, that flavour is bad. I don’t know what it is, maybe the green tomato, but it has an astringent medical quality that brings to mind the lemon gel bleach I use to scrub skidmarks off my toilet bowl. That unpleasant top note doesn’t last long, and once it fades you’re left with a hint of chilli heat and not much else.

If you told me that pouring this sauce onto open wounds would disinfect them and speed up the tissue healing process, I’d believe you. The only application I enjoyed was onto a slightly-tooburnt barbecued chicken thigh, where it sort of balanced out the flavour of ash and failure. ER

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MELBOURNE HOT SAUCE HABANERO & MANGO I first came across this brand in a craft beer store in Melbourne. I walked in to buy a bottle of beer for myself – yes, a single bottle – and walked out with a bottle of hot sauce for my brother. My brother will become a chilli farmer when he retires; his love for chilli sauce is as intense as a Carolina Reaper.

As kids who grew up in Queensland, we also have a love of mangoes. This sauce is his dream come true, and if Harrison Ford circa 1985 was putting it on my dinner, it would be my dream come true, too. For those who aren’t a fan of the world’s sloppiest fruit, don’t let it put you off – it doesn’t taste like mango, it just has a summery kick. It’s also great for people paranoid about having thin lips – it’s so spicy that you’ll be sporting a swollen pout in no time. CC

our project Photo Paul Hermes. Thanks to The Workers Club Geelong.

music with mates

Christine fired off an email – and managed to land the famed Aussie rockstar as an instant partner in her new non-profit.

Getting involved was actually a no-brainer, Kevin insists. “Sometimes with these kinds of issues, they seem so big and complex, and it can be very difficult to know what you can do. You can feel quite disconnected,” he says. “But with Christine’s idea, I felt very confident that I could literally just email people I know and say, ‘Hey, when you’re playing a show, do you reckon you could donate a handful of tickets for us to run this program?’ Everyone was very eager to help.”

CHRISTINE LEAHY AND KEVIN MITCHELL ARE USING LIVE MUSIC TO HELP NEW MIGRANTS SETTLE IN. Words Koren Helbig

Since Music With Mates launched last May, dozens of 18- to 30-year-old migrants and refugees have jumped at the chance to take part. Some big music names have donated tickets, too, including Paul Dempsey, Josh Pyke, Pete Murray and, of course, Kevin himself. Pretty much any musical genre is on the cards – the group has graced pub gigs, club shows and everything in between. “It’s an introduction to what’s going on in Melbourne and Australia musically,” Kevin says. “The Australian rock ‘n’ roll scene is a pretty white place, so I definitely get the feeling we stand out, but the comments are always really lovely.”

Making friends when you move to a new place is often weirdly difficult, especially if your grasp of the local language is a touch shoddy. But imagine you’ve made that move to escape war or turmoil ripping your own country apart, perhaps leaving behind beloved family members. The whole friendship thing suddenly becomes infinitely more complicated – especially when some sections of society seem dead-set on making new migrants and refugees feel totally unwelcome.

The concept is only small-scale as yet. One teacher regularly drives her students – teens and young adults from places like Myanmar, Eritrea and Iran – 30 kilometres into Melbourne’s city centre from Werribee, so they can hang out at gigs and hopefully make new buddies. But otherwise, it’s largely just Kevin and Christine, assisted by a couple of volunteers, taking migrants to shows each month.

“They have no idea who Kevin is,” Christine says with a laugh.

Last year, Melbourne’s Christine Leahy came up with a super-simple way to help address this challenge. What if Aussies harnessed the power of music – the so-called international language – and befriended young migrants by taking them to gigs? “We’re seeing more and more people displaced across the world, and at the same time, noticing this anti-migrant sentiment – small racism; just treating them unkindly,” Christine says. “I really love music; I think it’s a great way to connect and make people feel happy. So the idea was to take the same groups to a few gigs over six months in the hope that friendships would remain beyond the program.”

Nonetheless, Music With Mates looks set to grow super-fast, with loads more Aussies offering to help out. “A lot of people just love the experience of going to a live gig, and want to share that while helping people feel happy and welcome in Melbourne,” Christine says. “You have to do something, even if it’s something really small,” Kevin adds.

“We did this house concert the other week in a tiny place in Coburg.

It’s not going to change the world – obviously we know that – but geez, it was good to be there and see this positive, multicultural Australia. That’s the kind of Australia I want to be part of.”

With her ‘Music With Mates’ idea fully formed, Christine just needed a way to bring the music industry on board, because free gig tickets would be crucial to its success. Handily, during a stint living in the United Kingdom, she’d palled up with some dudes who went to high school with Jebediah frontman Kevin Mitchell (who also plays solo as Bob Evans). Though she didn’t know Kevin from a bar of soap,

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Art - Craft - Music - Food First Sunday of every month, excl January 9am-2pm Western Reserve, Forest St. www.castlemaineartistsmarket.com.au

rant Photo Lukasz Wierzbowski

disorderly conduct

hours rearranging my books by date and author? There seems to be a pervasive understanding that we all work better in ‘organised’ spaces, but while I’m willing to believe we should all occasionally vacuum, I’m not so convinced that we require well-arranged folders and half-year to-do lists to adequately function.

SAM PRENDERGAST FINDS COMFORT IN CHAOS.

I admire people who create alphabetical filing systems that survive for longer than a week, but I also know those people are fundamentally unrelatable superhuman freaks, and I no longer aspire to be like them. Instead, I’m embracing the possibility that, for some of us, any effort to organise our environment is fatally flawed and entirely pointless. It’s a freeing realisation, and not just because it means I can see other people’s well-organised homes and use the word ‘whatever’. Once I stepped away from my unused folder dividers and emptied my space of index card holders, I began to appreciate my mess for what it is: an alternate kind of organising system that operates entirely on the basis of my ability to remember there’s “a water bill or something, somewhere in this shitstorm”.

Frankly, there’s something exciting about not knowing exactly what you’ll find in any given pile. Searching for the gym’s timetable printout? Here, have this five-years-out-of-date copy of your CV instead.

My relationship with colour coding is over. It’s been a good 20-plus years, but we’re finally ready to head our separate ways. No more neon binders, no more coloured sticky tabs. From now on, it’s just me, my desk and 10,000 pieces of miscellaneous paper.

Every year, I tell myself the same garbage lie about getting my shit together and using a daily planner. I spend half a day wandering around stationery stores, struggling to make decisions about highlighters, then another half-day filling a diary up with very important events, like my own birthday and Christmas. I arrange my sticky notes, line up folders, and create a ‘process’ for organising my life. Then, three days later, I inevitably abandon the lot.

It’s not that I think the messy and disorganised among us are somehow better people. Some of my best friends own label makers!

But I am a little disturbed by the overwhelming prevalence of the pro-colour coding, organised-to-the-nth-degree myth. As early as primary school, we’re led to believe that tidiness and organisation are markers of success, which is why I spent half my school years freaking out about the state of my desk drawers, when I could have been learning how to do long division (it never clicked). It’s taken me well into my 20s to realise – with great surprise – that I don’t actually work better when my coloured pencils are arranged in order of height, with all the nibs sharpened and facing the same way. Now that I’ve abandoned planners and folders and said yes to unstable stacks of mismatched documents, my approach to work is a little more relaxed. If nothing else, I can cross ‘organise your life’ off my very unofficial mess of a to-do-list.

If we’re going to be real, there are maybe five people in the world who benefit from colour coding – the rest of us are just faking it.

Sticky-noting and labelling because, from the outside, it makes us look like we’ve reached a new level of being On Top of It. Take that, Mum – I might be living pay cheque to pay cheque, but check it out, I totally just labelled my tupperware. For me, colour coding, labelling and organising is little more than an extended exercise in procrastination. Finding it impossible to write? Why leave the house or see another human when I could spend the next five

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• IMMERSE YOUR SENSES •

21 March – 25 M ar ch 2018 Royal E x hi bi t i o n B u i l d i n g & C a rlt on G a rd e n s In spir atio n al Lan dscap e De s i g ns • Bo ld Flo r a l I ns t a lla t i o ns F r esh C ul in ar y Adven tu r e s • I nno v a t i v e G a r d e ni ng P r o d u c t s

Ti cke ts from: melbflowe rshow. com. au

around the world

the thing about cuba photographer tria giovan became so enamoured with the caribbean island that she returned again and again, and again, and again.

INTERVIEW SOPHIE KALAGAS

The thing I first noticed about Cuba: There was an openness and accessibility of the people and physical spaces. The locals were very welcoming, generous and warm – they are famous for their resourcefulness and hospitality. On the first day of a two-week trip, I shot a quarter of all the film I had for the entire time.

a sense of urgency to photograph as much as possible, as the place seemed to be on the precipice of change.

The thing about the music: The music is amazing and emanates from everywhere – especially the streets of Havana. For the average Cuban, going out to hear music is not always possible, whereas putting it on your boombox and dancing with friends doesn’t cost any money, and the whole family can join in.

The thing about the colours: When most people think of Cuba, they imagine bright, tropical and vibrant colours. In reality, most colours are faded, muted and soft, and have a patina that reflects history and time.

The thing about the signage: Cuba’s legacy of graphic design is amazing. The murals are abundant; the posters made for films were my favourite. There were many print-making and silk-screening workshops that produced these posters through the ’60s, ’70s and beyond. On my last trip, many of the political murals had been replaced by more tourist-friendly messaging, sadly, losing some of the country’s more interesting qualities.

The thing about the architecture: It’s so diverse! The scale of the capital city, Havana, is quite amazing, in that it has an abundance of many different eras of buildings. I happen to love the Mid- century commercial buildings myself, but the turn-ofthe-century residences in neighbourhoods like Vedado might be considered more beautiful.

The thing about the beaches: Cuba is a big island, so it takes some exploring to find the best beaches. The ones in Holguín Province were lovely, and not too built up. Varadero is the beach area that is closest to Havana. It’s been a well-known resort since the 1950s.

The thing I fell in love with: After 12 one-month trips and exploring the entire country, I developed many close relationships and came to know the place intimately. I hold the people and the country very close to my heart. It became like a second home, and I feel that I have an extended Cuban family.

The thing I most wanted to capture: Everything was interesting, but what was most important to me was to take pictures that were informed. I made a thorough and in-depth investigation into Cuba by reading everything I could get my hands on, learning Spanish, and talking to as many people as possible while I was there. I felt

The thing I learnt: I learnt many things about my craft and my work as a photographer. To create a comprehensive body of work like this one takes a lot of time and discipline. I was compelled to return again and again – there was no question about it. I learnt that this is not a given, and when it happens, you are a very lucky person!

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first in, best desk OFFICE STATIONERY DOESN’T HAVE TO BE BORING – TAKE A LOOK AT THESE GOODIES IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE US. 1. Normann Copenhagen x Daily Fiction Triangle ruler set square in space stone light, rrp $24, designstuff.com.au. 2. Ellepi Klizia 97 stapler in yellow, around $38, goodhoodstore.com. 3. Mini compartment tray, around $12.50, schoolhouse.com. 4. Livework pattern 0.5mm mechanical pencil, around $5, fallindesign.com. 5. Midori D-Clips in apple, around $11 for 30, thejournalshop.com. 6. Stick With It paper tape set in compliments, around $15, bando.com. 7. Witu x The Souvenir Society LAVA pencil case in blue, rrp $60, thesouvenirsociety.com. 8. Classic crayons, around $7.50 for set of eight, schoolhouse.com. 9. HAY Ballograf ballpoint pen in sand, around $41, hay.dk. 10. Pana Objects Shady wall clock in maple, around $140, pana-objects.com. 11. oh, hello friend Cat tape dispenser in black, around $18, ohhellofriend.com. 12. Rifle Paper Co. Rosa file folder, around $18 for set of six, riflepaperco.com. 13. Everyday I’m Hustlin vintage desk plate, rrp $42, thirddrawerdown.com.

14. Officeworks Otto Brights file sorter in blue, rrp $9.93, officeworks.com.au. 15. ban.do More Coffee Please enamel pin, around $13, bando.com.

16. Stork embroidery scissors, around $14, mightypapershop.etsy.com. 17. Poketo sticky notes in savanna, around $7.50, poketo.com. 18. HAY Terrazzo pencils in assorted colours, around $3, hay.dk. 19. Octaevo Brass Lobster bookmark, rrp $25, thirddrawerdown.com. 20. Drop Around Shikaku-Mado letterwriting set, rrp $12, i-mhome.com.au. 21. Officeworks Otto A4 magazine file in palm print, rrp $7.95, officeworks.com.au

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nine to five Photo Anthea and Lyndon Torres

my job

The facility here is quite small, so they can only afford to have one person in the role, which is me. I manage the lab and do all the maintenance, but my larger role is taking care of the bodies themselves. All the bodies are used for medical teaching and research. I’m involved from the moment they’re delivered by the funeral company. I give them a wash; de-identify them by shaving their hair; embalm them; and then store them in the fridge for six months – that’s how long it takes for the embalming process to finish. Then, I section them and dissect them out.

HANNAH LEWIS DISSECTS DEAD BODIES FOR A LIVING. As told to Mia Timpano

Occasionally, I talk to the bodies. It’s difficult not to, especially when I first receive them, because they look like someone’s grandmother or grandfather. I’ll say, “Excuse me, sir. Do you mind if I lift this?” or, “Mind your head there – sorry.” I really wish I knew what type of music they liked, because I’d love to play that while I embalm them, but I think that’s too personal a question to ask the families. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.

My interest in dissecting dead bodies started when I was sitting in a year 11 ancient history class. We learnt about a physical anthropologist who’d been studying the human remains at Mount Vesuvius. She deduced that one particular young female had been a slave because the bicipital groove in her humerus was well worn, indicating that that muscle had been used a lot. I thought that was just so cool. At uni, I majored in anatomy, and a dissection program came up. I volunteered to join it, and from that moment I was hooked.

For a long time, men dominated this industry. But my supervisor is female, and her supervisor is female, and the dean of the medical school is female. We’re extremely lucky to be in an all-female laboratory in a medical school. It’s difficult being a woman in this line of work, because sometimes people don’t respect you. You really have to stand up for yourself and say, “No, I’m the person you’re supposed to be talking to. I run this lab.” Sometimes they do a double-take and are like, “But you’re wearing pigtails and you have eyeball hair bows and you’re wearing a skirt. How can you possibly do this job?” I’m like, “I do this job. This is my role.”

Initially, I was hesitant to touch the specimens because they don’t really smell like dead bodies. They smell more like a cocktail of chemicals. And of course, being around anything dead is confronting, but a deceased human is next level. I was in awe, though. I remember sitting there dissecting a body and I could tell it was female because she was wearing pink nail polish. I was like, “Ooh, jeez – that’s a human.” I volunteered for a year-and-a-half with that lab. From there, I did a dissection competition and won a prize. I completely blew myself away; I didn’t know I could actually do something like that. Then I applied for the role of anatomical services specialist at the Australian National University in Canberra and, by some miracle, I got it.

Working alone a lot of the time can be extremely lonely and frustrating. Honestly, music is how I get through it. I have these awesome noise-cancelling headphones. Also, in the demonstrating room, we have a screen you can play YouTube on, so when there are no students in here and we don’t have anyone on the table, the lab turns into a little dance party. When there’s someone on the table, the music’s a little bit more subdued. I don’t see the point in the lab being a dreary environment – it should be a celebration of life.

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hair today, gone tomorrow

“epidemic” in the States, along with certain female students who’d chopped off their manes to play basketball. People everywhere considered the haircut a threat – preachers conducted sermons denouncing the hairstyle, and so-called health experts circulated pamphlets warning women of the dangers the bob could bring.

One physiologist claimed that by cutting their hair short, women were “violating their nature”, and that it would ultimately lead to baldness. A news report from England, meanwhile, insisted it would stimulate the growth of facial hair.

If you ever wanted to know what ladies were up to at various points throughout history, you need only look at the top of their heads – whatever was going on with their follicles was a pretty good indication of the times. Say, for example, if you came across a dame who’d chopped off her locks in the 15th century – you could safely assume she was willing to risk her life for what she believed in. Short hair could get you burned at the stake in those days, which is exactly what happened to Joan of Arc. Sentenced to death in 1431 for heresy by crossdressing, the 20-year-old was just trying to get mistaken for a dude so she could avoid getting pawed by sex pests in the military, for goodness sake.

As for the fashion press, while they thought it was cool (or ‘darb’, as they might have said back then – ’20s slang for ‘wonderful’), they didn’t expect the style to actually take off. “There is little likelihood of its general adoption,” Vogue stated when the trend first emerged in 1915. But not only did the bob become huge, it injected unprecedented volumes of cash into the hairdressing industry – once hairdressers finally relented and agreed to snip women’s hair to the shorter length, that is. The bob was also responsible for launching some of our best known and loved hair accessories: the bobby pin got its name for holding the hairstyle in place, and the headband added a decorative touch to the blunt cut.

Nearly 500 years later – in the 1920s, to be precise – women with short haircuts were still causing the general population to lose the contents of their bowels. Thankfully, the penalty for having a bob at this time wasn’t death, although it was prohibited in some places, including schools and hospitals (nurses in the US weren’t allowed to cut their hair to ear-height or above). It was also considered so controversial by mainstream society that most hairdressers flat-out refused to cut ladies’ hair into a bob, or coupe à la garçonne (‘a boy cut’), as it was known in France.

It was associated with flappers, you see – that generation of lasses in the Western world who had the audacity to do stuff women didn’t traditionally do, e.g. drive cars, drink booze, smoke ciggies, have casual sex and – yes – even listen to jazz.

As the years rolled on, so did our hair – literally, during World War II, when ladies rushed to get their mitts on plastic rollers in order to make their mane go all wavy, thereby fulfilling their ‘patriotic duty’ to look gorgeous. It was more than a tad ironic, though, given that this was the time women were entering the workforce in droves, since their blokes were being sent off to shoot each other. Practicality was probably more important than aesthetics, which explains why women working in factories tended to roll their locks at the nape of the neck, sometimes covering them with a scarf tied à la Rosie the Riveter (she’s that iconic babe with her sleeve rolled up, saying, “We can do it!” – ‘it’ being producing munitions and war supplies).

But it wasn’t female jazz fanatics who first started the lopped-off trend. We can thank Russian ‘intellectual women’ in Greenwich Village for that. Just like Joan of Arc, these ladies (or ‘saboteurs’, as they were known) were in the habit of cutting their hair short in order to pass themselves off as dudes – a cunning disguise to avoid police during the Russian Revolution. According to The New York Times, they were responsible for kicking off the bob

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learn something new

‘revisionism’ – a more relaxed, watered down view of Marxism, and thus totally unacceptable. Indeed, the only safe hairstyle to have at this time was the ‘movement hairdo’ – a super-short bob – otherwise you’d risk such punishments as a ‘yin-yang head’, where half your hair was shaved off.

no one should come between a woman and the architectural triumph that is her beehive

Back in the West, the state of women’s hair couldn’t have been more different. Hippies were growing their locks as long as they would go; refusing to wash them; and adorning them with flowers as a nod to ‘flower power’ – a symbol of their counter-cultural, war-opposing, drug-appreciating ways. This free-flowing hairstyle allowed a lady (or fella) to explicitly give ‘The Man’ the middle finger – since The Man was typically short-haired, clean-shaven and sending young’uns over to Vietnam to blow up a small part of the country. At the same time, the bouffant grew to heights that would have made Marie Antoinette proud (and possibly slightly intimidated). The beehive had arrived, and it was all thanks to a lady by the name of Margaret Heldt – a beautician from Chicago who had long dreamed of designing a hairstyle that would fit under a fez hat.

Immediately after the beehive made its first appearance in a 1960 edition of a trade rag called Modern Beauty Shop, the style enjoyed widespread popularity – in part due to the celebrities who wore it (Dusty Springfield, Aretha Franklin and Brigitte Bardot among them), and in part due to the fact that, rather conveniently, it would stay in place for days at a time. (Using litres of hairspray will have that effect.) According to Margaret, no one should come between a woman and the architectural triumph that is her beehive: “I used to tell my clients, ‘I don’t care what your husband does from the neck down, but I don’t want them to touch you from the neck up.’” African-American lasses were also relishing a large-scale new hairstyle, but this wasn’t just a rad ’do – it signified some serious shit.

Slavery may have been abolished during the 19th century in the States, but black folks still felt obliged to blend into white society. This meant making themselves look whiter, starting with their hair. But how do you naturally straighten African hair?

You can’t – which is why Madam C.J. Walker became the first self-made millionairess in America, and one of the most successful African-American businesspeople ever. She sold hair-straightening products for black people, who felt so pressured into looking European that they’d often use hot chemical mixtures that would almost burn their scalps. Leaders of the civil rights movement in the 1960s rejected this craziness and grew their hair into afros – or ‘naturals’, as they were also known.

And what better way to celebrate defeating the Nazis than with a glamorous new hairdo? Victory rolls were the pinnacle of postwar hair, named after the loops fighter pilots would do in the sky following victory in battle. The hairstyle – big, sleek curls pinned up around the top of the head – was pretty high-maintenance, involving finicky techniques and pins to keep it in place, but dames made do with limited resources by rolling their strands around headbands made from old stockings. Hair trends in the West were about to get bigger (the bouffant – a lofty, rounded style achieved by backcombing, and originally made popular

by Marie Antoinette in the 18th century – wasn’t far off), but in China, they were getting a whole lot shorter.

The ’fro stood for black pride, and by the ’70s – thanks to the rise of Blaxploitation movies such as Shaftt and Foxy Brown – they’d become synonymous with black bad-assery. Indeed, the afro pick – a comb required to keep the afro looking ace – came with a handle shaped like a fist. This was, in fact, the Black Power salute, so even hair accessories were resisting white supremacy. Of course, the ’fro wasn’t the only confrontational hairstyle of the era. In the latter half of the ’70s, punk girls were spiking their brightly dyed locks into mohawks – an expression of disgust for and rebellion against mainstream society – and lasses who belonged to ‘sharpie’ gangs here in Australia snipped their hair super-short, as a way to distinguish themselves from their enemies: ‘long hairs’.

Hair had always been a big deal in China, having been valued as much as the body itself (from 770 to 476 BCE, ‘sinners’ were required to shave their heads, a punishment considered worse than physical torture because it insulted the soul). During the years of the Republic of China – 1912 to 1949 – hairstyles were strictly policed; pigtails, for example, were illegal. Then came Communism, and with it a new must-have style for Chinese women: the bob. Known as the ‘liberation hairdo’, the short style didn’t signify a propensity for smoking and wiggling one’s bottom to Duke Ellington, as it had during the time of the flappers, but rather that the bob-wearing woman was liberated – her own master, as it were.

Another rebellious look was (and is) the shaved head, one that Grace Jones claims led directly to her first orgasm.

“My shaved head made me look more abstract; less tied to a specific race or sex or tribe,” she says. Sinéad O’Connor shaved her head for different reasons: to make herself appear as unattractive as she possibly could, in order to avoid the unwanted sexual advances of record executives. Either way, a lady shaving off her mane makes a powerful statement – that she is reclaiming control over her body. But there are infinite ways to make the same statement. The natural hair movement – pioneered over the past 10 years by the likes of bloggers Afrobella and Curly Nikki – is all about ditching the straightening irons and embracing your natural locks. Less a political statement and more an expression of self-love, natural hair is nevertheless a tribute to the afro wearers of yore, and proof that sometimes a radical form of protest makes no noise at all.

It’s hard to believe that these ladies enjoyed much freedom, though. By the time Chairman Mao launched his “cultural revolution” in the ’60s, any lasses sporting long braids had to chop them off, lest they be seen as anything but hard-boiled revolutionaries (one braid was considered feudalistic; two, capitalistic). And you could forget wavy perms altogether – the style that Chinese ladies had become rather fond of during the ’50s was now deemed the epitome of capitalism.

Even shoulder-length hair was seen to be supportive of

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look what i made

for the birds POLISH ARTIST PAULINA BARTNIK STITCHES UP SOME SWEET FEATHERED FRIENDS. Who are you and where are you from? My name is Paulina and I’m an artist from Poland. I run a small graphic design studio with my partner – most often we work in advertising. In my free time, I make embroidered bird brooches. It’s my biggest passion, and the best way to relax.

When did you first pick up a needle and thread? I discovered embroidery by accident as a teenager, when I found a book about Polish folk embroidery. I decided to try and learn it by myself.

It came naturally to me because I had a background in various other fields of art, and I really liked it! I decorated some of my clothes with floral patterns. But, because embroidery is very time-consuming, I had to leave it and go back after some years.

What’s your fascination with birds? Are you a big birdwatcher in real life? Not really. I adore birds, but I watch them only from my window, where I have a bird feeder. Birds are quite special and fascinating; it’s not easy to see them in nature. It’s a pity, because they are really inspiring – they have beautiful shapes, and interesting colour combinations and patterns.

Do you have a favourite type that you’ve embroidered or would like to embroider? There are so many kinds of bird and each of them is unique. I don’t have a favourite. It’s always difficult for me to decide which one I want to embroider next. I usually choose colourful birds, but sometimes I like to do monochromatic ones, too. It depends on my mood. I’d like to stitch all the birds in the world!

How do you make each design so lifelike? Talk us through some of your techniques. First, I cut out the bird’s shape from felt sheets. To make it more rounded in some parts, I sew more layers of felt. Next, I make a general outline of the bird with a needle and thread, and mark the direction of the feathers. I love to start from the centre – the eye. It makes the piece of felt come alive.

The beak and other details are the most labour-intensive. For me, it’s more like a painting process, but instead of paint and brushes, I use a needle and thread.

How long does a brooch take you to make? It’s hard to say exactly how long it takes because, of course, I need breaks, and it’s not my main job. But I think at least four to five days for one simple portrait of a bird.

When do you find yourself being most creative? Creativity is one of the most important things in my life. I try to be creative all the time.

My favourite time to work with embroidery is in the evening, when I can focus and calm down. It’s a very peaceful process.

What are you working on right now? I’m working on a beautiful blue jay, a woodpecker and a raven. I’m trying to embroider a wolf, too.

Where can we see more of your pretty things? I’m still working on my website, but you can follow me on Instagram @paulina.bart.

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pieces of me

everybody has a story former refugee alphonse mulumba is living in a ‘third space’.

AS TOLD TO LUCY CORRY

I grew up in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), the eldest of four brothers. Life there was OK. My parents worked really hard to send us to school and supply our basic needs. Dad was a teacher and later a school principal, while Mum ran one small business after another. We may not have had enough, but we were surrounded by a large family and people who could easily pick us up whenever we were down.

We were granted residency in Australia in 2008, and moved to Tasmania. Going there gave me the opportunity to do things I would never have had the chance to do in DRC or Benin, like study. I started a degree in medical research, but I didn’t finish it because I couldn’t see myself as a medical researcher. Instead, I transitioned to public policy. I’m just about to complete my PhD in political studies.

We left DRC in 1998, when I was 15. Many, many people left the country then because of the political crisis and unrest. We sought refuge in Benin, in West Africa, and stayed there for six-and-a-half years. Benin was never our home; it always felt like a transitional place. We were called ‘refugees’ – we knew we were never going to be citizens. When we were there, we were stateless. But when we came to Australia, people called us refugees here, too. I thought, “When is my refugee status going to end?” It made me realise that we have to redefine the labels we put on people.

Being in Tasmania also gave me the chance to serve the community by being involved in advocacy and policy design.

I attempted to run for public office in 2014 and missed out by a tiny margin. In these times, you require some level of wisdom.

People from the Congo saw me as either an ambitious young man who thought he could conquer the world, or a young Congolese man who was doing his best to be someone to be proud of. Some people who had lived in Australia for a long time saw my standing for office as a way to strengthen Australian democracy. They thought it was a positive story, that a former refugee could come here and, after a few years, stand for public office. Of course, there were some racist comments, too. It was tough sometimes. It cost me a lot; it required me to develop a very tough skin.

I knew little about Australia before coming here. I had very, very high hopes, dreaming of a country where milk and honey flowed. My hopes were dashed as soon as we arrived. I realised I had more than my dreams to fight for – I had to fight the weather; being part of a minority black community; learning the language; and finding out how to navigate the Australian system and way of life. Fortunately, I had people who made life easier: English teachers, church members, community members and others. I owe them many thanks.

I last visited the DRC in 2015. When I was there, I felt like I was a white man in dark skin. In Australia, I am an African, but in the Congo, people treated me like I was an Australian. It wasn’t because I’d decided to live in a different way, but you don’t see how much

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pieces of me Photo Thom Perry

To make Australia more welcoming, we need to go back to the start and show more respect to the Indigenous population.

Australia needs to have a more human approach to people who come from other countries, especially those who come for humanitarian reasons. I would love to live in a society that offers a helping hand to the poor; a society that is able to reach out to others. At the moment, Australia is doing the exact opposite. We also need to play a bigger role in the Asia-Pacific region, and in other regions of the world. In Asia-Pacific, it is unacceptable that a powerhouse like Australia would turn a blind eye to neighbouring countries where children don’t have water to drink.

being out of your home country changes you until you go back.

I felt a bit lost after being there – I thought, “Where do I belong?”

I realised I belong to a ‘third space’ between the two cultures, where you can take advantage of both worlds.

I wish other people felt more secure about living in the third space. It comes with a sense of belonging and being accepted for who you are. It can be hard if you’re an Australian, but you’re not seen as a ‘true’ Australian. But if you take that as a point of weakness, your life will go down the drain and you will never move past it. If I understand it from the perspective of being different, I’m going to have a much greater impact. I wish more people would see it as an opportunity to be proud of having a different perspective to others. I’m writing a book about my journey – about what it’s like to be in that third space. I’m hoping it will be finished next year.

Overall, we need to look at our government policies. Some things have changed in a positive way, but we still have a way to go compared to other countries like New Zealand and Canada. We should be creating a society that accepts everyone – no matter their sexual orientation, or disability, or race, or faith – and where everyone feels safe. We need to embrace diversity – everybody should feel at home in Australia.

I left Tasmania a year ago. I felt like I had become a big fish in a small pond, and I needed to be somewhere bigger. So far, so good.

Now I work in a multicultural services centre in Perth and run my own consultancy business. I think it has been harder here for my parents than it has been for me and my brothers. My parents are doing it a bit tough, actually. They’re only approaching 60, but it’s much harder for people of their age to adapt. I really want to acknowledge them for what they have done for us by coming here.

To do this, our political leaders need to lead by example. We still have politicians making extremely racist and unacceptable comments in the public arena. There are some very conservative views expressed that make me want to bury my head in my hands. But ultimately, I have ended up loving this country, and I call it home.

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that’ll learn ya

four folks tell us what it it’ss like to be a teacher these days (including less chalk dust, and more tattoos).

INTERVIEWS SOPHIE KALAGAS PORTRAITS HILARY WALKER

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Tell us a little about yourself. My family came to Australia from Sri Lanka when I was two, and I grew up in outer-northern Melbourne. I don’t live there anymore, but it’s very deliberately where I teach, because of the significant Sri Lankan population at my school. It’s important for me to be visible and available to these kids, as someone who understands the unique pressures they face. What do you teach? I teach English across all high school levels. It was by far my favourite subject at school.

How has the classroom environment changed since you were young? I had a very singular high school experience at an allgirls select-entry school. In my first weeks as a teacher, I was shocked at the cheeky way kids were challenging me, or being what I thought was ‘disrespectful’. I’ve come to understand that it’s just a different way of engaging, but no less respectful or warm or loving. What makes a good teacher? Empathy and compassion are crucial. The students we teach have their own lives that don’t get put on pause when they enter a classroom.

It means everything to a student to know they’re seen and valued, even if they’re not the top of the class. How do you see issues like race and sexuality play out in the school ground?

For a lot of kids, these issues are only interesting or worth interrogating if they apply directly to them. As English teachers, we’re constantly trying to introduce texts that give students insight into perspectives that are different from their own.

When they’re given context and room to understand, they can be incredibly empathetic. It takes a while for that to translate from the classroom to the playground, though, and that’s where the harder work is. What’s your take on technology in the classroom? It’s exciting to teach a generation that has always had access to all the information in the world, but students need to learn how to evaluate the sources they access, to evaluate bias, and to understand how to read critically. What’s the hardest thing about teaching? When a student wants to do a presentation arguing against marriage equality, abortion, or something else that affects me personally, it’s hard to bite my tongue. I can’t hope they’ll consider other perspectives unless I introduce them gently and with good intent – without being reactionary, or telling them what to think. I get sneaky when I can, like incorporating feminist punk music into teaching the Iranian revolution. And what excites you? Watching them turn into little adults warms my heart so much. I love going to their formals and graduations, beaming and weeping with pride.

When my first year 7 class graduates, I’ll be a complete mess.

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What do you teach? Year 11 and 12 maths and physics. Did you always want to be a teacher? The implicit message I received growing up was that I should aspire to something ‘more’ than teaching, so I ruled it out pretty early. But I’ve always been a teacher at heart, and eventually figured I’d give myself a break from trying to solve the world’s woes myself, and try to build the capacity of students instead, so they can go on to solve them. What are the biggest concerns school-aged kids have today? They’re struggling with the dominant and disempowering narratives of society that tell them a multitude of things, from the way they should dress, look and treat each other to the fact they should all know exactly what they want to do with their lives. This spawns a bunch of other issues, particularly related to mental health challenges, which are exacerbated by things such as poverty, family violence and visa restrictions for my students who are refugees. How do you engage students and get them excited about learning? I always start the year with ‘about me’ sheets that ask questions like, “What should I call you?”; “What’s your pronoun?”; “Favourite song?”; and “Who do you admire?” I try to remember the info, and compile their favourite songs into a Spotify playlist that I put on when there are a couple of free minutes. Sometimes I’ll shoot a video of something I see on the weekend that links to something I’ve taught in class. What kind of relationship do you have with your students? It’s not my primary role to be their friend; my role is to be their teacher. That said, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I also want them to think I’m a sick bloke, look up to me, and ask me for life advice. Do you have any side projects? I’m an education nerd at heart. I run a podcast called The Education Research Reading Room, where I discuss various developments in education research with other educators. I also run a personal blog on stuff I learn and do in the classroom. Any wisdom you want to impart on the next generation? I’m striving to convey two seemingly contradictory messages: that I have high expectations of them academically, and want them to do their best and succeed; and that in no way do I consider their performance in my subjects (or whatever uni course/job they get into after that) as a reflection of their self-worth. If I can somehow support my students to strive for the stars whilst simultaneously accepting themselves for who they are, then I’ll be a very happy teacher.

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What do you teach? Primary school music. Music has been nothing short of an obsession since I was seven.

How has the classroom environment changed since you were at school? We’re much more student-directed than when I was young. I think the days of the teacher being the centre of all knowledge are long gone. The students have more say over what they learn and want to achieve – I just help them work out how to get there. Do you have any other projects outside of being a teacher? I sing in a psychedelic rock band called The Hello Morning; play pedal steel in a honkytonk band, James Ellis and The Jealous Guys; DJ boogie tunes once a week; and book a venue called Littlefoot. I don’t think I change very much between each role. I just reign in the swears, and there’s no rider at school – just some Arnott’s Assorted Creams. Do your students know you’re in a band? I think most of the kids know, but if you’re not on The Voice, you’re not on their radar. What makes a good teacher? You have to be patient and creative with how you approach different students. It’s really important to be adaptable. Anything can happen in a classroom – sometimes lessons bomb really hard, and then a kid decides he can’t quite make the loo and the music room floor is his best bet... How do you see issues like race and sexuality play out in the school ground? I don’t think they register for most of our kids. It’s like a weird utopia and it’s actually really refreshing. When the ‘yes’ vote was announced for same-sex marriage, one of the boys politely asked, “Does that mean I have to marry a boy now?” Bless! Talk us through the schoolteacher stereotypes you’re up against. Every week on yard duty kids ask me why I have long hair. Usually boys. I just say I think it looks cool, then ask them why they have short hair. It’s funny how it wigs them out. How have you changed since your first day on the job? I think I’m getting goofier. I used to feel weird singing songs and running around like a maniac with preps, but now I just knock back two coffees and go for it. What excites you about teaching? Seeing kids perform is hands down the best thing. It might be a small performance in the grand scheme of things, but for them, it’s absolutely massive. Any wisdom to impart on the next generation? That anyone can play, write, perform or have an opinion about music. It’s not exclusive or elitist or something you have to be born with – you just have to listen, pick up an instrument and start playing.

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What do you teach? High school mathem mathematics – predominantly senior maths. Did you always want to be a teacher? Yes and no. My interest stemmed from having amazing female maths teachers in high school. They were so incredible at what they did and passionate about their profession. How has the classroom environment changed since you were at school? The teaching practice is moving away from a ‘chalk and talk’ style, so to speak. There’s much more technology used in the classroom – videos; PowerPoints; online learning platforms that students can access 24/7. How do you engage students and get them excited about learning? I’m faced with the predicament that many kids hate maths. It’s important to get to know your students – learn who they are; how they like to learn; and their interests. When you can help students be confident in their own abilities and what they can achieve, they become more excited about learning, because they find success in what they’re doing. Talk us through the schoolteacher stereotypes you’re up against. Maths teachers: old, male, with a calculator in their pocket! I don’t really change how I dress for school. I don’t intentionally cover my tattoos, and I’m a jeans, t-shirt and hoodie kind of gal. I’m lucky to have worked for great schools that haven’t judged me on my appearance, but rather my ability to teach.

I like to think I’m pretty good at what I do, and what I look like has no part in that. What are the biggest concerns schoolaged kids have today? Kids have so many distractions they can’t escape. When I was young and something happened at school that bummed me out, I could go home and chill in my room and listen to music. It didn’t follow me home on social media. Nowadays they can’t be sheltered from anything.

What kind of relationship do you have with your students?

I have a laidback teaching style; I prefer students to call me by my first name. My classes are like little families – we have in-jokes and zero tolerance for cruelty, and we look out for one another. What excites you about teaching? The ‘ah-ha’ moments are the best, when you can actually see the student get it. It’s awesome, I feel super-stoked for them. That’s why I love my job. Any wisdom you want to impart on the next generation? I’m so passionate about encouraging female students to study maths and science – we’re outnumbered in both these areas. Science, technology, engineering and mathematics are going to be at the forefront of our future, and I’d love to see girls leading the way for positive change.

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music talks

It seems really simple – you’ve got your hand in the back, and it’s all good. But we actually did a lot of tai chi and work on our craft that was meant to breathe life into these inanimate objects, and it was really, really intense.

places and spaces with...

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THE WELL-TRAVELLED MERRILL GARBUS OF TUNE-YARDS.

WHERE I GREW UP: My dad grew up in New York and I lived in the Bronx for a bit when I was a kid. But for the most part, I grew up in Connecticut, outside of New York. It’s very safe and suburban and white. And the town I grew up in was wealthy – many of our friends lived in very mansion-like houses. It was kind of regular to go over for a play date and be like, “Oh, people live like this!” .

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WHERE I WAS INSPIRED MUSICALLY: I spent a semester of university in Kenya – mostly on the coast – where I furthered my study of the Swahili language and took courses on Swahili culture.

I lived with host families and ate a lot of great food. The Nairobi dancehall scene was something I was introduced to when I was there. I’m sure it’s changed since I lived there in 2000, but it was vibrant and centred around this one club that I went to often.

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WHERE I LIVE NOW: To be half-Jewish in the town I grew up in felt noticed and strange – it was a very monochromatic social environment. Because of growing up that way, I’ve always sought to live in places where that’s not the case. Somewhere where any kind of difference isn’t frowned upon. Oakland, where I live now, is one of my favourite places I’ve ever lived. On Sundays I love going to my Haitian dance class, which is right in downtown Oakland. We often eat Vietnamese food at a wonderful restaurant called Tay Ho, and take a walk around Lake Merritt, near our studio. .

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WHERE I FOUND MY RHYTHM: My drum teacher is Haitian, so I took a trip with her to Haiti for a couple of weeks. As with any kind of musical study, there’s a lot of knowledge passed on – like learning rhythm and how to hear that through dancing to it. It was a really incredible opportunity; I learnt so much about Haiti. I learnt about true hunger and poverty. I also learnt about the wealth of culture in the country, and the dedication my teachers have to preserving folklore and dance and drumming and song.

Interview Rebecca Varcoe

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WHERE I’D LIKE TO GO: There are so many places I’d love to go. It feels like such a privilege – especially understanding the environmental impact of travel. We had such an amazing time both times we were in Australia, and I’m crossing my fingers that we can go back. You guys know how to cook an egg! It’s rare that you have such a remarkable breakfast, my goodness. I’d also love to go to the Philippines, and I did go to Japan, but would love to go back and spend more time. There are a million places, but that being said, you know, we’ve been able to travel and tour to so many places with this music that I can’t believe it. I’m living my dream over and over and over again.

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WHERE I STUDIED PUPPETRY: Vermont will always be dear to my heart. There’s so much wonderful stuff there, but it’s not the same kind of energy as in a city. I lived over a barn; had a job at the local coffee shop. I studied mostly with one company called Sandglass Theatre, in Putney. Puppeteers are extremely well-trained.

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something to say

I learnt how to apply make-up from my tap dancing teacher around 1987. Heavy and dramatic were my guiding principles.

Unlike my friends, who watch YouTube tutorials on beauty… stuff, I’ve learnt nothing new since then. I understand the basics: cover bad things, exaggerate other bits. I don’t like the feeling of a face full of foundation, so I cover my most problematic spots with random splashes of concealer. A dot of concealer here, a swipe of mismatched foundation there, and a complete lack of blending to round it out. Are you picturing Rambo in camo facepaint? Bingo.

So when I say that the moment I leave home my make-up is perfect, know this is the bar we’re working from. This is why I’m always surprised it manages to get worse.

face off CARO COOPER IS HAVING A LITTLE TROUBLE KEEPING HER MAKE-UP INTACT.

The obvious solution is to never leave the house. Ever. No one would see me. I could revert to my tap dancing-era blue eyeshadow and babydoll rouge. I could even wear my tap costumes again. No matter that the leotards ride up in ways that threaten to cut me in half – there’d be no one to judge apart from the home-visiting doctor I may need to call to perform an emergency sequin extraction.

I have a melting face. That’s the only explanation I can think of for my problem.

Before leaving the house each morning, I look in the mirror and check that my make-up is creating the illusion of a person well- rested and not yet of retirement age. This is as good as it gets. Giving myself the thumbs up – yes, literally – I head out into a world that I believe is ready and willing to embrace me.

In one last desperate attempt to tackle my face-melting problem, I did what any adult would do: I let a 13-year-old YouTube make-up artist lecture me on how to ‘set’ my face. She told me to brush talcum powder on, then dunk my face into a sink of cold water. I hit rewind to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. I wasn’t. Apparently the way to keep your make-up in place is to turn your mug into papier-mâché paste.

As I step into the lift, the mirrors reveal that my make-up has already started a revolt. My lips are messy scratches divided by rivers of wrinkles; under-eye bags have dug their way out from beneath the concealer; and my eyebrows look less Cara Delevingne, and more John Howard. I tell myself it’s the bad lighting in the lift.

Maybe it’s my lack of skills; maybe it’s my skin type; maybe it’s just the world; but I’m done with this face-melting torment. For me, the answer is not new make-up or more tutorials (what else could a kid from Arizona possibly teach a tap-dancing veteran about life?). The answer is much easier than that: it is simply fewer mirrors. A single mirror to check my face at home, and that’s it. I avert my eyes in the lift, walk faster past shop windows, and work on strengthening my bladder so I don’t have to visit the work bathroom so often. The image of me at home, fresh and intact, will be the one I project to the world mentally, if not physically, all day long. I’ve always preferred my own made-up world to reality, anyway.

When I arrive in the sunlit lobby, I check myself in another mirror. I am Picasso’s Weeping Woman. By the time I reach the city, I’m a child’s recreation of Picasso’s work. Every reflective surface tracks the rapid disintegration of my morning face.

I want to scream, “I did not wake up like this!” as I pass horrified pedestrians. By the time I sit down at my desk, I’m a haggard witch from an anxious child’s nightmare.

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mind your business

i love my shop

teacher, an interior stylist, writer, graphic designer, and most recently I managed a small brewery in Sydney called EKIM. Describe the space for us. The bar was actually an old Queenslander farmhouse in another life, but a commercial office space when we found it. I wanted to reinstate it to its former glory, so I stripped it back and bathed the space in wallpaper and finds from the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s. I love the clash of patterns, colours and eras that all sit happily together. I’m definitely inspired by the aesthetic excess of past decades.

CASSIE POTTS RUNS KITSCH WATERING HOLE FITZ + POTTS IN BRISBANE’S INNER-NORTH.

Where do all the kitsch bits come from? I’m perpetually locked in a state of bidding warfare on eBay. I love it! I’ve never had a big bank balance, so I’ve become an expert on how to find something unique in a cluttered corner of a church op shop, and to see value in something left on the side of the road. I’ll die with a garage full of treasures that, alas, probably wouldn’t cover the cost of my casket.

And what’s the story behind that amazing wallpaper? I have a pretty huge collection of vintage wallpaper. I’ll buy it if I come across more than a few rolls in a pattern, even if I don’t have a project for it. It’s actually become a bit of an irrational obsession. I feel like I’m accumulating not to use, but to preserve these gaudy patterned parchments – like the decorating equivalent of a seed bank.

Where is it? Upstairs at 1180 Sandgate Road, Nundah, Brisbane.

Describe Fitz + Potts in a sentence. Like visiting the coolest nanna you never had.

What goes on there? Apart from lots of drinking and sun-baking on the astro-turfed balcony, the goal is to find yourself a comfy nook with an oozing jaffle, while working your way through our daunting drinks list to a soundtrack of Bowie and Farnham.

What do you love about what you do? Beer. Wine. Spirits. Apart from these obvious perks, I think my favourite part is the creativity that’s integral to every part of running the business. From the marketing and branding to decorating and designing food and drinks, you need to constantly think outside the box. It’s more than a little gratifying when your ideas work, and people like what you’re doing.

How did it all begin? When I moved to Brisbane, I was pretty disappointed to find the city didn’t really have those great suburban institutions – your ‘local’. Unfortunately, most of the pubs in the ‘burbs are owned by Coles and Woolies, and capitalism is the enemy of individuality and soul. So, we decided to set up a quintessentially Queensland watering hole in Nundah – a suburb quite close to the city, but with a nice ‘village’ feel.

Are there any drawbacks? Beer. Wine. Spirits. Hangovers are a hazard of the occupation. Also, the workload is huge. But hey, I clearly like being busy, because I’m doing it all over again with a Fitz + Potts beer hall and wine bar in Murwillumbah (between the Gold Coast and Byron).

What were you doing beforehand? My CV resembles a curious novella about a girl with ADHD. I’ve been a high school manual arts

Best contact details? fitzandpotts.com.au

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style

to have and to hold get your hands on some pretty new bits and bobs to carry, dangle, tie and drape across your person.

PHOTOGRAPHS BRI HAMMOND STYLING AIMEE CARRUTHERS AND SOPHIE KALAGAS SET DESIGN PAIGE ANDERSON MODELS ANJANA JAIN AND ELISSA ROBUSTELLI SET COLOURS THANKS TO HAYMES PAINT

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Pollini Atelier Crescent Moon necklace in gold, around $18, polliniatelier.etsy. com. Mamoru Glamorous choker, rrp $100, mamorujewellery.com.

LoveHate Everyday Hex ring, rrp $45, and Sphere ring in blue lace agate, rrp $69, lovehate.com.au. Status Anxiety Anarchy wallet in acid, rrp $49.95, statusanxiety.com.au.

Lucy Folk Rock Formation hair tie in gold burgundy, rrp $50, lucyfolk.com.

LoveHate Etched ring in silver, rrp $69, lovehate.com.au. Togetherness Design Backyard Harvest day bag, rrp $90, togethernessdesign.com. Oktoberdee Bonnie Pink leather purse, rrp $69, oktoberdee.com.au. AĂƒRK x Daniel Emma Multi watch in morning, rrp $149, aarkcollective.com.

Status Anxiety Never Never belt in cheetah, rrp $49.95, statusanxiety. com.au. LoveHate Everyday ďŹ ne hammered ring in sterling silver, rrp $30, lovehate.com.au. Georgia Perry Spacescape silk bandana, rrp $60, georgiaperry.com. Naomi Murrell Stacker rings in powder pink and vanilla, rrp $60 each, naomimurrell.com. Corky Saint Clair Audrey Skipping Girl pendant, rrp $140, corkysaintclair.bigcartel.com.

Little Hurricane Co. resin ring in green, rrp $40, littlehurricaneco. etsy.com. Bella Clark Open ring in champagne CZ and light blue topaz, rrp $143, bellaclarkjewellery.com.

Kitsu Wave necklace in mint, rrp $75, kitsu.com.au. Edenborough Evans Raspberry Confetti ring in gold, rrp $99, edenboroughevans.com.

Oscar Wylee Mona frames, rrp $149, oscarwylee.com.au. These Walls Octopi silk scarf in day, rrp $59, thesewalls.com.au.

Harthorne Mixed necklaces in tomato red and black and white dots, rrp $65, loveharthorne.etsy.com. Each To Own Flora Double Bloom ring in coral pink and gold, rrp $45, eachtoown.etsy.com.

Erin Lightfoot Plaid thin bangle, rrp $70, erinlightfoot.com.

Little Hurricane Co. resin ring in gold, rrp $40, littlehurricaneco.etsy. com. Maude Studio Gradient Pink Crystal Cluster sunnies, rrp $130, maudestudio.com.au. Karen Walker Celestial Arrows ring, rrp $319, karenwalker.com. Alexis Eclectic scrunchies in stripe and cocktail print, rrp $10 each, alexiseclectic.com.

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popcorn

the tearjerkers when you find yourself in need of a good face-contorting, snot-running-down-your-chin, therapeutic sob, popping on one of these sad flicks should do the trick.

WORDS SAM PRENDERGAST

MY GIRL

MOONLIGHT

Vada is a precocious 11-year-old who lives in a funeral home with her widowed dad and spends most of her free time hanging out with Thomas J, her slightly dorkier friend who is allergic to literally everything. Vada is also a class-A hypochondriac who spends a lot of her time at the doctors getting her throat checked for chicken bones, but that’s an aside. Over the course of one summer, everything in Vada’s life goes wrong. The super-cool funeral home make-up artist Shelley betrays her by dating her dad, and Vada learns some hard truths about puberty and menstruation. None of that really holds a flame to the summer’s blurst tragedy, though.

Moments after sharing a very brief kiss, Vada and Thomas J come across a beehive that they idiotically smash, and a few tragic decisions later, Thomas J is dead. The waterworks will start: When Vada leans over Thomas J’s casket and cry-screams, “Where are his glasses? He can’t see without his glasses!”

Moonlight follows one man, Chiron, from childhood to adolescence to a lonely adulthood dealing drugs. In a particularly bleak incarnation of 1980s Miami, ‘Little’ (that’s child Chiron) navigates bullies, his mother, and homophobic slurs. Everything’s in place to tell us that Chiron’s doomed right from the start, and that’s pretty much the way things go for the next hour-and-a-half. If you’re looking to rage against the festering evils of homophobia and then follow that rage with a quiet cry, Chiron’s story will do it. By the time he’s a teenager, he’s crushing hard on his friend Kevin, but literally 12 hours after they make out (and then some), Kevin’s bashing Chiron’s guts in. Even the good dudes in this film are depressing, because this is no glorified America. The waterworks will start: When Chiron’s night with Kevin is followed by a morning of betrayal and violence.

KRAMER VS. KRAMER WENDY AND LUCY

Ted Kramer (Dustin Hoffman) is a shitty dad who becomes a much better dad over the course of this film. When his wife Joanna (Meryl Streep) leaves him, it’s Kramer’s job to raise their son, Billy. Ted has very little experience raising children – presumably because he’s so far spent Billy’s childhood being a workaholic schmuck. At first he bumbles around, but eventually gets the hang of things, and soon son and father are an all-American dream team. Just as everything is settling down, Joanna returns and takes Ted to court, because leaving for a year-and-a-half doesn’t actually relinquish custody.

Things turn nasty, and when the court awards the case to Joanna, Ted’s faced with an ugly decision: hand over custody, or drag Billy through the courts again to appeal the decision. This flick is sad, then happy, then happy-sad – a true emotional rollercoaster. The waterworks will start: When it seems like this father-son duo will never share another French toast breakfast.

It’s not a stretch to call this the saddest dog movie of all time.

A down-on-her-luck woman, Wendy – aka Michelle Williams – is heading to Alaska to find work. She’s broke and not super-happy, but it’s not all bad because her very good dog, Lucy, is travelling with her. Then Wendy’s car breaks down because shitty things are always happening in her life. Cue a series of unfortunate events.

Wendy accidentally-on-purpose shoplifts a couple of groceries and, while she’s being arrested, Lucy disappears. Tension builds as Wendy searches for her best and only friend. Warning: there’s no happy ending. Realising she can’t provide Lucy with the happy life she deserves, Wendy plays with her pal one last time, then jumps on a train to Alaska in a state of what can only be despair. The waterworks will start: When Wendy chooses a better life for her best pal dog and a pit of loneliness for herself.

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popcorn Photo Columbia Pictures

UP

LION

Carl is a grumpy widower and helium balloon vendor who was deeply in love with his wife, Ellie. Ellie and Carl had two dreams: to raise a child, and to travel to a place called Paradise Falls. Neither came true, which was kind of fine while they were together, but now that Ellie’s passed away, life’s really grinding Carl down. When developers try to boot him out of the home he shared with the love of his life, he comes up with a plan to float the house to Paradise Falls with balloons (it’s probably a good time to mention that Up is animated). Unbeknownst to Carl, his airborne house is harbouring a slightly annoying, over-enthusiastic, but ultimately good-hearted kid named Russell. Chaos ensues; a Carl-Russell relationship develops; and 90 minutes later we’ve almost recovered from the trauma of watching Ellie die. The waterworks will start: Two minutes into the montage of Carl and Ellie’s childless love story.

In the mid-1980s, Saroo is five years old and living in India with his mother, his sister, and his brother, Guddu. Because this film is very sad, Saroo and Guddu have to spend a lot of their time stealing coal from trains in order to survive. One night, Saroo and Guddu get separated and, flash forward: Saroo’s wandering around Calcutta with no way home. Flash forward even further and he’s ended up in Tasmania, adopted by his new mum Nicole Kidman! Anyway, this is all based on the true story of Saroo Brierley, who used a nifty thing called Google Maps to track down his hometown, find his mother, and return to India – 20-plus years later – for a visit. You will cry many tears. Like, real, heaving sobs. Keep tissues handy. The waterworks will start: When Saroo reunites with his mother after decades apart, only to learn that Guddu died the same night he disappeared.

HOLDING THE MAN

BEACHES

In 1970s Melbourne, two Catholic schoolboys fall in love. It’s a classic teenage romance, full of public groping, secretive handholding, and notes that get intercepted by the classroom teacher/ priest. “Tim for John forever and also sorry I tried to get weird with you after school.” Inevitably, their parents find out and a series of “You’ll not be seeing that young man again” lectures ensue. Tim and John ignore their parents; go to university; learn some very first-hand information about car sex and homophobia; and 10 years later they’re still together. It’s all blissful ups and downs until they discover they’re both HIV positive and their worlds fade into hospital visits and awkward conversations about wills. Occasional jokes punctuate the 20-minute stretch where we’re basically watching Tim watch John die. If it were entirely bleak, it wouldn’t be so sad.

The waterworks will start: When Tim shares a slow dance with his dad, a few hours after telling his parents he’s HIV positive.

Beaches follows the longstanding friendship of two women who drop in and out of each other’s lives over a 35-year period. If you’ve recently moved to a faraway city and your best friend’s now sitting somewhere on the other side of the world, approach this film with caution and tissues. CC (Bette Midler) and Hillary (Barbara Hershey) are kids when they meet by chance under a boardwalk. They’re instant friends and, later, because it’s the ’60s, pen pals. As their lives move in different directions, the pair slides through the five stages of adult friendship: jealousy, resentment, forgiveness, adoration, and eventually, genuine love. Because it’s a movie and movies need drama, Hillary has a baby and then immediately develops a heart condition. The prognosis isn’t good, so they pack their bags and head to the beach to live out Hillary’s final weeks together as a bickering couple. The waterworks will start: When “Wind Beneath My Wings” begins playing in the background.

087

something to say Photo Lukasz Wierzbowski

right of refusal

to her section. The manager replied, “Do you want to work?” The message: do what you’re told or get no money.

MIA TIMPANO HAS SOME ISSUES WITH TELLING PEOPLE TO STICK IT.

I once told a woman working at a high-end cosmetics counter that I wanted a really deluxe foundation. She slapped some putty on my face, which turned into small grains around my nose. I told her it was too grainy. She told me my skin was too grainy. Then she talked non-stop about how much she hated all human contact.

I bought the foundation because I didn’t know how else to exit the conversation. I took the bag to the next counter and asked the women in a whisper if they could please provide me with a refund.

They said they couldn’t – I had to return it to the same desk. I told them I didn’t actually want the product in the first place, I was just scared to say no. They yelled, “It’s your right to say no!” I waited till another woman was working at the original desk and got the refund.

At a restaurant on a Tinder date, I realised I didn’t want to have sex with a guy who looked like a garden gnome. When he talked about how he thought we should reintroduce capital punishment, I was terrified. He said, “I can see from your body language that you don’t agree.” I said, “No, I think what you propose is extremely problematic.” We waited for our pizza to arrive in silence. We ate it. I got another wine. Only then did I tell him I wasn’t interested in him “like that”. He demanded an explanation. I said it was a “gut feeling”. He said he didn’t know what that meant. I said I really needed to get home and nap. Out on the street, he asked again for an explanation. I hyperventilated. He finally left, but called later that night to tell me I was selfish.

I sometimes feel I don’t have the right to say ‘no’, even though I live in a society where I’m apparently ‘free’. I feel I need to do everything people ask me to at work; that I need to buy cosmetics salespeople push me to buy; and that I need to eat a pizza with a dude who thinks we should reintroduce capital punishment because the “fear factor” would be an effective deterrent. Let’s consider each of these scenarios separately.

At work, I feel I don’t have the right to say no because they pay me to do the work I’m assigned. This, in my mind, creates a master-slave relationship. I worked at a fancy restaurant once (not that fancy; I saw the chefs dip their fingers in the soup to check if it was off, then lick their fingers, shrug, and serve it) and was made responsible for helping a parliamentary figure set up for a function. I extended a hand and said, “Hi, I’m Mia, I’m your slave.” Her eyes expanded in panic. She replied, “Don’t say that.”

I wanted to say, “What do you think, I woke up this morning hoping I’d get to help set up for a function I don’t give two shits about?”

At that same restaurant, all the wait staff would gather pre-service to hear the manager assign us our sections. One woman said no

In all the above scenarios, I was afraid – afraid of being fired; afraid of someone getting angry at me; afraid of whatever capital punishment enthusiasts do when you walk out on a date before the chow arrives. I would experience less pain if I just said no when shit doesn’t suit me. I can’t control other people’s reactions, and I’m not responsible for other people’s feelings. I am free. But until I exercise my right to say no, I’m everybody’s slave. Freedom, at least for me, is only a word away.

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Summer with your Bestie Long

Rides

Reid Esprit now available in Metallic Rose Gold and Sage Green.

before you escape the city to sleep out under the stars, have a gander at these handy camping tips and tricks.

WORDS SOPHIE KALAGAS ILLUSTRATIONS KIRBEE LAWLER

the great outdoors

Not all campsites are created equal. So, there are a few things to keep in mind when choosing the best spot to pitch your tent. Flat ground will prevent you from sliding down a hill while you slumber.

Be aware of campground rules – some don’t allow group bookings or noise after dark – and pick a destination that suits your holiday vibe. Steer clear of anthills and overhanging branches, but hunt for showers, barbecues and shade. Also important: your proximity to the toilet block. Too close, and you’ll be breathing in eau de bog; too far away and each wizz will become a cross-country hike.

If there’s one thing you can be sure of, it’s that mother nature has a twisted sense of humour. Prepare for hot weather and she’ll send in an icy wind. Ready to rug up? You’re basically willing a heatwave to hit. Check out weather reports before you leave, but take their predictions with a grain of salt: your best bet is to head off equipped for all seasons. .

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Depending how deep into the wilderness you venture, you’ll probably be leaving modern amenities behind – including one-stop-shop supermarkets and access to emergency supplies.

Adopt the scout motto and be prepared, writing a thorough packing list before you leave town and making sure everything is ticked off. After all, you wouldn’t want to be stranded in Woop Woop with a grumbly tum and no toilet paper. .

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Imagine rocking up to your campsite as grey clouds are rolling in, only to discover your tent is riddled with holes, and you’re not quite sure which pole goes where. Wouldn’t be such a great start, eh? Practise setting up your tent and gear at home before you go – that way, not only will you have the process down pat, you can also check for tears; missing tent pegs; air mattress punctures; and other possible obstacles.

There are a number of different ways to camp: roughing it in a swag; spending the night in a van; unfurling a pop-up tent for dummies; or ‘glamping’ in what’s essentially a circus big top. (Some even come complete with wooden verandas to keep your tootsies dry on a dewy morning.) Decide on your camping style and prepare accordingly – you won’t need a hair straightener if you’re going old school in a canvas A-frame tent, for instance. .

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Camping involves a lot of lugging things around, from house to car to campsite and back again. If you’re tempted to throw everything you own in the boot, ‘just in case’, consider which items you’ll actually use.

Ditch anything that will likely sit around taking up space, and creating a tripping hazard when you’re on a stealthy nighttime trip to the beach.

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The idea of going offline for a few days might be enough to send you into a cold sweat, but that’s exactly why this camping trip is so darn important. It’s an excuse to finally ditch all those screens and spend time enjoying the real-life world, instead. Embrace the technology detox by leaving your phone at home (or at least, locked up safely in the car). You probably won’t have proper reception, anyway – the notifications can wait.

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Getting dirty isn’t for everyone, but when it comes to camping, you have no say in the matter. You will be covered with dust and grime within five minutes of being at the campground. You willl eschew dirt-free couches for rocks and logs wrapped in spider webs and mud. The only option is to embrace the filth (and turn to baby wipes or river swims when things get really dire). Soon enough you’ll be home and showered, anyway, and it will be like this jaunt into mucky nature never even happened.

091

the great outdoors

Non-perishable Non perishable food Campfire cooking can be loads of fun, but come stocked with snacks that require no preparation or cooling, too. Chips, dried fruit and mixed nuts are yummy go-tos.

Daggy clothes This is not the time to flaunt your fancy duds – go for comfort over fashion when you’re out in the woods. A few essentials: warm PJs; plenty of clean socks and undies; a waterproof layer; solid hiking shoes.

A torch The thing about the wilderness is there’s no lighting at night, besides a faint glimmer from up in the sky. A torch is indispensible; a hands-free head lamp is even better. Just don’t forget spare batteries.

Folding chairs Who needs to sit on the damp, lumpy ground when you have comfy fold-up chairs with an in-built drink holder?

First-aid kit Put safety first with a well-stocked box of medical supplies, including bandages, sunscreen, bug spray, painkillers, toilet paper, soap and antibacterial wipes.

A mallet No, this isn’t for clobbering your brother when he inevitably starts to get on your nerves – it’s for making sure tent pegs are secure in the ground.

Matches If outdoorsy TV shows have taught us anything, it’s that fire can get you out of all sorts of predicaments, so it’s worth keeping some matches handy (in a waterproof box, in case of rain).

A sleeping mat Fact #1: the ground is not all that comfortable. Fact #2: it sucks up all our heat while we sleep. A foam or inflatable sleeping mat will provide important insulation and stand in for a mattress as you snooze among the trees.

A ‘boredom box’ Being outside is great and all, but at some point you’re going to need non-nature-themed entertainment. Fill a box with reading material, board games, paper, pens and a deck of cards, and you’ll be set.

IIngredients di t 10 asparagus spears / 2 skin-on ki salmon fillets / 4 tbsp butter / 1 lemon, sliced salt and pepper / fresh dill, to garnish Step 1 Spread out a couple of layers of foil on a flat surface. Place five spears of asparagus on top, then po op in a fillet of salmon, a tablespoon of butter, and a couple of slices of lemon. Repeat again with all the remaining g gredients. Step 2 Gather the edges of the foil and wrap lo oosely, to create a pair of fishy parcels. Spray the outsid de witth some cooking oil. Step 3 Carefully drop the foil packets w o your grill or campfire’s coals, and leave them forr abo 0 minutes until the salmon is cooked thro .

Step 4 U e something non-flammable to g he parcel the fire, and open carefully – y’ll be ful team! Enjoy your s mmy cam g meal f t

092

the great outdoors

Drrop the decibels Campgrounds often designate quiet hours so tha at everyone can get a good amount of zzz’s. Respect the rules and switch off your tunes when that time rolls around. Keep to a whisper w and be wary of sound travelling (especially during ‘nighttime activities’ – unsurprisingly, tent walls are very thin).

Share the showers Found a campsite with shower facilities? ky you! Just don’t hog them every time you go in for a scrub.

Cam mping over the warmer months leaves everyone dusty, sticky and d covered in muck, so avoid super-long bathing sessions, ecially when there’s a line forming outside the shower block.

Lea ave no trace Aside from the eyesore and wafting stench, leaving rubbish out attracts critters who are foraging for a feed. Do your partt in keeping the campsite clean by storing garbage in a sealed container, then disposing of it appropriately when you get the chan nce. (Note: plastic garbage bags are not-so-great for the environment, and can be torn open by a stray claw or tooth in a jiffy.)

Mind d your wees and poos Look – no one wants to step in a soggy patch of grass and wonder how the moisture came to be. If there are ttoilets at your campsite, use them! If not, dig a hole as far from m everyone’s sleeping quarters as possible, then bury the evide ence when you’re done. It’s just basic hygiene.

Stick k to the paths Making friends while camping can be mighty fun, b but you’re best off waiting for an invitation before you think about traipsing into someone else’s space. For many, getting outdo oors is about peace, quiet and a little privacy, and taking a shortcut through their campsite on the way to the beach disrupts that serenity. s Follow the trails marked out for foot traffic instead, or find d another way to get where you’re going.

Be kin nd, always The easiest way to avoid being a dickhead campe er? Look out for your fellow outdoorsy types, and lend a hand d if needs be. Share your supplies; help pitch their tent; and ge generally give off a polite and neighbourly vibe. Who knows? You may wind up with a new camping family.

PORTABLE WASHING MACHINE We’ve established that camping is dirty business, especially when you can’t easily throw a grubby t-shirt and shorts in the wash. Avoid slipping into grime-covered duds each day by constructing a DIY washing machine contraption – all you’ll need is a big-arse bucket with a lid; something drill-like to make some holes; and a (brand new) toilet plunger. Simply create a hole in the middle of the bucket lid that’s large enough to squeeze the plunger’s handle through, then poke a few more holes in the plunger itself for some extra agitation. Whack your clothes in and fill the bucket halfway with soap and water; close the lid nice and tight; and pump the plunger up and down for several minutes. Voilà – you’ll smell fresh as a daisy. (Almost.)

MAKE-IT-YOURSELF CAMP STOVE If chucking a hunk of meat straight onto a campfire isn’t your thing, you could build a makeshift grill for only a few bucks. Take a wire cooling rack and a deep foil baking pan – the kind you might use for carting around a homemade lasagne – then pop the first on the second with some charcoal in the gap.

Light the charcoal and whack your dinner on the rack. It’ll be just like a home-cooked barbecue meal, only with more stars overhead and MacGyverlike problem-solving flair.

(Worth noting: you’ll probably need some extra kindling to get your flames burning bright.

Stray corn chips will do the trick, as will leftover lint from your clothes dryer – just stuff it into a cardboard toilet paper roll for a homemade fire starter.)

OUTDOOR STORAGE SOLUTIONS Campsites tend to descend into chaos fairly quickly – a lone thong here; some forks over there; a packet of matches sitting out in the rain. It’s not too hard to keep things organised, though, if you’d prefer to have your bits and bobs at arm’s reach. Invest in one of those wardrobe shoe organisers – the hanging type that has a bunch of pockets to slide your footwear into – and use it as a handy supply cupboard instead.

(Excellent for things like cutlery, washing up liquid, and first-aid provisions.) TicTac containers make great spice holders, too, as do seven-day pillboxes.

When in doubt, turn to good ol’ Tupperware for keeping supplies dry and in one place – especially round plastic tubs to protect toilet paper from the elements.

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DIY LANTERN Can’t find where you dropped your marshmallows in the bush?

Need some light in your tent to play cards into the night? Good news: you can put together a surprisingly effective makeshift lantern with just a smallish torch and large-ish bottle of H20. The instructions are pretty dang easy: take a clear plastic bottle, like the ones that hold soft drink or milk; fill it to the brim with water; seal it with the lid; shine your torch through the side.

(Even better if you have one of those strap-on head lamps handy – it can be secured to the bottle for ease of moving around.) The water will start to glow like a lava lamp minus the psychedelic goo, making nocturnal goings-on a whole lot easier on your eyes.

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real life

that old-time boogie the lgbti elders’ dance club creates a safe space for older queer folk to meet, talk and cut a rug. we headed along to their end-of-year bash.

WORDS RACHEL POWER PHOTOGRAPHS MIA MALA MCDONALD

Once a month on a Sunday afternoon, John travels by train from country Warragul to attend a seniors’ dance club at the Fitzroy Town Hall. “I’ve been dancing since I was 10 and I turn 68 tomorrow,” he says proudly. But it’s no ordinary event that has him regularly making the 100-kilometre journey into Melbourne. This is a daylight disco with a difference, specifically designed to celebrate and support older lesbian, gay, bi, trans and intersex people by providing a safe space where they, and their allies, can make new connections and rediscover the joy of dance. “It’s about getting people together and breaking down barriers,” John says.

people to walk through those doors and feel they can be completely themselves,” Bec says. “Genuine love and inclusivity. We keep the doors wide open for that extra bit of visibility, and everyone is welcome.” Participants range from competitive ballroom dancers who want to practise their foxtrot, to folks in their 80s with two left feet, she says. “Then there’s a wonderful creature, Laurie – she comes into the space and freestyle interpretive dances. It’s glorious!”

Many of the dance club regulars also attended the inaugural Coming Back Out Ball, an evening of drag, opera and cabaret hosted

by All The Queens Men last year at the Melbourne Town Hall. The event honoured the LGBTI elders who, as Tristan puts it, “have led the way; shaped our community; fought for my right to wear these six-inch heels and gold nail polish”. The ball was a triumph, both as “a completely wonderful, over-the-top extravaganza”, and in gaining widespread focus on the prevalence of LGBTI people feeling pressured to hide their sexual identities once in nursing homes or residential care, for fear of being discriminated against by the service provider or other residents. (An especially distressing experience for those who have only recently come out later in life.)

The LGBTI Elders’ Dance Club is one of a number of events hosted

by All The Queens Men – an arts company led by Bec Reid and Tristan Meecham, offering creative opportunities for marginalised and vulnerable communities. While there’s increasing awareness of the elevated mental health risks for LGBTI youth, the experiences of queer elders are often ignored. A 2014 report highlighting the devastating impact of homophobia on the lives of older gay and lesbian Australians – particularly the risks they face in aged care – was a light bulb moment for Tristan, who realised, “Older LGBTI people are dying because they’re lonely.”

Andy Westle, a dance club volunteer, describes the events as a “creative intervention” into the problem of social isolation.

“I’ve spoken to people who haven’t been out of their house for two months. Many have never been to a gay event. It’s a generational thing of giving back to our elders. I’m going to be an old fag one day!” Bec, meanwhile, sees dancing as a silly, joyful way to escape the anxieties of the outside world – an activity that results in smiles plastered firmly across gently lined faces. “It was very timely through the whole marriage vote process; like a place of respite from the trauma that was so communally felt. You could come to dance club and just be loved, exactly the way you are.”

“This is a generation of people who have been rejected by their families, imprisoned, hospitalised. Social isolation is at the forefront of their experiences,” Tristan says. “We realised we needed to provide more intergenerational connections. Family in a much more rainbow sense – what you make it, rather than what you’re born into.”

Tristan and Bec have gone out of their way to make the free monthly dance club a joyous, welcoming and comfortable experience for its participants – including a spread of biscuits, snacks and drinks to scoff between turns on the dancefloor. “It’s really important for

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real life

JOHN

YVONNE

This dance club is a coming together of society – whether it’s gay or straight, so what. And I’m pleased to see the kids are coming along and getting into it, because they don’t put up barriers. They’ll come up and say, “Hey mister, can I have a dance with you?” or “Rack off, hairy legs, I don’t want to dance with you!” You know exactly where you stand with them.

I hate to admit it, but I’m an elder. There is such a need for this. We’re at an age where we don’t go to clubs anymore, and this has been lacking for 20 years or so.

The whole ambience is just wonderful. I think it has rejuvenated this community, because everyone loves to dance. Even if you last did it 50 years ago, it doesn’t matter – you never lose your rhythm.

098

real life

DAVID

I’ve been a widower for about 11 years now, and I’ve got two daughters. One of them refers to gay people as “those people” and she voted ‘no’. But that’s OK. She had her reasons and she spelled them out to me. Even with difficult people, I’m totally forgiving and wish them well. It’s very important in life – you cannot have a chip on your shoulder, you’ve always got to forgive. Then no one’s got any control over you.

099

real life

VINCE

LAURIE

People need to know this event is on monthly so we can get all the elderly LGBTI people out and about, rather than feeling isolated, which a lot do. I had a few gay activities in my teenage years, but in those days it was extremely hard to come out. They pretty much put you in the funny farm in the ’60s and ’70s when I was a young fella, so you ended up staying in the closet.

Will I have a dance?

Well, I’ll see what I can do. I’d hate to die in the middle of the room.

It would be a good way to go, but it’d be a shock for everybody else!

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real life

GORDON

DAN

I trained as a ballet and tap dancer back in the ’50s. That’s when I came out. I was always inspired by the dancing movies – Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire – and I went to my mother and said, “I want to go to dancing school.” I was 14. She said, “Well, you’d better go and ask your father.” So I asked Dad and he said to me, “Everybody will call you a sissy.” I said, “Well, I am. So what?” I’ve been out for 67 years.

I’m quite aware that there’s this whole generation of people who have created the world I live in today as a queer woman. When I first came out in the ’90s, it was still a dangerous place for us.

But the elders here, for them, that danger was quite severe. I don’t have any seniors in my life, so coming here is a little bit about acknowledgement and a little about support, but also being connected with the breadth of my community, and recognising ageing.

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pots and pans

great balls of fluff creative baker katherine sabbath teaches us how to make this oh-so inviting pom pom cake.

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pots and pans

HOW TO

Supple, marshmallow-y domes of coconut-flecked fluff floated around in

VANILLA VELVET CAKE

my imagination until I created this cake,

Preheat oven to 160°C (320°F), fan-forced. Grease a 9-inch oven-proof glass bowl.

which I can proudly say is what my pastel dreams are made of. It looks like it’s

Sift together the flour, bicarb soda, salt and sugar, then set aside. Using a kitchen mixer, whisk together the oil and vanilla on high speed, until frothed. Whisk in the eggs, one at a time.

covered in pom poms! The vanilla velvet cake hiding inside is equally dreamy, and the soft and snuggly appearance of this creation fills me with glee. Finally, a cake sitting pretty in an outfit I’d quite happily wear from head to toe. .

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Gently incorporate the dry ingredients in three divisions, alternating with two divisions of the buttermilk. Mix until just combined, being careful not to over-mix.

Pour the mixture into your prepared glass bowl and bake for 40-45 minutes, or until a skewer inserted in the centre comes out clean. Let the cake stand in the bowl for about 1 hour, before turning onto a wire rack (top-side down) to cool completely. Cover cake with cling wrap or a clean, damp tea towel and set aside until cake assembly.

MARSHMALLOW PUFFS Place sugar and 250g of water in a large, heavy-based pan. Stick a candy thermometer in and turn on the heat. Without stirring, allow the sugar syrup to boil until it reaches 120°C (248°F) on the thermometer.

Meanwhile, place 125ml of hot water in a cup or small bowl and add the gelatine powder. Add flavouring, as desired. Once the sugar syrup in the pan reaches around 110°C (230°F), whip the egg whites to firm peaks with a kitchen mixer.

INGREDIENTS For the vanilla velvet cake: 2 3/4 cups (345g) self-raising flour 1/2 tsp bicarb soda 1/2 tsp sea salt flakes 1 1/4 cup (280g) caster sugar 1 cup (220g) vegetable oil 2 tsp vanilla extract (or 1 tsp vanilla bean paste) 3 large free-range eggs (for the whitest cake, use 4 egg whites)

Remove sugar syrup from the heat at 120°C (248°F), then gently stir in the gelatine mixture until well combined. With the kitchen mixer on its highest speed, continue to whip the egg whites while carefully pouring in the hot sugar syrup. Keep whipping until the mixture thickens and increases in volume, while also remaining pourable. Working quickly, divide the mixture into three bowls and fold through the gel colours until mixed together.

Transfer into three piping bags and snip 2cm off the ends. Quickly pipe the marshmallow into the silicone moulds, until level. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour or until completely set.

To remove the marshmallows, lightly oil your hands with cooking oil spray and gently pop them out one by one, then roll each one generously in the coconut.

1 1/2 cups (340g) buttermilk

TIP: You can store any leftover marshmallows in an airtight container in the fridge for up to seven days. You can also flavour your marshmallows with fruit purée or natural flavouring extracts.

For the marshmallow puffs:

MARSHMALLOW FROSTING

3 varying sizes of semi-sphere silicone moulds (mine were 2cm, 5cm and 9cm in diameter)

In a small saucepan, combine the sugar, glucose syrup and 1/2 cup (55g) of water. Bring to a boil over medium heat and continue to cook until the mixture reaches 115°C (239°F) on a candy thermometer (or when a teaspoon of the mixture dropped into iced water forms a soft ball that holds its shape when cool).

500g sugar 40g gelatine powder clear flavouring of your choice (like vanilla extract) 3 large free-range egg whites gel food colouring of your choice (I used pink, blue and violet) 2 cups (200g) desiccated coconut, finely ground

Using a kitchen mixer, whip the egg whites, cream of tartar and vanilla to soft peaks. With the mixer set on medium-high, slowly pour the sugar syrup down the side of the egg white bowl in a thin, continuous stream. Continue to whip the frosting until it forms stiff peaks.

Use while still slightly warm, as it’s easier to spread smoothly than if cooled.

Frost your cake quickly, then decorate with the marshmallow puffs.

For the marshmallow frosting: 1 3/4 cups (225g) caster sugar Katherine Sabbath Greatest Hits: The Pop Edition is a limited edition, self-published book crowdfunded via Kickstarter. It’s available exclusively through katherinesabbath.com for $119.

Recipe has been tweaked a little to fit frankie formatting.

1/2 cup (110g) glucose or corn syrup 4 free-range egg whites 1/4 tsp cream of tartar 1 tsp vanilla bean paste

TIP: This cake is best enjoyed when served immediately, at room temperature.

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[ shop directory ]

W I L D F L OW E R BY R O N B AY

KANDILA COMPANY

IN A SENTENCE: A boutique fashion label specialising in swimwear and yoga accessories, created in the surf town of Byron Bay // WHAT WE SELL: Bikinis, one-piece swimsuits and yoga mat straps, all made from sustainable materials // PRICE POINT: From $89 to $179 // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: Wildflower Byron Bay evokes the warm, nostalgic feeling of hitting the road in a Kombi van with a bunch of mates, and picnics on the beach – the simplest and most beautiful things in life // FIND US: Online at wildflowerbyronbay.com or at 13/10 Station Street, Bangalow, NSW

IN A SENTENCE: Artisanal candles, lovingly handmade in Melbourne // WHAT WE SELL: Delicious-smelling candles made from GMM-free soy wax, and perfectly blended with premium Australian-made fragrance oil. We also use lead-free, natural fibre wicks // PRICE POINT: From $15 to $45 // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: We started Kandila Company to give back to the community. Fifty per cent of our profits go to organisations that provide education to kids in developing countries // FIND US: Online at kandilacompany.com

PAÏRD

APOM

IN A SENTENCE: Gemini twins making affordable yet seriously snazzy jewellery on the Mornington Peninsula // WHAT WE SELL: Necklaces, charm bangles and a bunch of pretty earrings, all made from high-quality metals with charming handcrafted details // PRICE POINT: From $22 to $80 // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: We’re not a ‘conquer the world’ business – we’re just a local ‘let’s have fun and nurture our creative souls’ jewellerymaking studio, with children, pets and husbands never far away! // FIND US: Online at paird.com.au

IN A SENTENCE: A women’s clothing label making keepsake garments with delicate details, plenty of colour and a sense of fun // WHAT WE SELL: Beautiful clothing that ladies love to live in, from dresses and skirts to bomber jackets and comfy tops // PRICE POINT: From $80 to $300 // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: APOM (which stands for A Part Of Me) is a collaboration between two lasses – an Aussie and a Norwegian – so each piece is designed to be worn across the seasons and across the seas // FIND US: Online at www.apom.net.au

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[ shop directory ]

JULES THE LABEL

NATALIE A MACRAMÉ

IN A SENTENCE: Beautiful and affordable ladies’ apparel made from exclusive fabrics // WHAT WE SELL: A variety of clothing, including dresses, shorts, knitwear and jumpsuits, plus a line of simple, stylish bags // PRICE POINT: From around $50 to $250 // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: Jules is a third generation ‘rag trader’, with parents and grandparents in the fashion business. We take a lot of pride in making clothes that empower women to look and feel beautiful. We also ensure that folks working for us are taken care of // FIND US: Online at julesthelabel.com

IN A SENTENCE: Macramé pieces to bring a little bit of boho magic and character into your home, made with love on the Sunshine Coast // WHAT WE SELL: Handmade macramé wall hangings, plant holders and candle holders // PRICE POINT: From $37 upwards // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: I’ve developed my own style of modern macramé: tight, knotted patterns and thick, luscious fringing on every design. I also offer custom-made pieces, if you have a particular vision that you’d like to bring to life // FIND US: Online at natalieamacrame.etsy.com

KLOP

POPCORN BLUE

IN A SENTENCE: A super-addictive outdoor game, ideal for time spent hanging with friends and family in the sun // WHAT WE SELL: KLOP, a game using 12 wooden pegs, initially created by a few burly woodsmen in the Finnish town of Karelia. Our version is crafted from New Zealand recycled plantation pine // PRICE POINT: $59.95 // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: KLOP is a wonderful excuse to get outdoors. Kids can improve their maths skills, while adults can take afternoon barbecues to the next level // FIND US: Online at klop.com.au

IN A SENTENCE: An illustration business conjuring up whimsical imagery to stir the imagination of big and little kids alike – imagine rabbits having high tea, elephants flying a zeppelin balloon, and a snail with an entire city on its back // WHAT WE SELL: High-quality archival prints, cards, woodblocks, screenprinted cushions, books and original artworks // PRICE POINT: From $5 to $150 upwards // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: Our mission is to create an ever-changing visual story that unfolds before your eyes // FIND US: Online at popcornblue.com

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[ shop directory ]

E M I LY O N LY

S E R P E N T & T H E S WA N

IN A SENTENCE: Ceramic wares and cold process soaps from Melbourne-based artist Emily Brookfield // WHAT WE SELL: Handmade pottery and ceramics – including one-of-a-kind vases, oil burners, mugs, planters, soap dishes and more – as well as vegan body bars // PRICE POINT: From $15 to $200 // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: I touch and form every piece by hand in my home studio (aka my shed). My products might not be perfect, but they’ve all been made with love, effort, care and thoughtfulness // FIND US: Online at emilyonly.com.au

IN A SENTENCE: A lifestyle label fusing art and fashion, designed and made by a pair of Sydney-based sisters // WHAT WE SELL: A mix of fine jewellery, accessories and clothing. We also have a new range of high-quality leather goods, including belts, bags and wallets // PRICE POINT: From $60 to $350 // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: We have an artistic approach to creating our collections, which makes our products rather unique. We also do custom jewellery designs, and handcraft most of our products ourselves // FIND US: Online at serpentandtheswan.com

‘BLUSHED’ BY TEAGAN JACOBS

EARTH GREETINGS

IN A SENTENCE: Whimsical, ultra-feminine clothing for ladies who fancy a bit of daydreaming // WHAT WE SELL: Super-comfy threads stitched from the softest of fabrics. Playsuits are our go-to, but we make just about anything – dresses, skirts, tops and the occasional bralette // PRICE POINT: From $80 to $250 // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: We do everything in our little Perth studio, from the design to the cutting, sewing and packaging of your order. Plus, since we hand-sew every item upon request, we can make it fit you just right // FIND US: Online at teaganjacobs.com

IN A SENTENCE: Colourful, earth-friendly paper goods inspired by local flora and fauna, and designed by a swell bunch of Aussie artists // WHAT WE SELL: Greeting cards for all occasions, as well as a growing range of beautiful Australian-made stationery // PRICE POINT: From $2.95 for an upcycled newspaper pencil to $39.95 for a hardcover diary // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: We’re carbon-neutral; our products are made from 100 per cent post-consumer waste; and we use vegetable-based ink and plastic-free packaging // FIND US: Online at earthgreetings.com.au

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[ shop directory ]

LULUDU

U N C L E M AY

IN A SENTENCE: Unique and ethical handmade crochet shoes, supporting disadvantaged women in Bali // WHAT WE SELL: Crochet shoes in four pretty colours, made from animal-friendly materials and eco-friendly hemp // PRICE POINT: $137 for ladies’ shoes // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: Our shoes are stitched together with high-quality hemp yarn – hemp is the strongest natural fibre in the world. They’re super-comfortable, and the women who make them work from home, so they can look after their little ones, too // FIND US: Online at luludu.com.au

IN A SENTENCE: A Melbourne-based women’s clothing label creating classic, staple pieces for your wearing pleasure // WHAT WE SELL: No-fuss, minimalist basics made from natural fabrics that feel great to wear // PRICE POINT: From $24.95 for a bralette to $119.95 for a linen dress // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: Each and every one of our pieces is designed with longevity and versatility in mind. We promote the idea that clothing should last and be worn over and over. We also donate five per cent of each sale to This Life Cambodia // FIND US: Online at unclemay.com

L AV E N D E R & R O S E

GOLD SUN DREAMER VINTAGE

IN A SENTENCE: Candles and accessories to aromatically enhance your living and working space // WHAT WE SELL: Luxury scented candles, decorative candle holders, oil diffusers and other home fragrance essentials // PRICE POINT: Around $30 to $40 // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: Our candles are poured by hand, made from 100 per cent soy wax, and blended with the highest quality fragrance oils. Our aromatherapy range produces powerful throws and a clean burn. Join us as we light up the world, one candle at a time // FIND US: Online at lavenderandrose.com.au

IN A SENTENCE: Hand-picked secondhand clothing and accessories at a reasonable price // WHAT WE SELL: A collection of vintage pieces with ’60s and ’70s vibes: bright colours, wild prints and all the confidence that comes from wearing them. We also sell handmade macramé wall hangings // PRICE POINT: From $10 to $200 // WHAT MAKES THE SHOP SPECIAL: Every piece is selected with care and love. We want our customers to experience that special feeling you get when you find a one-off piece that’s uniquely yours // FIND US: Online at goldsundreamer.etsy.com

107

experience

a bump on the brain what happens when your anxieties turn out to be spot on?

WORDS AND ILLUSTRATION SOPHIE BEER

I will freely admit that I’m a hypochondriac. If anything is bumpy, achy, flaky, misshapen or just generally a bit suspect, I’ll have it thoroughly vetted by two GPs and a handful of specialists. So, imagine my surprise when my gloomy suspicions actually came to fruition.

sure she’d find it red and inflamed. But it was fine. Medically, there was nothing wrong with me. She gave me something to stop the dizziness, looking at me like I was a puzzle to pick apart. “Sophie, what is wrong with you?” she asked.

In October 2016, I thought I had the flu. I was bone-tired all the time – an annoying reality when you work for yourself, because a nap is just a waddle away, and seems like a healthy and productive use of employee time. I was dizzy, too – 3am-at-the-club-tipsy dizzy – but there was no equally inebriated girl getting me iced water and telling me she loved my dress. I sooked to my fiancé. I ate frankly dangerous amounts of ice-cream. I fell asleep in front of Netflix every afternoon, hoping that when I woke I’d feel better. But the illness kept dragging on.

That night, the oddest symptoms started. The world shifted and bucked beneath me like the deck of a ship. My brain felt too big for my skull, all lit up like a match head. I had a fierce migraine, razorwire shoved up into the back of my eyeballs. I lay in bed, crying and heaving with seasickness; getting up every so often just to tumble over, unable to walk. My fiancé made an emergency trip to the pharmacist, coming back with meagre anti-nausea medication. “This won’t work,” I cried. “My brain is swelling.” He hugged me, unconvinced. But those words turned out to be oddly prescient.

After two weeks of housebound moping, I trooped over to a local GP, a grandfatherly Greek man with expressive eyes and gnarled hands. He poked and prodded me, listening to my chest as I wailed dramatically about how gross I felt. “You’re run down!” he said, writing me a prescription for antibiotics. I clasped it like a saint’s relic, sure my salvation was near.

I remember the look on my GP’s face as I fell through her door the next day, determined to get a diagnosis. She was at a loss. “What’s your family history?” she asked. “My mum is fine. My dad died when I was 17 of a brain aneurysm.” Her brow furrowed. An MRI was ordered. Expecting it to show an ear infection, I was cheerfully resigned to spend half an hour in that loud metal tube. I spent the time thinking up storybook ideas. Afterwards, I pottered around the house, watering my plants for the first time since I’d fallen ill, thinking I was on my way to getting better. Until I got a call: “Hi, Sophie, your doctor would like to see you urgently to discuss the results of your MRI. Are you free now?”

A week later, I was back with new symptoms: my right ear was blocked and achy, like when I had ear infections as a kid. His hands flapped this away. “You’re not getting enough fruit and sunshine!” he said, writing me a script for a more general antibiotic.

A few more days and I was back once again, much to his chagrin. The ear pain was awful and my hearing was half gone, replaced by buzzing tinnitus. I was now sure it was an ear infection. “No no no!” The hands flapped their disapproval. “You’re depressed!” He wrote a prescription for antidepressants with the air of someone whose precious time was being squandered. That was when I looked for a new GP.

A call like that is roughly number three in the top five Calls You Hope You Never Get. I knew something was very wrong, but didn’t have a name for it yet. And then it came: suspected acoustic schwannoma – a tumour that grows on the cranial nerve that controls hearing and balance. It was pressing on my brainstem and causing swelling, which was why I was so unwell. I was booked in for surgery. Even if it wasn’t cancerous, I’d lose my

Finding a doctor who takes your concerns seriously is a hard task.

I almost cried with happiness when my new doc looked in my ear,

108

experience

hearing on that side. If it weren’t for my father’s medical history, I might not have been diagnosed for a while. .

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3pm: Get up from the couch in search of food.

3.01pm: Get off the floor because, oh yeah, you can’t walk since a tumour wrecked your vestibular system. Settle for a bag of stale chips you found under the coffee table, instead.

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My partner and I had met over our shared obsession with music.

We even got our favourite artists’ lyrics inscribed on our wedding rings. But two weeks before our wedding, I was told I had a tumour on my auditory nerve and would lose my hearing. The poetic synchronicity of this isn’t lost on me.

3.30-5pm: Nausea and migraine time! Please adjust your schedule of moping and TV watching accordingly, because the pain will eat up all your attention.

I didn’t tell anyone besides family before the wedding, sure that it would cast a cloud over the day. That it was still a celebration of life and love amidst the cacophony of doom in my head is a small miracle. (Even a wedding night spent in the emergency room, vomiting up champagne and hors d’oeuvres due to brain swelling couldn’t ruin that.)

7pm: Take sleeping medication to try to blot out the recurring nightmares about surgeons fiddling around in your brain.

Finally, I got a surgery date. The night before, I poured out a glass of red wine, put my favourite Joanna Newsom album on the record player, and listened with both ears for the last time.

During my honeymoon, my aunt died of complications from a congenital brain tumour. My sisters and I attended her funeral the day after I got back. As my family poured out grief for my uncle’s loss, there were also whispered lamentations about my news. “She was never the same after she had the surgery to remove that tumour,” my uncle sighed. I excused myself to have a quick panic attack in the bathroom.

I was oddly tranquil the next morning. I made a plant watering schedule for my husband, lest the surgery did not go well. It was only as I was wheeled into a small anteroom and the nurses began to talk to each other instead of me that I knew it was on. My breathing hitched up. The anesthesiologist misjudged his cannula. My blood was everywhere. He cast around wildly for a common topic to discuss as the room was mopped up.

The torturous wait for surgery had begun. Everyday life with a brain tumour goes something like this:

“Do you like dogs?”

9am: Wake up late with a pounding headache because of increased intracranial pressure. You’ve cancelled all your jobs because of your impending brain surgery, so there’s no point getting up earlier.

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I felt myself laugh-crying. .

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Last week, a year since I was diagnosed, I had radiation to mop up the remnants that the surgeons couldn’t get out. I also celebrated being married for a whole year. Our anniversary felt like it was also a celebration of triumph over the lump of errant cells in my head that had tried to kill me. We had a picnic in the botanical gardens, laughing under jacarandas as butcherbirds sang in the treetops.

I couldn’t think of a better send-off for the past 12 months.

9.15am: Take a cocktail of medication to attempt to placate the tumour. The stack of pill boxes is so ludicrously high that it looks like a contemporary art project.

9.30am: Stagger over to the couch and remain ensconced for an hour.

2pm: Dang, that was definitely more than an hour.

109

learn something new

BORBORYGMUS (BORE-BORE-IG-MUS) n. Ever sat in a quiet room full of people, when your stomach decides to awkwardly break the silence with an almighty gurgle? That audible rumble coming from within has a name: a borborygmus. It’s caused by the movement of gas in your belly, and, presumably, is designed to make us blush in public.

stop and smell the petrichor A FEW NEW WORDS TO SLIP INTO YOUR DAILY CHINWAG.

DUFFIFIE (DUFF-IF-EE) v. Thrifty types may bond over the word ‘duffifie’, meaning ‘to lay a bottle on its side for some time so that it may be completely drained of the few drops left inside’. Appropriate for inching out the final dregs of shampoo, laundry detergent and, given its Scottish origins, malted whisky.

Words Sophie Kalagas

ONIOCHALASIA (OWN-EEO-CHAR-LAZIER) n. You know it as retail therapy, but the official term is ‘oniochalasia’ – shopping as a method of stress relief and relaxation. It’s the reason your bank account mysteriously empties whenever the pressure in your life begins to build. Important deadline? Of course you need those cake-scented candles. Going through a break-up? Go on, enjoy that big-screen TV.

GRIFFONAGE (GRIFF-ON-IDGE) n. We can only assume this term has widespread usage within the medical community. It describes handwriting that is careless or illegible – in other words, your doctor’s tricky-to-read scrawl. The type that makes you squint till your head hurts, and wonder whether you’ve been diagnosed with gout or some sort of mysterious gut issue.

PSITHURISM (SITH-UR-IZM) n. Borrowed from the Greeks, this poetic term describes the sound of leaves rustling as the wind blows through the trees. Whisper it and you might notice there’s a hint of onomatopoeia at play. It’s also ideal for slipping into love letters, should you be on a starry-eyed mission to woo a sweetheart.

DYSANIA (DIS-AYN-IA) n. Also known as ‘clinomania’, this word is one of the most relatable of the bunch: it refers to the gruelling struggle that often comes with getting out of bed in the morning.

Occasions of dysania are most commonly experienced when your alarm goes off at an ungodly hour; it’s still dark outside; and the temperature beyond your doona cocoon is much frostier than within.

BALTER (BOL-TER) v. If you’ve ever attended an office Christmas party, you’d no doubt have witnessed some good old-fashioned baltering, aka dancing artlessly, without particular grace or skill, but usually with much enjoyment. Elaine Benes is the baltering poster girl – think awkward jerking, head thrown back, and eyes squeezed tight in a state of jig-induced euphoria.

SPHALLOLALIA (SFAL-O-LAY-LEA) n. Dating apps are a breeding ground for sphallolalia: flirtatious talk that winds up leading nowhere.

Relevant to those occasions where not even your best puns, banter or innuendo can save your chat from an inevitable fizzle, and the knowledge that you will never meet this potential beau IRL.

PETRICHOR (PE-TRICK-OR) n. This is a relatively recent word, coined in 1964 by two Australian CSIRO boffins. You might use it when admiring the scent of rain in the air – especially when it’s just fallen on parched, dry ground. Basically, it’s the smell of a cool change having arrived, and is typically accompanied by relief, joy, happy tears and an enthusiastic rain dance.

FINIFUGAL (FIN-EE-FYOO-GAL) adj. Do you hold off on reading the final chapter of a book, because you can’t stand the thought of it being over? Maybe you avoid ending a relationship, even if it’s clearly a bit worse for wear. Sounds like you’re finifugal, or ‘someone who hates endings’. In which case, you might want to reread this sentence again and again (and again, and again).

110

WOOL4SCHOOL IS AUSTRALIA’S FAVOURITE STUDENT FASHION DESIGN COMPETITION. This year, students are encouraged to find the innovator within, designing and sketching a multi-functional outfit made with Australian Merino wool.

And there are awesome prizes and opportunities up for grabs too!

» REGISTER NOW » WOOL4SCHOOL.COM

[ accessories directory ]

ALEXIS, ECLECTIC A slow fashion label specialising in limited-edition clothing collections. We play with standard office wear cuts, adding bold prints or bright colours. We also have a range of silk scarves in our exclusive prints. alexiseclectic.com

PICNIC FOR TEA We specialise in miniature, food-themed jewellery made from polymer clay. Nab ready-made pieces or commission a design based on your favourite food. We’ve made everything – even a wedge of cheese necklace! picnicfortea.com.au

HELLO THERE CHEEKY From our Adelaide studio, we make statement earrings inspired by the ’80s, gelati, birthday cake and more. We’re all about creating with colour and texture, so you’ll feel pretty awesome wearing our stuff. hellotherecheeky.etsy.com

SARAH BOURKE JEWELLERY Beautifully made jewellery combining sterling silver with Australian and exotic hardwoods. Everything is made in my studio on the Far South Coast of New South Wales, with my designs reflecting a multitude of natural forms. sarahbourke.com.au

TRENDY CREATURE Our carefully curated selection of minimalist jewellery made from fine metals includes pieces that are both trendy and classic – the kind of designs that’ll make you look and feel your best every day. trendycreature.com

A SILVER CIRCLE DESIGN We’re a contemporary handmade jewellery brand based in Sydney’s inner-west. By deconstructing, recycling and reinventing materials, we give them a new language. Our aesthetic is simple and elegant with a quirky twist. asilvercircle.com.au

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[ accessories directory ]

HOODOOLOULOU Using recycled silver and ethically sourced gemstones, we handcraft jewellery designed to complement a variety of tastes and lifestyles. The unique imperfections on the surface of each piece change subtly over time. hoodooloulou.etsy.com

PRENE BAGS Made from neoprene (also known as wetsuit material), our lightweight, vegan bags can withstand the grind of everyday life – plus, you can chuck them in the wash and they come out looking shiny and new! prenebags.com

NEST OF PAMBULA Unique, affordable jewels made by three sisters on the Far South Coast of New South Wales. Our range is for lovers of quirky, modern and vintage-inspired designs, and includes necklaces, earrings and bangles. nestofpambula.com.au

MANUELA IGREJA JEWELS After falling in love with the local ora in and around Melbourne, I started to create botanically inspired jewellery from silver, gold and ethically sourced Australian gemstones, including sapphires. manuelaigreja.com

LAURENCE COFFRANT An Australian contemporary jeweller working primarily with raw minerals: vivid green peridot, ocean blue apatite, and dazzling pyrite. Each gem is carefully selected and enhanced by a custom sterling silver setting. laurencecoffrant.com

KATE MACINDOE JEWELLERY Silver and brass jewellery for nature lovers and real-life mermaids. I make each piece by hand in my Mornington Peninsula studio, using natural objects to create textures.

No two pieces are exactly the same. katemacindoe.com

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looks we like

rainbow bride BRITISH KNITWEAR DESIGNER KATIE JONES TURNED HER WEDDING INTO A KALEIDOSCOPE OF COLOUR. Tell us a little about yourself. I’m a colour, craft and crochet enthusiast! I studied fashion knitwear at Central Saint Martins in London, but have always loved making things – I’m really influenced by the women in my family.

What’s the story behind this bridal range? I suppose it’s less of a range, and more of a project for my own wedding. I knew I would make everything; I just wanted to put all my favourite things together in one massive celebration. When you spend hours making something for someone you care about, you’re thinking about them as you do it, and I really treasure that side of making.

Plus, I’m a massive control freak, so doing everything myself meant I could control it all!

Why did you choose to steer away from the typical bridal style?

I love colour – I couldn’t imagine wearing just white! In some ways, our wedding was really traditional: it was in a church; the reception was in our small local village hall; I wore my mum’s veil (though I did pimp it a bit). We just added way more colour to the equation!

Did that style spread to the rest of your wedding, too? We mainly DIY-ed everything to keep a tight budget. It basically became an homage to craft – we had drawing, macramé, crochet, paper work for giant flower arches, weaving and mini piñatas for the tables. We were engaged for two years, so I had lots of time to build stuff up!

How does this fit in with the rest of your collections? Some elements are super-typical of my label – all the bridesmaids’ tops are just finer versions of a previous collection, for instance. In a way, my dress is, too: the skirt is trimmed in a similar way and the embroidered flowers are like a dainty, refined patch, which we use a lot. I think all the pieces contain my signature details, but are just a bit more dressy than usual.

Talk us through the colour palette. I always say, if you use all the colours, nothing clashes! I’m a massive rainbow lover. I wanted a really bright and happy palette – the bridesmaids’ tops were made to match the colours in their beautiful Romance Was Born skirts, and I then used elements from this.

Where do you find inspiration? Folk, tribal and traditional textiles, mainly – I’m obsessed! I like how they’re embellished for the sake of being beautiful; that the craftsmanship is truly valued.

What were you watching or listening to while designing this range? I watched a lot of shit bridal TV, like Don’t Tell the Bride, Bridezillas and Bride Wars. I really revelled in the wedding thing for a good year! Crochet is pretty slow – my dress must have taken over 300 hours – so that’s a lot of TV time. A bit of ’80s radio in the sun is a great way to work, too.

What was the trickiest part of putting the collection together?

I had too many ideas for my dress! Plus, I’m really tall and not model-thin, so it was a really different silhouette than I’m used to working with. One of my bridesmaids dragged me to my mum’s house for the weekend and told me in no uncertain terms that we weren’t leaving till we finished my dress, because I was stressing her out!

Where can we see more of your stuff? katiejonesknit.co.uk

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writers’ piece

MY FIRST JOB four writers reminisce on the first thing they did to earn a buck.

By Sam Prendergast On my first day as a crew member at a certain ‘family restaurant’, my manager took me into the staff room to give me a lecture about smiling. He sandwiched the criticism between compliments. “I like your ratio of soft drink to ice. Your shirt is very clean.” But ultimately, unless I learnt to serve with a smile, I was on a fast track to the kitchen, otherwise known as the inferior space of dirty meat bits and teenage boys too grotty to be seen by customers. By the end of the shift, my jaw hurt from grinning, but I’d secured my place at the counter to spend my time making hot fudge sundaes and avoiding the smell of long-frozen beef.

Most first jobs are pretty disappointing, but I’d secretly been dreaming of a career in fast food ever since my first encounter with a Happy Meal. It wasn’t really about the food, or the plasticwrapped toys. For me, the appeal of a behind-the-counter lifestyle was all about the rules. If you’re going to leave your business in the hands of two adults and a bunch of ridiculous teenagers, then apparently you’ve got to

make things very, very regulated.

There were buzzers and guidelines for every restaurant process, because god forbid anyone’s chips be anything less than extremely salty.

Once you’d learnt to cope with the endless sound of screeching alarms telling you to pull ‘fish’ fillets from the fryer, you could fall into a relaxing kind of dream state.

My co-workers and I would dance around each other with hands full of soft drinks, as though we were literal extensions of the restaurant’s machinery.

I was 16 when I began my fast food career, and in the midst of teenage angst, all the certainty was refreshing. No, I didn’t know “what I wanted to do” with my life, but at work no one cared, so long as I could put a burger in a bag, fold the top neatly, and deliver it (with a smile) to the front counter before customer number 10 turned into a raging dickhead. If it hadn’t been for the customers, the whole job would have been fine. I liked tipping hash browns into their little paper sleeping bags and organising thumbsized cartons of hot and sour sauce into orderly rows. But the people who actually ate the food were an unwelcome interruption, especially because I worked in an inner-city store that stayed open 24 hours.

On Friday and Saturday nights, the store became a halfway point for hordes of people who had 10

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minutes to grab a cheeseburger before their train arrived. As a very dweeby teenager who enjoyed orderly lines and quiet solitude, big crowds of hungry, drunken humans were my literal nightmare.

Every night someone would jump over the counter and run away with one of the restaurant’s many unnecessary items, usually the empty straw holder, while we scrambled to refill fry trays.

Behind the counter, in the bowels of the restaurant, everything would fall apart. I’ve never understood people who return “overcooked” $2 cheeseburgers at 3am as though the second incarnation is going to be substantially better, but trust me, it’s a thing.

By the time I was ready to leave my fast food life for a substantially less interesting office job, I’d started to consider myself an industry pro.

Drunks and teenage boys no longer fazed me. I could put together pretty much any meal deal with my eyes closed. And I’d discovered the quiet joys of stocktake, which is frankly my one true calling in life.

On my last day at the ‘restaurant’, I taught a new crew member how to mop the floors and empty the bins in line with store policy. She laughed when I showed her the flow chart for filling and draining the mop bucket, and I returned her laughter with a forced grin, then pointed her back to the sign as I muttered, “But seriously.”

writers’ piece

By Jo Walker Here’s the biggest thing I learnt at my first job: there’s a difference between PEOPLE and THE PUBLIC. PEOPLE, individually, are capable of rational thought, generosity, patience and humour. When they turn into THE PUBLIC, they become, on the whole, a bunch of tools.

I was a cashier at a foreign currency exchange at Brisbane International Airport, changing out cash for travellers on the way into and out of Australia.

I rarely had a problem with overseas tourists (though I did get to call the Federal Police on an American one day). But my fellow Australians – THE PUBLIC of my homeland – wow, friends, you have some problems.

TRAVELLER: Gimme some Bali dollars.

ME: You’re after Indonesian rupiah, sir?

TRAVELLER: Nah, love, Baaaaahhhlli dollars.

[Currency exchange, during which 100 Australian bucks become a million rupiah] TRAVELLER: Hurh hurh, look at me – I’m rich! I’m gonna get pissed on Bintangs in the first two hours!

ME: Good one, sir! Haven’t heard that 30 times already today! Isn’t it funny that patchily developed countries populated with brown people have weaker economies than ours! Enjoy your Western privilege – I hope a sacred monkey rips your face off!

Look, I didn’t start off so cynical.

I was ground down by stupidity.

I understand that unlike, say, shopping malls, airports are not places people go every day.

Maybe they’re a bit confusing. But more than one traveller strode

up to my booth (small, enclosed on all sides) and asked if this was where the planes took off.

They did this in full view of an enormous building-sized window looking out onto – yes! – many planes taking off and landing!

Jumbo jets! That are generally famous for being somewhat larger than a one-woman booth!

Sometimes a question is so dumb, it’s difficult to know how to respond. Properly ponder the ramifications of a query like this (Where do you think the planes are? Am I meant to be hiding them in my knickers?) and you yourself seem like an idiot. Answer honestly – pointing to the window with the large flying machines outside – and you make them seem like an idiot. There are no good options.

Because this is THE PUBLIC. THE PUBLIC contained people who didn’t know which country they were flying to (Yes, Bangkok is in Thailand, madam); ones who didn’t know how much money they’d need for their trip (I don’t know your life! What are you planning to do? Isn’t this something you should have thought of earlier?); and others who thought I was personally responsible for poor international exchange rates and “ruining their holidays”. Yep – that was me. An all-powerful money goddess, dressed like a bank teller in a hideous nylon uniform, intent on destruction. I was 18 and drove a car with basically no clutch. I had all the power.

Look, it wasn’t all bad. It was air-conditioned. Relatively safe. My panic button literally summoned the AFP. And I got to meet the Canadian Chippendales in the departure lounge one time. But I also collected a surprising amount of exotic skin conditions – paper money is filthy, people – and gave myself pink eye once, after counting too much Papua New Guinean kina.

Which is why my first job also taught me the importance of hand sanitiser. And how to apologise for accidentally summoning heavily armed men. And that travellers’

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cheques are for suckers (sorry).

But mostly – after years in this job, and subsequent retail and customer service gigs – that THE PUBLIC can be real jerks. Now, as a member of THE PUBLIC, I try to keep my tool-like behaviour to a minimum.

I say “please” and “thank you”.

I refrain from making terrible jokes to people making minimum wage. And, dear god, I strive to understand the basics of Asian geography. It is, literally, the least I can do.

By Daniel Moore My first foray into professional life was working as a lifeguard. I was about 17 and clearly inspired by the past seven seasons of Baywatch.

Impressed by the constant praise awarded to the brave, bulkedup boofheads on the show, I set my sights on a life of heroism.

Fully aware that I had some ways to go before earning my stripes as a muscle-pumping power swimmer on Venice Beach, I settled for a junior job at a local swimming pool in Western Sydney. Not to be discouraged by the somewhat substandard venue, I took my firstaid course and completed a number of other certificates that I was sure would make me king of the deep end. I was ready to go, and looked forward to strutting my stuff on a sun-drenched concourse in St Mary’s.

Your first job is a milestone. It’s terrifying, but exciting. Nervewracking but liberating. In some ways, it’s like your first kiss (if your first kiss involved filling out confusing tax forms and setting up a superannuation account). The night before my first day on the clock, I did my best to thoroughly prepare.

I ironed my shirt and shorts (I even ironed my trunks), then Mum went and ironed them again properly, because I was a 17-year-old kid who knew bugger-all about ironing.

writers’ piece

My first task on my first shift on my first day was at 4.30pm on a stinking hot Saturday. It was to grab the pool scoop and fetch an unidentified floating object that had somehow made its way into the middle of lane three. Pamela Anderson would never have had to put up with this shit. Slightly dismayed by my stinky intro to lifesaving, I decided it was just a setback, and I’d soon reach my goal of non-stop praise and lifesaving-based admiration.

I didn’t fare much better on day two.

After politely asking a grown man not to do backflips into a pool full of kids, I was not-so-politely met with the confusing rebuttal of “WHY NOT FUCK YOU,” which, without pause (or a comma), meant something entirely different to what I’m sure he intended. The fact a grown man felt he needed an explanation from a gangly 17-year-old about why it probably wasn’t a great idea to violently throw yourself backwards, spinning through the air like a drunk gymnast, into a shallow pool full of unsuspecting kids, should have been the writing on the wall for my wave-based aspirations. But no. Because not all heroes wear capes, and that place needed me. Plus, I was pretty keen to save up for a PlayStation (and I eventually developed a crush on a girl who worked at reception).

I continued at the pool for another two years. And boy, did I see enough go on in that cesspit of chlorine to deter me from ever entering another public pool without wearing a hazmat suit. I had no idea what I was getting into, but after a while it actually became pretty cool. I met some great people and made a lot of good friends.

I learnt creative ways to look busy with a broom at that place, too.

As far as jobs go, it was fairly cruisy. It involved a lot of standing around and blowing a whistle when some little smart-arse would run on the concourse. It did have its drawbacks, of course (there was a lot of poop-scooping), but all- in- all, it was fun. Even if it never did live up to my far-fetched, Hasselhoff-based ambitions.

By Helen Razer -

really can’t – they talk. Preferably to as many people as possible. Today, they might talk to an audience on the internet. A few of them will still find themselves talking, as I did, on community radio.

Your ‘first’, they say, is formative.

Your first gig. Your first day of school. Your first unsolicited pic of a human sexual organ. These firsts endure in your memory and will inform you. If they were troubling, you may be troubled for some time. If they were wonderful, you could be ruined for good.

I talked my way into the studio, then I talked some more. When I was not talking into a microphone, I talked about talking. In one of those milliseconds needed not for talk but to gain the asset of breath, an older lady, one who had worked as a radio tech at the ABC, started talking to me about something other than talking.

My wish is that you have enjoyed a full book of unremarkable firsts. I hope your first kiss was forgettable. I hope your first gig was, maybe, Bachelor Girl, or a taping of The Voice. I hope you were so unmoved by the actual experience that your young consciousness was able to advise you only, “Well, that was an inevitable first. Now. Am I hungry, and, if so, where is my nearest snack made chiefly of cheese?”

My wish is that your first job was ordinary. You did some stuff; you were paid a fair wage. You joined the union; you never needed much of their help. You were not scolded, harassed or exploited beyond the everyday exploitation of work. And, please. Let it be true that you were neither inspired nor filled with great hope.

My first paid gig was so effing inspiring, it scarred me for life.

I cannot rid myself of the optimism it offered. If you consider this a great privilege, then you are yet to suffer the pain that high expectations almost always bring.

You do not know the disappointment that follows an extraordinary first. You do not know a life that cannot possibly improve.

By the time I was 15, I’d started on the path preferred by so many odd and awkward girls. You may know it: dark poetry, green politics, red politics, faded floral textiles from a thrift store. The quietest members of our tribe produce things. They might write or sing or sew. The loud ones like me? If they can’t sing – and I

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“You’re going to learn how to record and edit. You already know how to use your trap for talking. Now, discover how to use your hands for multitracking.”

She taught me basic production techniques – as well as the lesson: shut up occasionally and allow the older, no-nonsense feminist to turn you into a tougher girl. I learnt that editing was a great deal of fun. First, I made ‘experimental’ radio from old recordings of my baby sister rehearsing her turn as Fairy Queen in a primary school play. Then, I got OK at it. Then, quite obsessively good at it, in that teenage hobbyist way. Then, someone paid me a few bucks an hour to do it.

My first-ever paid job was producing a program made for the local Palestinian community.

I knew nothing about the occupation but what I’d seen on the news.

I knew nothing about the Arab world that was not Western fantasy. And now, here I was in a small room, paid to learn about the immensity of history.

It was the best job I ever had.

Never undervalue the ordinary ‘first’. More generally, never undervalue the ordinary. The days when nothing worth remembering unfolds are the days you may enjoy more fully. You don’t have the little historian in your brain reminding you: remember, remember. You won’t have a past with the habit of eclipsing the future.

pretty pictures

flowers wıth feelings artist angela deane gives life to some very expressive blooms.

How did you get started in the art-making business? I’ve been arty since I was little. I made all sorts of weird inventions and objects and new ‘species’ out of paper. At university, I decided to study art and literature.

How do you decide on a plant’s personality? I think it’s a mix of the mood the plant gives off – the aesthetic and colour and certain lean of the plant – and the mood I’m in that day.

Where do you find the floral images you use as canvases? They’re mainly vintage postcards from either eBay or op shops, but some of the larger pieces are photographs I’ve taken or acquired and blown up.

What kinds of techniques do you use? For the past few years, I’ve been using found photographs and other images as an untraditional canvas, which has gotten me a bit of buzz. So, while my painting techniques are rather traditional, where they’re applied creates something new.

We’re getting a vague Day of the Triffids vibe! Was this intentional?

Oh wow, I’ve never heard of that movie, but am very excited to lay eyes on it! For me, there’s a scene in a strange film that is always on my mind – a pink rose that speaks in Peau d’Âne, starring Catherine Deneuve. Now I realise memories of Alice in Wonderland must be present as well! I think I may need to watch that again after my Triffids screening.

Can you talk us through your creative process? It’s mostly just doing. Sitting down and unfurling into what is in front of me. The thinking mostly happens on long city walks, as well as the hours I spend lying in bed before falling asleep. Lifelong insomnia can be trying at times, but I must confess I’ve come up with many a painting in those crucial hours!

What other things do you like to create? Art videos – I’m working on some flower animations, slowly but surely. I love singing, too.

I’d definitely consider making some pared down music in the next couple of years.

What puts you in the mood to create? Emotions. Being happy; being sad; being peaceful; feeling curious; feeling excited; feeling nervous.

The only time I can’t create is when I’m annoyed. It’s my least favourite way to feel, and not very conducive to making anything good.

Tell us about your studio (or wherever you work!). I’m currently working out of my apartment in Baltimore, but soon I’ll be moving into a proper place – hurrah! It will be a regular studio with white walls and lots of canvases, but also lots of weird little objects that both comfort and inspire me.

Tell us about this Flora series. Where did the idea come from?

Last summer I was at a wonderful flea market in a small town in Florida, thumbing through old photos, when a box of postcards started looking really appealing. I left with a bunch of city- and floralthemed ones, and the flowers sort of rose to the top. (Pun intended!)

Flowers are just beautiful and really worshipped in our culture – it felt natural to give mother nature’s supermodels a voice. I love all the odd groans and sighs that I imagine coming from the flowers I paint.

What are you working on at the moment? Three large flowers on canvas, and a handful of golden paintings with strange creatures interpreting scenes from The Wizard of Oz. Where can we see more of your work? angeladeane.com

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angeladeane.com • frankie.com.au

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SPOTLIGHT X FRANKIE

made with (family-sized) love FOR POBBY, PHOEBE AND KATE – MOTHER, DAUGHTER AND GREAT-NIECE – CRAFTING TOGETHER MEANS SEWING LESSONS, GIN AND A WHOLE LOT OF JUMPSUITS. Words Luke Ryan Photo Bri Hammond

Phoebe Baker and Kate McCracken of Melbourne jumpsuit specialists UNC. reckon their favourite garment doesn’t get the respect it deserves. “You feel like you can do anything while you’re wearing a jumpsuit,” Phoebe says.

“No need to worry about shirts coming untucked or skirts flying up. Zip it up and you’re done.” As the frontwoman of indie pop band Alpine, Phoebe loves harking back to the jumpsuit’s golden age – Bowie, Grace Jones, Charlie’s Angels. “It’s literally the only thing I’ll wear on stage. I put one on and I feel like I’m strapping on a suit of armour.”

Much of this is thanks to the handiwork of her mum, Pobby – an “incredible sewer” in the words of both Phoebe and Kate – who’s made the majority of Phoebe’s personal collection. “I don’t know if she loves jumpsuits herself,” Phoebe laughs, “but she certainly loves sewing and making them. She loves making costumes.”

The idea for UNC. came at a younger cousin’s 21st birthday, when Phoebe and Kate rocked up in identical jumpsuits. As Kate tells it, “We got a bit drunk and just came up with this ridiculous idea to start a fashion label that only sold jumpsuits.” When they ran it past Pobby, she told them to go for it – and that she was keen to help. “Phoebe’s mum is a real doer,” Kate explains. “She’s one of those people who just thinks of doing something and then does it.”

Setting up shop in the garden behind Pobby’s house, the trio began designing and sewing their dream jumpsuit. “I don’t even think we seriously thought about selling them to begin with,” Kate remembers. “We just wanted to make something that we’d love to wear.”

Fortunately they had Pobby to show them the way. “I love teaching the girls to sew,” she says. “They had a natural interest growing up, but now we get to make it a priority.” Pobby’s sewing expertise goes back to the days when she dreamed of being a seamstress for the National Theatre in London.

“But family got in the way and she never had the chance,” Phoebe says.

“Now I feel like she’s finally getting to act that out a little bit.”

With her decades of experience, Pobby usually takes lead on the sewing, while Phoebe and Kate spend more time on the fine detailing and marketing.

Despite a growing profile, they’re not taking things too seriously. “When we started we were adamant we’d only do it so long as it was fun,” Kate says.

“We’ve all got our own work and other things going on, so UNC. is almost a haven to come back to at the end of it all.” Phoebe chimes in: “I love that it’s at the family house and people can drop in and out. Just having a gin and tonic and chatting and sewing and dreaming up new ideas is the best part.”

All through March, Spotlight National Craft Month celebrates its special 2018 theme: Crafting Together. Grab some buddies and loved ones and find out more in store, or at spotlightstores.com. For more UNC. goodness, head to unclabel.com, and keep your eyes on frankie.com.au during March for an exclusive studio visit and extra-good Spotlight National Craft Month DIY.

my project Photo Bri Hammond

hear my eyes

in the first place would realise they didn’t like them anymore.”

It was easier, he decided, to choose the films himself – varying between documentary, narrative and animation – then approach a band and say, “Here’s the project, the venue and the festival.

Would you like to do it – yes or no?”

HAYDN GREEN PAIRS LIVE MUSIC WITH FILM SCREENINGS FOR THIS MELBOURNE-BASED PROJECT.

So far, virtually everyone has said yes, including Mick Turner from Dirty Three, who played live over the Chilean documentary The Pearl Button, and electronic band Black Cat, who were paired with Japanese sci-fi film Akira. Pairing the musicians and films is the fun part, Haydn says. “My goal isn’t to make something subversive. I don’t want to match a melodrama with a death metal band – that’s not the angle I’m coming from.” Instead, he tries to choose a band that has a similar style to the film’s original score, “so their interpretation is an evolution of the original”.

Words Leta Keens

Haydn Green used to just go to the movies like the rest of us.

But then he took cinema studies at uni, and started analysing films more closely, “learning to see each one as a unique window into a time and place and culture”. For the past three years, he’s been unpacking films sonically via his project, Hear My Eyes, staging movie screenings where the original soundtracks are replaced with new scores, played live.

Once the musicians are on board, he works closely with them, coaching them through the score writing. “Obviously, they know how to write,” he says. “It’s more about choosing when and how much to play. If you play too much, it gets exhausting.”

It all started in Berlin, where Haydn caught a spooky, silent German sci-fi film, Metropolis, with a live score – “a blend of industrial techno, mainstream pop and modern classical music”. He’d seen the movie a fair few times before, but found it bizarre and slightly uncomfortable to watch it in this new light. Haydn had always felt a strong pull to get involved in the film scene, but wanted to do it in a fresh, new way – this idea, he reckoned, fit the bill, and he couldn’t wait to get home to Melbourne and give it a go.

To allow for the new soundtrack, the film’s original score has to be removed, which is not always an easy task. For the French film Fantastic Planet, for instance (which was featured at the Melbourne International Film Festival), stripping the score for the prog-rock-jazz fusion act Krakatau meant wiping out the dialogue altogether. Anyone else would have picked another film, but “we really wanted to make it work, so we hired two French voice actors to act it out,” Haydn says.

“It was one of those hurdles we just had to jump.”

As well as watching and reviewing movies for various film festivals around his city, it helped that he was already pretty plugged into the local music scene. In the beginning, Haydn – whose day job is running CULT Cinema & Bar in Brunswick with his partner Niama Wessely – was democratic in his approach. He’d pick the musicians he wanted involved and allow them to choose the movie they worked on, but that turned out to be a bit of a nightmare. “They’d reel off heaps of films, but some of the band wouldn’t have seen them. Then when they’d all watch them, the ones who’d made the suggestions

While Haydn can’t see himself doing more than four projects a year – “I think they’d lose their freshness” – he has loads of films he’d love to screen. “There are some obscure arthouse ones like Bergman’s Hour of the Wolf, and it would be really quirky and interesting to do a Wes Anderson film.” As for dream musos, King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard are high on his wish list. “If we’re being less realistic, though, definitely Thom Yorke and Jonny Greenwood.

But that’s a pretty wild dream.”

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a shadow world where satan is real, witches exist and evil is an ancient living thing.

COMING

september

‘Both mysterious and thoroughly research , is an world of modern white and black witchcraft will appeal to fans of other magical fantasy such as the Raven Cycle and Mortal Instruments series.’

– Australian Bookseller & Publisher FIND US ONLINE @PenguinTeenAustralia

@PenguinTeenAus

rant Photo Lukasz Wierzbowski

kinds of splendid variations and improvisations to discover. It’s just that wine seems to involve weird ceremonies and vocabularies that I don’t really understand; that seem quite distant from words such as ‘normal’ and concepts such as ‘I am OK with that’.

hold the wine ROWENA GRANT-FROST DOESN’T MUCH CARE FOR A FINE DROP.

Consider this: exhibit A, a memory from my teenage years. The protagonist: me, a 15-year-old who is both deeply insecure and extremely over-confident. (Later on today, I will ride my bike into a bush because I’m being swooped by a magpie, but I don’t know that yet.) The scene: the home of my friend, Tegan.

We’re gathered around a kitchen table, where Tegan’s dad asks me to open a bottle of red wine with a sommelier knife. I don’t know how, because I’m 15 and work at McDonald’s, and Tegan’s dad thinks this is hilarious. He opens the wine and asks me to decant it. I don’t know what that means, so he chuckles some more.

Tegan pours it into a clear flask and he asks her if it has sediment.

She says “yes”. She then turns to me and says in a very serious, worshipful voice, “My dad is a wine grandmaster,” as if that is even a thing. I just googled it, Tegan – it’s not.

A few years ago, I decided to become a beer drinker, mostly because there was a certain kind of person who was shocked to see a woman drinking beer, and I figured it was my civic duty to continue shocking these people. (By ‘person’, I really mean ‘man’, but I don’t want to get yelled at on the internet.)

For a while there, I enjoyed taking a swig of the most blue-collar brew I could find, then waiting for someone – anyone – to ask whether I was enjoying the icy cold beer I was holding (or whether, maybe, it was just a prop in my daily performance of Strange Person Holds Beer in Public Place). “Yes,” I would say, “I love the yeasty drink.” And then I would wipe my foam moustache away with a beer coaster because, why not. I’m a beer drinker now.

To summarise: sommelier knife, decant, flask, sediment, grandmaster. Someone might have said the word ‘aerate’. And here I am, 18 years later, still mad. This is what wine does to people.

If someone asks me now what kind of wine I like, I don’t know what to say. If I say what I’m thinking – “Most wine tastes the same to me, do you think my tongue has problems?” – then I’ll probably get reported to the wine police (or whatever the institutionalised version of Tegan’s dad is). Instead, I usually find myself incoherently babbling a list of adjectives, fruits and flavours until the wine person brings me something that tastes more or less like every other wine I’ve ever gulped, swished or sniffed in my entire sad life.

Because I have done this for so long, and because I have so deliberately allied myself with the delicious frosty broth as a way of making a statement against THE MAN, I have also recently come to realise that I do not understand wine. If I’m going to be completely honest, I think I might resent wine. It makes me feel bad about myself.

To be fair, it’s possible that maybe I am just saying the wrong words, and if I said something like, “Mossy and leathery with top notes of ghee,” then I would end up with a delicious glass of something crisp and lovely. But that’s sort of the point, really. Do you know what kind of beer I like? Cold beer. That’s it.

It’s not so much the wine itself, I suppose – the grape water is good.

And it’s not that I think beer and wine are in some type of fight-tothe-death competition – they’re equally complex, I get it, with all

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