Night at the White Bay Power Station: Sydney Biennale’s Art After Dark
A howling March southerly pushed cold air and bouts of rain through the streets. It turns out that this weather was perfect for the haunting melodies and evocative art pieces I was about to witness at White Bay Power Station for Sydney Biennale’s Art After Dark.
The Year I Delete Instagram
Six weeks ago, the world blurred around me and my green chariot. The whirring motor drove me, brilliant and impulsive, through the humming darkness of a summer’s night.
Berde Doesn't Mean Envy (But We Know It Anyway)
Six weeks ago, the world blurred around me and my green chariot. The whirring motor drove me, brilliant and impulsive, through the humming darkness of a summer’s night.
Diary of an (Ex) LimeBiker™
Six weeks ago, the world blurred around me and my green chariot. The whirring motor drove me, brilliant and impulsive, through the humming darkness of a summer’s night.
Simple Beautiful Things
After interacting with the most pompous security guards on Earth, having their bags searched as though they are about to embark on an international flight, and parting ways with €12.50, they finally enter the museum.
Stonefruit
I’ve always loved stonefruit/because it has a prize in the middle./A little pit of promise nestled in the flesh
and I know you’re not supposed to/but I eat it every time/even though they say it can make you sick/because I thought it could make something grow inside of me.
Amaneurosis
My hand is pressed hard against the window, and I am looking at the bloodlessness of my fingertips and the soft cracking off-white paint on the wooden windowsill.
How To Brine Olives
The Greek diaspora reminds me of the olives that have fallen around the trunk of my olive tree. Some have fallen on their own, others in aging clusters.
The Keymaster
Maybe the changing decimal places send a buzz that fizzles down from the billboard into the cabling, through the machine and into buttons, shocking their paper thin flesh and pulsating through their nerves?
A Good Host
It begins inside me as a change in weather, a subtle dampness seeping into what I had assumed was stable internal architecture.
No More Need For Greenwashing
We hear the message that we are not on track, we have missed the deadline, there is no turning back. These ideas build on a narrative which is cloaked in familiar rhetorical patterns and continues to serve corporate interests, centring on the idea that technological innovation will shape our future, somehow transcending the bounds of the planet’s finite resources.
Good Enough
When my great grandfather died late in the night in Poland, we were pulled out of bed by our sobbing mother. Everyone quickly slipped into black clothes so we could comfort our immediate grandfather.
An overcast Sunday morning at the Sydney Opera House: Review of Zadie Smith in conversation with Michaela Kalowski
So why were we all there? Because ZS is a person even more interesting than the characters she writes. She is one of the greatest essayists of our time.
The Boy Problem: Review of ‘Raising Boys’
I couldn’t ignore what seemed like the ultimate patriarchal irony: that women are the ones expected to do the labour—of going to the Opera House, booking therapy appointments, monitoring children’s social media usage—to ‘fix’ masculinity.
“We will return when the war is over”: Don't Ask the Trees for Their Names at Sydney Opera House
The room became very still after that. It was one of several moments in the evening where the audience seemed to move beyond polite attentiveness into something heavier.
I Saw God at Cameron Winter
This Opera House show was expected to be a repeat of his performance at Carnegie Hall in New York: stripped bare of everything but the music and a sense of cultural occasion.
A Sickening Performance: PULP’s Review of Drag 101: A New Drag Showcase
On Friday the 13th of February, full of spite from the working day, I stumbled down the stairs of the Cellar Theatre and sat my arse down on a metal bleacher for what would turn out to be the best evening of my week.