The fact of the matter is, most books we read (in English-speaking countries, at least) are by white authors. And if you are like me in the sense that you live for magic, swords, and dragons—in other words, fantasy—you will predominantly be transported into worlds inspired by European mythology and folklore whenever you pick up a new book. Which is completely fine… some of the time.
When I went to the hope-themed festival and stood in front of Parliament House, I laughed. I was standing beneath a light display of the first Members of Parliament for Australia; 40 portraits of white men towering over me. In the whole display, there was not a single picture of a woman or person of colour.
Woolf identifies money and space as the two things that women have been denied, but both are a means to the same end: attention. Undivided attention is required for any great work to be made.
There is a certain vulnerability that circulates women-based needs and gratification, specifically the independence and initiative needed to meet those needs.
Any time we put something on our heads, whether it be a headband; hat; or, in my case, a hijab, there is always the slight chance something can go wrong.
Ashley Cullen’s paintings engage with raw emotional states usually attributed to women to expose the risks (and pleasures) of being vulnerable and abandoning facades of composure and control.
Attending the Canberra strike, amidst my recent anxiety and despair about the earth burning and everything dying, I was reminded that a whole of bunch of people care and are in this together. We feel that we are in a turning point in history, and that if we don’t do something now, our future will be unthinkable. In some ways, that is true.
From Instagram memes to natal charts, astrology has had a long and unspoken sense of prominence in many people’s searches for identity. Is there any value in turning to the occult for answers?
On one hand, the overuse of the female body as an object of spectacle objectifies, sexualises, and reinforces dangerous notions of female passivity. On the other, the raw, undeniable beauty of the female form ought to be celebrated, and makes for some breathtaking art. Is it, then, simply too lovely to censor?