A B O U T   //   A R T W O R K   //   D E S I G N   //   W R I T I N G    //   S H O P //  ︎


Soft Stir Magazine 2022 - Issue #1

I spent much of my time writing this essay reflecting on my years as an athlete, understanding my body thorugh the squinted eye of the bidomedical model, understanding this model as a product of our broader political structure and understanding it as a jockstrap for this patriarchal city. With the leftover hole of negative space, it hopefully draws out the silhouette of the anti-capitalist body. The rest of that silhouette is filled in with my after athlete explorations of gender, body diversity and disability.

The body rushes to the next heartbeat to keep rhythmically in time with the city, Sydneys fast pace is a stimulant, and slowing is our comedown. The bodies that inhabit this city are fuelled and trough fed with door to door fast food, short deadlines, long working hours and to do lists that spill a month into the future. The endless activity is a thrill, our vessels become a bathtub of stress hormones and adrenaline for our fight or flight system to thrive in. This speed is our fodder, it is an energy reservoir, it sends gusts of power and accolades of achievement our way whilst giving us practical reason to run further and faster away from ourselves. It convinces us that we can satiate our spirits one take away container at a time or, 3 caps at a time, it is a food that keeps us hungry. It is powerful and perfect until we stop, or until the body stops.


Yeah Nah Yeah 2018

The floor is covered in stilettos, feet braced in the forever point of ballerina. There are ironed out colours, shirts and shoulders stiffened against gravity, then there is us, smeared lipstick, rash vests and a curiousity for the cultural modified body. This peice is an investagative reflection of a public performance artwork, entering the Ivy Pool Club, a venue of Sydney’s florid nightlife. 

From George street, the Ivy’s music bulges outward and rings against Sydney’s cityscape. Its a deadened Sunday afternoon but the Ivy presents us with a salvation, ushering us from street side to Pool Club. The ceilings are lofty and appropriate for lengthened humans 11ft tall and our presence does nothing to fill out the of hollowness of excess space. Every surface is shaved clean with the blades of Gillette; the rest of our senses are overpowered by the aftershave of glamour...



I pay my respects to the First Nation custodians of this land and to those who continue to act in a custodial way towards this land. My practice takes place on the grounds of the Kulin Nation.