Saturday March 21

Those arriving for Inflorescence at The Street Theatre were greeted with a dimmed room full of delicate, hand-crafted paper flowers. Butterflies on the walls formed the words “breathe” and “care”. The attention to detail – each crinkled petal, the lace-like perforations on draped paper – was exquisite. The audience settled in as the room plunged into darkness.

Improvisation musician Reuben Lewis on trumpet, accompanied by double bass, drums and electronic percussion, set the mood but never took over the show. The music smoothly transitioned between warm, playful jazz and a foreboding emptiness, punctuated with Morse-like beeps, insect chirps and the sound of a gentle breeze blowing through a desolate forest. Changes in tempo marked the passage of time, shifting from 1920s-esque jazz to sparse electronic beats (and back again).

Meanwhile, visual artist Dianne Fogwell moved carefully through the “garden”, gently placing small beads of light in the heart of flowers and making shadows of butterflies dance across the floor. A long strip of perforated paper ran through the room while other pieces draped, rockily. On taking a closer look, the pinpricks of light were laid out in patterns representing pollen forms, language (Braille), insects and a musical score. This suggested a concern not just with the literal pollination of flowers but with inspiration as a result of the creative cross-pollination between music, language, art and nature itself.

At the end of the performance, there was a long, expectant silence. Fogwell explained that Inflorescence was a brief sketch designed to make us think about pollination. This was a wise decision and a necessary prompt and reminder. Inflorescence claimed to draw inspiration from “the triangle of pollination: the flower, the pollinator and the pollen” (YAH program) but it was not immediately clear that pollination was the focal point. The dreamy performance washed over the audience and could be enjoyed with minimal effort. It did not necessarily compel one to ponder the significance of pollination. The fact that the flowers and butterflies were but beautiful facsimiles seemed, instead, to question how far we’ve come from nature.

Lewis and Fogwell, equal partners in the development and execution of Inflorescence, drew on one another for inspiration. This speaks to the “pollination of new ideas with old”, mentioned in the program. Fogwell mingled with the audience afterwards and was happy to answer questions. This helped to clarify and strengthen her message.

It is difficult to fault a performance as thoughtfully put together as this one. A joyous yet meditative celebration of life, Inflorescence was both visually and aurally beautiful. Without Fogwell’s closing comments and willingness to engage with the audience however, its messages about pollination risked being lost. It was the type of performance that will go on to inspire others and this, perhaps, was its true aim.

– by Shu-Ling Chua

(Photo credit: Adam Thomas)

Canberran of two years (but Melbournian at heart), Shu-Ling Chua spends her free time reading and enjoying music, travel, food and photography. She blogs about life and her favourite things at hello pollyanna while dreaming of living overseas (and making pretty things).

She has a deep appreciation for the ‘creative process’, having dabbled in origami, cross-stitch, knitting, crochet, making soft toys and most recently, pottery. This is her first You Are Here / Noted outing.

Ill-Advised Night Out was the third annual You Are Here sleepover held at the Canberra Museum and Arts Gallery. Created by a wide range of artists and organisers, including the ANU Experimental Music Studio, Robbie Karmel, Hannaka Johnson and Luke Jaaniste, this year’s Ill-Advised Night Out was a multimedia sensory overload.

Many Canberran locals can recall those random Saturday nights where the evening lurched its way from dance and techno music at Toast or Mooseheads to karaoke at Transit Bar or PJ’s, where the too enthusiastic guy-from-the-corner-of-the-room busted out an unbearably long version of ‘American Pie’ that seemed to extend way beyond its actual nine minute duration.

In a tribute to those painful memories, between 12am and 3am, the theatrette played host to Karaoke of Cruelty, in which Paul Heslin cut-and-pasted random lines of popular karaoke tracks on repeat, while a confused participant trumpeted sections of the edited track: again, again, and again. At one point in the evening, participants were treated to a lacerated version of Haddaway’s ‘What is Love?’ which lasted little over half an hour.

Between 3am and 6am, the night really got going and also stopped going anywhere; as the theatrette melded into a hazy loop of slow, throbbing high-volume trance, the participants huddled around a 45 inch television screen playing edited reruns of Rage. It was like being inside a living, breathing déjà vu.

A highlight of the evening was the Wha Wha Room, which consisted of an animated doorman who escorted participants up to a suggestively styled condo. Once there, a barman greeted participants with 70’s-themed cocktails of watermelon juice adorned with little fluro straws. Participants were then treated to a randomly selected, short, but titillating cabaret performance which was, simply put, very funny.

Some of the performances were a little out of place. The sculptural art-making experiment which documented participants in their manipulation of an ever-evolving sculptural bust, didn’t fit in with the “Night on the Town” theme.

However, the event lived up to its reputation of weirdness and absurdity and, because of that, it was a roaring success and arguably one of the standout pieces of the You Are Here Festival.

– by Rosy Listing

Rosy Listing is a writer/arts reviewer/lawyer from Canberra. She finished her arts degree majoring in art history at ANU, and her law degree whilst studying in England and at Sydney University. She is a lawyer by day, and practices writing by night. A self-confessed art enthusiast, Rosy has written for arts publications MusiqueArt – a street magazine in Sydney, and the academic publication – Art Antiquity and Law. She currently hones her writing and reviewing skills through online blogs and by reviewing local arts events around Canberra.

How do you take your coffee? Weak? Black? Milk? Decaffeinated? Well, on Saturday and Sunday afternoon, F*ck Decaf served the audience a hot cup of coffee with a dash of drama and extra friendship on the side. Penned by The Cutting Room Floor’s Tyler Jacob Jones – winner of two Artrage Theatre Awards (2013 & 2014) and the prestigious Martin Sims Award (2014 Fringe World Festival) – F*ck Decaf captures the life and friendship of Ruby (Amanda Watson) and Kate (Ann-Marie Biagioni). The play follows them as they meet up for coffee at the same café and are served by the same cute waiter year after year. Ruby’s coffee order fluctuates, yet her and Kate’s friendship continues to grow and unfold.

Kate and Ruby are best friends––no, scrap that. The oldest of friends. Binary opposites in their coffee orders, views on life and taste in men, their friendship is continuously threatened by heated arguments and rash behaviour.

The characters were well established and perfectly executed by Watson and Biagioni. The result was an hour of tension-filled dialogue and coffee-throwing madness which had the audience in tears and on the edge of their seats with anticipation. What unfolded was a mixture of shouting, coffee-sculling and coffee-throwing. While the promo did promise smashed crockery, for safety and clean-up reasons, paper cups were used instead. Yet the mess of spilled coffee over the entire set and cake splashed on both actors made up for this. The highlight of this scene was when Kate stormed out and, via phone and through the café’s windows, continued to argue and yell, making an outstanding range of angered facial expressions.

The play’s messages about life, our misunderstandings and how we grow continued throughout. From Ruby and Kate’s continual singing and discussion of ‘Life’ by Des-ree, from their reflections on what their biographies would be about, to their attempts to justify their travelling choices or Pilates classes, life was always an integral discussion point. Their decisions in life and their choices in men were shown to deeply affect their overall happiness and, coincidentally, their coffee choices. The performance left a spectacular message on how we shouldn’t need to justify our own decisions to anyone but ourselves.

“I take my coffee like I take my men,” Kate repeated throughout the performance. This, along with Ruby’s changes from skim to decaf to espresso highlighted how we sometimes perceive coffee as a reflection of both personality and lifestyle. Yet, in F*ck Decaf Ruby and Kate’s coffee choices were secondary to how they drank, tipped, threw coffee; over themselves, each other and the set itself, showing that it’s not our decisions or our coffee choices that matter. Instead, it’s whether or not we’re happy with them.

– by Rose Maurice

Rose Maurice has a happy life surrounded by words. As a recent graduate from the ANU with a degree in Literature and History, she now works in a bookshop. Rose has an amateur background in performance poetry and has a tendency to write poems and short story ideas on the back of receipts and in the covers of novels she is reading. She loves to explore, dance, dream and midnight bike rides.

The Record Store was transformed into an ambient chillout space with a selection of old couches facing each other in a circle. Pink and purple lights reflected onto a large projector screen where the stage had previously sat. The space provided a great canvas for this type of event, the low lighting in the room and the artistic surrounds creating an easy, intimate feel.

People straggled in and sat down on the couches where they were greeted with a casual “How you going?” and warm smile from Sampson. The air was filled with little sparks of nervousness and anticipation. How do I connect songs to literature? Is sharing personal stories my thing? Will this be enjoyable?

Sampson was effective in engaging everybody and encouraged people to express themselves freely when discussing their musical tastes. The group consisted of young creative types, with most participants having a similar taste in music. This created a relaxed and coincidentally banjo-themed playlist!

Sampson got the ball rolling with an Oh Mercy classic and with a retelling of a school-aged anecdote about Shakespeare. The group slowly unravelled from their nervous coils and fell into a relaxed, comfortable mood.

Any remaining anxieties were officially dispelled when one participant gave a language warning for their upcoming tune, using the phrase “curse words”, to which another replied with a Harry Potter reference.

It was an interesting idea – a group of strangers coming together to share tea, music and literary experiences. Sampson explained that she had spent one late night spontaneously doing this with friends, inspiring her to produce this event. She also mentioned her plans to start a new trend of listening parties around Canberra, saying that she would like to continue this event monthly. This suggestion was met by some excited “Can I give you my email?” responses as people left.

The tone of Listen In was dependable and nice and reflected the participants’ tastes. Its success was not dictated by the event format or the effort that went into planning it. It proved how variable an experience can be depending on its contributors. Listen In matched its environment and target audience well and was enjoyed by all.

– by Kira Omernik

(Photo credit: Yasmin Masri)

Kira is a coastal export living in Canberra. She writes everything from critical essays to purple poetry and spends most of her time laughing. She currently writes articles for university of Canberra’s Curiuex magazine, as well as writing and singing songs to her dog Hazard. Kira explores all the colourful facets of being in your twenties and faking it till you make it through her blog, articles and notes stuck on her friends walls. You can find her blog here: http://wurdss.weebly.com/1/post/2014/09/the-cheshire-trees.html

This is the premise of Eucapocalypts Now, a poetry performance written and performed by Canberra-based poets Ellie Malbon and Aaron Kirby. Held outside the recently opened Westside Container village on Sunday March 22 as part of You Are Here festival, Eucapocalypts Now painted a picture of the apocalypse as it will most likely be: a very un-apocalyptic, gradual and slow decline that is sometimes dramatic, sometimes mundane, but mostly just is.

The performance was split into two parts; a suite of poems performed by Malbon and Kirby followed by a facilitated group discussion. To open, a collection of objects was passed through the audience. Taken from everyday life, the objects had swing tags attached to them. On these tags were handwritten questions designed to provoke thoughts and imagine possibilities. My favourite was a small figurine of a dog accompanied by the dark but humorous question: “How many meals do I have to miss until we are no longer friends?”

Following this was a series of poems – beautifully delivered by both artists – which imagined a localized apocalypse narrative. The stories intertwined and bounced off one another, running the gamut of human experience with tales of hardship and horror, beauty and love, hope and despair. I particularly liked the inclusion of small victories and the more mundane aspects of living in a changing environment: tap water running brown and the eager anticipation of germinating seeds. The inclusion of “place” was also well done, and the mention of the shipping containers just near the “old Floriade” really brought the tales close to home.

The second half of the performance, when Malbon and Kirby invited the audience to reflect on their thoughts of what such a scenario would be like, was slow-moving at first. However, the pace picked up and some interesting and poignant points were raised. Whilst I liked the idea of audience engagement, I’m unsure if a facilitated discussion was the most effective way to do this. I also found the location, whilst effective in a place-making respect, had too many distractions and it was difficult to become fully immersed over the sounds of cars, machinery and scooter-riding children.

Eucapocalypts Now was a great performance by two of Canberra’s best poets that provoked thoughts and stoked imaginings of an increasingly foreseeable future.

What would you do?

– by Jess Oliver

(Photo credit: Adam Thomas)

Jess Oliver is a Canberra based writer, editor and curator with a penchant for words and shiny objects (literal and metaphorical). She also enjoys chocolate, books and red wine, and is a self-confessed ‘but why?’ person. Jess has been Art and Theatre Editor for Lip Magazine and has written for Canberra’s BMA Magazine and rip publishing. She is the 2015 ANCA Critic in Resident, and has previously been an M16 Artspace Featured Writer.

Created by dance group Lingua Franca in conjunction with Caitlin Welch, Yohan Iddawela and Adam Deusien, Work It was a performative art piece bringing together dance, video and music. The piece aimed to explore our relationship to the modern day workplace by reflecting on behaviours, thoughts and feelings connected with work.

Plevey danced on stage while a video projection on the wall behind her rolled through the stories of seven different people (the workers) who spoke about the practicalities of their job. Among the stories were those of a human rights lawyer, a hospitality worker, a gardener, a mental health worker, a chef, a hairdresser and finally, a mother. In the background, a playlist with a heavy bass led the audience through each worker’s day-to-day existence.

Plevey transformed herself across the stage, executing a skilfully choreographed routine that melded with the stories of the workers by recreating their experience of life at work. At times, Plevey was anxious and frantic, clutching at papers and flitting about, recreating the atmosphere of pressure and stress associated with the day-to-day work of a human rights lawyer. Later in the piece, Plevey became playful, her movements mimicking the mother’s small children.

As powerful as Plevey’s performance was, its impact was, at times, diluted on the Garema Place stage. Viewers could not connect with the performance because the stage was too exposed. Whilst the piece was intended to be viewed as a whole, many audience members drifted in and out of the performance due to the open nature of the venue. There was also the trouble of general distractions in an open venue in the middle of Canberra’s city centre, which was busy on a Friday evening. At one point in the performance, two audience members got up and started dancing and yelling, obscuring the view for the rest of the audience.

Despite this, the performance was inspiring. Plevey’ s finely tuned choreography and the accompanying playlist was an expression of the more inspiring and positive aspects of the work in which we are all engaged at one time or another.

– by Rosy Listing

Rosy Listing is a writer/arts reviewer/lawyer from Canberra. She finished her arts degree majoring in art history at ANU, and her law degree whilst studying in England and at Sydney University. She is a lawyer by day, and practices writing by night. A self-confessed art enthusiast, Rosy has written for arts publications MusiqueArt – a street magazine in Sydney, and the academic publication – Art Antiquity and Law. She currently hones her writing and reviewing skills through online blogs and by reviewing local arts events around Canberra.

Various vintage couches and plastic milk crates surrounded the stage where the audience sat, waiting for the show to begin. The audience looked on curiously as Jackson placed a tiny Liam Payne doll at the centre of the stage. Jackson sat down on the side of the stage as a voiceover of Payne began to speak about the beginnings of One Direction. The music began and continued on as a steady beat, pulsating through to the end. Jackson danced around the doll, slowly building tension with his moves which increased in speed and concentration as the performance progressed.

Payne’s voiceover reflected on his rise to fame, his relationships and his self-perception. He expressed a need for normality and discussed the many trials of youth. The voiceover also addressed his difficulty in maintaining a positive self-image and differentiating between his private and public persona.

Payne is also concerned with how he is portrayed in the media and how the career path he has chosen might be affecting the way other males view him. He also questions the importance of being viewed as masculine, whether this is something that matters to him.

The show was enjoyable but the environment distracting. The dance was held on a small black stage in the corner of a large white room which was also being used as an art gallery. Furthermore, You Are Here staff members were talking and shuffling about. This made for a difficult space in which to really focus on the performance. It would have been more effective if it had been held in a smaller, more intimate space.

This could have affected Jackson’s performance itself. When asked about his reasons for starting World of Payne, he explained that his goal was to hone his skills by experimenting with dance in a controlled and small space. This he achieved, however – the dancing was focused and precise.

His reason for using the Liam Payne doll was less specific but did expose some interesting artistic goals. Jackson explained, when asked by an audience member, that he wanted the doll to be as real a performer as he was: “I didn’t want to move him around like a puppet because then that’s all he would be; I wanted him to be more than that.”

The show fell short of clearly expressing this intention; the performance was ambiguous and left the audience feeling slightly bewildered. But knowing that the goals for this piece were centered on artistic development rather than on storytelling helped me understand it better.

Dance fans, this one’s for you.

– by Kira Omernik

(Photo credit: Adam Thomas)

Kira is a coastal export living in Canberra. She writes everything from critical essays to purple poetry and spends most of her time laughing. She currently writes articles for university of Canberra’s Curiuex magazine, as well as writing and singing songs to her dog Hazard. Kira explores all the colourful facets of being in your twenties and faking it till you make it through her blog, articles and notes stuck on her friends walls. You can find her blog here: http://wurdss.weebly.com/1/post/2014/09/the-cheshire-trees.html

More machine than human, Hart’s limbs form mysterious angles as he looks into the distance, never quite seeing us. Even when twitching, there is an intuitive gracefulness to the way he moves. At one point, Hart cowers and shrinks to the ground, distraught. We don’t need to see his face to feel a sense of loss. Hart is momentarily human then turns mechanical once more.

Edward Willoughby’s minimalistic, futuristic compositions add to the unassuming nature of this performance. The electronic gurgles of the music gently complement Hart’s movements, creating an immersive bubble that is soothing and ominous in turn. We never quite forget that we’re in a car park but that is not the point.

In the closing scene, Hart makes his way around the audience and down a car park ramp, eyes closed. A quote appears on the iPads and on looking up again, we see Hart, stationary, beneath a lamp post, arms raised high as if in prayer. The music fades. Transfixed in a respectful silence, the audience claps appreciatively.

To the side of the stage, we “excavate” a little scroll tied up with string. Inside is a quote by Joses Gosper:

We have the most valuable of treasures: ‘the knowledge of who we are’. The whole world has crumbled and been rebuilt many times, and we remain; we have survived; and when the darkness has been washed away from our lands by the torrential rains, we will still remain.

There is a refreshing lack of pretentiousness and unspoken acceptance in the fact that we are open to interpret Excavate however we wish. For this reviewer at least, it explores what makes us human. Who hasn’t, at some point, mechanically gone through the motions of life?

Nature also plays a starring role, from the dirt beneath our feet to a swirl of black birds (real) joining us in the twilight sky. Dance, music and setting work brilliantly together and the performance successfully avoids feeling orchestrated. Instead, it has a raw earthiness which is made all the more impressive by the fact that the choreography is improvised. Hart’s work possesses a quiet humility which does not presume to give answers to the questions it asks.

– by Shu-Ling Chua

(Photo credit: Adam Thomas)

Canberran of two years (but Melbournian at heart), Shu-Ling Chua spends her free time reading and enjoying music, travel, food and photography. She blogs about life and her favourite things at hello pollyanna while dreaming of living overseas (and making pretty things).

She has a deep appreciation for the ‘creative process’, having dabbled in origami, cross-stitch, knitting, crochet, making soft toys and most recently, pottery. This is her first You Are Here / Noted outing.

The audience settled in on the cosy couches of The Record Store for the presentation but the topic was anything but cosy. Indeed, it seemed that the Canberra art scene didn’t care to hear about its shortcomings, with a disappointing drop in audience numbers after the previous instalment (Ask Me Anything with publisher Lex Hirst).

Dr Leane began with an acknowledgement of the Ngunnawal people – the traditional custodians of the land on which the talk took place. Her Wiradjuri ancestors and the Torres Strait Islanders were present in the audience. She then gave a short history of publications by Indigenous writers, pointing out that it was indeed short. The first Aboriginal writer to be published was David Uniapon in 1925, though some of his work wasn’t correctly attributed to his name until 2006. However, the publication of works by Indigenous writers remained relatively uncommon until a proliferation in the late 80s.

The talk quite literally became a list of names at this point, as Dr Leane’s speaking notes were projected onto a screen for the duration of the presentation. Although this had the potential to be dull, it proved useful, allowing the audience to gather the correct spelling for author names and helping them to negotiate a dense topic.

With activism hitting heights in 1988 in response to the centenary of white settlement, the David Uniapon Award for unpublished Indigenous writers was established in Queensland. This made, and continues to make, Queensland Australia’s foremost state in terms of opportunities for Indigenous writers. In contrast, the ACT Literary Awards has no specific category for Indigenous writers. Dr Leane argued this was needed because of the lack of venues for Indigenous writing. Topics concerning Indigenous writers, such as deaths in police custody, are unpalatable to mainstream markets or are filtered to make them so.

She concluded by sharing a poem she had written that had been turned down by the Canberra Times and was instead accepted by Antipodes, a well-respected US journal on Australian literary studies.

While a broader discussion of Canberra’s lack of opportunities for Indigenous writers and potential solutions may have been beneficial, Dr Leane made excellent use of the brief time available by keeping focused on the issue of literary awards, internships and mentorships. The national and historical context she gave allowed greater insight into why the lack of initiatives supporting Indigenous writers in the ACT is a dire shortcoming of Canberra’s art scene.

– by Elizabeth Fitzgerald

(Photo credit: Adam Thomas)

Elizabeth Fitzgerald is a freelance editor and owner of Earl Grey Editing. She is a committee member of the Canberra Speculative Fiction Guild and served as Secretary in 2011 and 2012. She also previously ran their novel critiquing circle. Her short stories have been published in Burley, Issue #2and the CSFG anthology Next, and she has had poetry published in FIRST in 2005, 2006 and 2008. Her weaknesses are books, loose-leaf tea and silly dogs. She tweets @elizabeth_fitz

The venues for both funerals complied with Dangerous Territory, a challenge that asked various YAH artists to pick strange places in the city and create shows in and around them. The two locations, Landspeed Records and the office hallway of the Citizens Advice Bureau on Barry Drive, added to the overall atmosphere of the performance and went beyond what could have been just a simple quirk of the production. This is because they reflected the interests of both characters; Zak (delightful Vivek Sharma) – who has dropped out of his engineering degree to pursue a career in music – performed on Wednesday night at Landspeed Records, the setting adeptly reflecting his passion and drive for music. On the next night, the funeral for Reefa, played by Hossain, was held in the office hallway of the Citizen Advice Bureau on Barry Drive and reflected her interest in law and community advocacy. While these unconventional settings did limited audience numbers and comfort, they had an overall positive impact.

The two performances were compelling as standalone pieces. Zak’s rap “My name is Zak and I’m on the next level, something, something, something to the devil” and Reefa’s association of her Aunt’s obsession with marriage to social media platforms like Facebook and Tinder provided both performances with comedy that didn’t rely on having seen the other half.

But the overlap between Zak and Reefa’s perspectives was one of the play’s strongest features. From Reefa’s monologue referencing her catching Zak mid-rap to her part in the confrontation between Zak and his parents, the overlap powerfully highlighted how various people come to and react to situations differently.

Similarly, Reefa’s funeral concluded the two pieces. The ending left by Zak’s funeral remained inconclusive. His action of purchasing a CD and walking out of the establishment left the audience questioning what he would do next and whether or not he was serious about no longer pursuing music. It was the conclusion to Reefa’s story that removed the ambiguity left by Zak’s.

Zak and Reefa’s Bollywood Funeral is a compelling performance that looks into the common tension between individual ambitions and family pressures, using humour and insight in a way which truly encompasses the You Are Here spirit.

– by Rose Maurice

Rose Maurice has a happy life surrounded by words. As a recent graduate from the ANU with a degree in Literature and History, she now works in a bookshop. Rose has an amateur background in performance poetry and has a tendency to write poems and short story ideas on the back of receipts and in the covers of novels she is reading. She loves to explore, dance, dream and midnight bike rides.