The Art Of Resilience

This past week has been a big one for the arts industry in Australia.

Actually it’s been a kinda big week in the life of Australia. For just a smidgen under half of the population our Federal Election results were a devastating blow to heartfelt values.

Australia had an opportunity last Saturday to address long term challenges with more than bandaids and two word slogans, and we rejected it.

Many had invested their emotions large in the hope of rebuilding a different kind of Australia. When the Coalition Government (the American equivalent of the Republicans with a little Tea Party throw in) seized government again, many people felt the kind of immobilisation that comes with being utterly stunned, alien in their own country. The comedown on Sunday morning was like a hangover without the booze. Hazy and stomach churning. A sense that you weren’t really sure where you had woken up and how the bloody hell Pauline Hanson had managed to climb into bed next to you.

The shock that so many Australians had voted via the lure of misinformation and personal tokens of added wealth weighed heavy. It still does. It was an especially potent sting for those who work in the arts and creative industries.

Perhaps the best way to describe the stark contrast in the arts policies of the two major parties in Australia is to say that one was a nuanced and respectful plan to support the arts ecology and bring to life the first National Indigenous Theatre Company; and the other was vaguely written on the back of a beer coaster and committed to bring to life a statue of Captain Cook on the site of cultural genocide.

For many in the arts the past six years had been an exercise in sheer survival as the changing whims in Canberra threw much of the industry into austerity planning and pitted many against each other. The arts industry woke up on Sunday morning with the understanding that this would all be repeated again. More job losses, more half made work, more living below the poverty line… less engagement with communities.

Does the industry have the resilience to do it again? What have we learnt from our first rodeo? How can we harness these longings and use them to communicate the value of the arts not only to the Federal Government, but also the State and Local Governments who support vital work across the country?

More importantly perhaps, how can we communicate this to people outside of the supportive bubbles we live and work in? How can we find the strength and resilience to have the difficult conversations? To adapt and flex without breaking the core integrity of our work?

The bubble has burst and we have in front of us the realities of this next term of Government. As the weeks move forward, and what many describe as grief dissipates, it’s time to look at the situation, not with the lens of what has been lost, but the view of ‘what can be done’?

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Making ideas reality is a lot like growing tomatoes. Part 2- The Harvest

In Part 1 I shared that after a particularly abundant season in the patch I had come to the conclusion that growing tomatoes had a lot in common with making ideas reality.

It’s not so crazy.

The resilience, patience and preparation needed for a good harvest is also needed to successfully cultivate, and ultimately harvest the fruit from your ideas.

Sometimes you head out into the garden and all you see is potential. Healthy plants thriving and throwing off their first blossoms. Early season varieties almost ready to pick. Bees happily pollinating and ladybirds keeping the pests at bay. Things are progressing well. All that needs to be done is to continue to feed and water, to nurture and then to feast.

But if you’ve been absent, more often than not, you head out into the garden and there’s an abundance of weeds. The tomatoes are competing for nutrients, light, some are wilted through lack of watering. Or there’s a pest invasion of some sort, just when you’re about to pick them with the bad kind of bugs sucking at the roots, laying eggs on the leaves or running into the patch the middle of the night and stealing most of your crop. (curse you possums)

Like ideas, tomatoes don’t thrive on neglect and they are best kept fresh through consistent visits and good collaborators.

Even your carefully nurtured, and highly supported crop will have competition. Somebody next door may have even won prizes for their previous crops.

Sometimes there’s people who have an idea really similar to yours, people who had the had the idea first, or those who have rushed to get it out in the marketplace before you. Resist trying to bring them down, or give up, good ideas often win out in the end, and perhaps there’s enough fruit for everyone?

Like ideas that have been pushed, prodded, tested and sometimes attacked, a good strong crop of tomatoes is often the way it is because it’s been challenged in the early stages of development. Like tested ideas that have adapted and come out stronger.

By next season you will have learnt far more than you did the first time you planned a tomato crop. You might even have the confidence to plant a new variety or sew an additional bed!

When it comes to telling the story of the journey of your crop of tomatoes there will be those that want to know the entire story from seed to the juicy tomato exploding in their mouth. They’ll want to know about the collaborators, the chickens, the farm dog, the type of staking, the brand of garden hoe and the fertiliser used.

Some won’t give a shit about any of that stuff and they’ll just want to taste it.

Be mindful of your audience when sharing the fruits of your ideas, and have the intelligence to adapt or else risk the curse of boredom. Marketing is important.

Some times (like I did this year) you’ll have such an enormous harvest that you’ll need collaborators. The best collaborators are the ones that harvest your fruit and return it to you in the form of delicious pickles, sauce and chutney, bringing out the flavour of the fruit in ways you never thought possible. Acknowledging the source of their inspiration and extending the harvest for months to come.

See, ideas and gardening have a lot in common….

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Making ideas reality is a lot like growing tomatoes (Part 1)

It’s become pretty clear lately that implementing a new idea in a creative practise or a not for profit is a lot like gardening.

If seeds are like ideas…

The soil = conditions in which the idea can take hold and grow.

Your garden beds are a lot like the financial foundations you create to protect and grow them and the harvest is the sustenance and income gained from the idea.

See- this metaphor could go on for ages!

Let’s take tomatoes- a delicious fruit that comes in a plethora of different varieties and a lot of people like them, particularly the home grown variety.

They can sprout a number of different ways.

1. Nurtured carefully in the greenhouse before being brought out into the world for exposure to the elements when they are strong enough.

2. Randomly sprouted via the compost heap or emerging from last year’s harvest or

3. A risky planting straight into the soil, against traditional advice, because you’re confident in the strength of the stock and the position you’ve placed them in.

It’s a lot like ideas. Some of our most precious, or freshest ideas we like to nurture carefully before we share them with people, making sure the hows, whys and when’s have strong roots before exposing them to criticism or competition.

Sometimes we get ideas when we least expect them, they arise from projects we thought dead and rotten, unexpectedly taking root and flourishing. Sometimes we feel so confident that we discuss, pitch and exchange them before they are fully formed because we know the conditions are just perfect and we’ve already got a good foundational relationship.

Seedlings are like developmental stages of implementing an idea. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes we plant them next to things we shouldn’t and both plants wilt because of their incompatibility or because they’re competing for the same nutrients or hogging the sunlight.

Sometimes seedlings get gobbled by all matter of creatures that were there before us or continue to sabotage the first green leaves no matter how much you beg them to leave.

There should be enough for everyone without having to bring in the big guns for a chemical spray down. That kind of toxicity can leave its presence felt for years. And the fruit never tastes as good.

Sometimes collaborations, even if the early kernel of an idea was brilliant, don’t work out, sometimes it’s not a good companionship planting. Others thrive next to each other, making each of you greater for it. Make sure to draw those near you who support you and complement your offerings. Sometimes they even cross pollinate and create experimental new varieties.

And remember, even though you want the magic to last all the way till Winter, it’s also about knowing when to pull the dying and weak tomato plants out and prepare for the next crop.

Next up- the harvest.


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The Side Hustle – how it can make your arts life more sustainable

Kat Pui and Jess Wong- photo by Kath Melbourne

The side hustle. It’s the ‘other thing’, the thing that sometimes pays your bills when work in the arts is slow. The thing that can sometimes finance the very activities that grant bodies are funding less of, particularly as budgets and success rates become smaller. Sometimes the side hustle is the thing that provides most of your income when you’re building your professional life in the arts or when funding is suddenly cut.

When your income is primarily generated from your arts practise, the side hustle can be a great way to fund risk taking and development without the constraints or unpredictability of grant funding.

It’s the ‘I don’t know what it is yet’ and ‘I have to go through a process that might fail before I know what it is’ that often scares some government departments and grant panels. But it’s at the very heart of innovation and art making. It’s the kind of activity that makes your work vital, that keeps you inspired and gives you an opportunity to play without the restrictions of a prescribed outcome. I’m completely of the belief that grant makers should invest in this kind of activity, but I’m a pragmatist too, and there is something so very empowering about making it happen no matter what.

The side hustle, if done right, can give you the freedom to self fund and give yourself the time to undertake development, play and testing and still make sure the bills are paid, cashflow is healthy and there’s food in your belly.

Sometimes you’ll see the side hustle in organisations too, and it’s often used to great effect to be able to provide cashflow freedom to projects outside of funding cycles, or to fund its nebulous first stage explorations. It only works though if you don’t lose sight of it being a support act to the main game. Something that allows you to continue with the main game, has money built in for the costs it takes to manage and provides enough dollars to self fund core activity or time if you need it. Each organisation will have different assets to harness and different opportunities to access.

Some organisational side hustles I’ve come across:

  • Hosting corporate events- team building, celebratory or strategic
  • Renting out unused space/costumes/set/lighting/projectors to other theatre and dance companies
  • Hosting film/TV/photographic crews to shoot- some are super keen to find non identifiable spaces with parking that haven’t been overused!
  • Running Pilates and yoga classes
  • Air bnb
  • Selling greeting cards and children’s soft toys
  • Even renting out their space to a church without a church

You can find individual artists and producers with side hustles as diverse as driving an Uber to the more structured hustle of part time work in related roles such as Academic Lecturer and Front of House Attendant. It’s best if the side hustle is something you like doing, or at the very least isn’t painful!

My side hustle is renting out my Winnebago to travellers to Tasmania. When the Winnebago is out on the road I use that time for my development, speculative writing and testing time. I know that the hound and I will both be fed and I have the freedom to prioritise development time and not feel financially pressured to say yes to all the work I’m approached about.

I’ve seen independent artists and producers make side hustles work in industry related jobs and those completely outside of it. I once knew a poet who worked part time in the same very dry Public Service job for over 30 years because it demanded nothing of him emotionally, and he could channel all that mental and emotional space into his writing. I’ve also seen side hustles that become so demanding that they take over (sometimes for good, sometimes not) and the main game fades away. Each person’s practise is unique, as are their lives. There’s not a one size fits all approach to the side hustle.

Some independent artist hustles I’ve come across:

  • Childminding for other artists working on projects on set/site
  • Share economy hustles- Airbnb, Uber/Eats, Airtasker
  • Selling home grown flowers and produce
  • Pilates/yoga/ healthy life instructor
  • Creating and selling adult colouring books
  • Making and selling wedding and baby shower cake decorations
  • Instagram influencer
  • Horse agistment
  • Side jobs in hospitality, modelling, academia, tech, labouring, teaching people to ride, dog walking, admin, novelty telegram delivery, voice over…. an almost endless list of flexible jobs and bosses which don’t mind you taking off time when you need to attend to the main game.

Over these next few months I’m bringing together thinking, case studies and practical exercises for a workshop that looks at both artistic and financial sustainability in a 360 degree kind of way. The kind of way that isn’t all about learning to write a kick ass grant application (though it will include this) or writing a killer bio (though it will include this too) but a way that embraces each individual’s and organisation’s main game and their obstacles. Taking into consideration what’s going to work for them to have a financially and artistically viable and sustainable professional life in the arts. It’s bound to include a conversation or two about the side hustle!

I’d love to hear from you if you’ve got a story to share, whether it be an interesting side hustle or an out of the ordinary lifestyle that supports your practise. Ping me a message in the comments below or email me:

I’d love to hear from you ☺️

For more information about me check out my LinkedIn profile.

Melbourne, the arts, circa early 2000’s, defining values, creating indelible change.

Yesterday I took a trip into the messy back corridors of memory to access one of the most cherished periods of my career for a book about Melbourne performance.

It’s a complex period of time for me- primarily because I lost my partner Geoff to a fatal motorbike accident in 2007 and in so many ways my life is defined by before and after his death.

But the early 2000’s in Melbourne were also formative years in defining my values and forging out a pathway for me to have a professional life in the arts. They were years of climbing a challenging learning curve and relishing in the adrenaline rush of not being sure if I could pull it off.

We’ve all got them. Those first 5-8 professional years that challenge you, forge you and hopefully don’t break you. For me I was fortunate they were spent in a city that shared my surname.

I feel a great deal of gratitude that I had access to artists and industry leaders who nurtured, challenged and backed me. My key values of inclusion, humour and integrity were fostered by Lesley Hall, Michelle Evans, Mark Wilkinson, John Britton. The challenge to always strive for depth, impact, courage and innovation was laid out by Kristy Edmonds, Nadja Kostich and by Annie Davies who was Chair at Fringe at the time. They were formidable humans who I respected and admired.

Integrity, risk and compassion were asked of me on a daily basis and I relished the opportunity to do things that had never been done before, like setting up the first primarily youth governed professional youth theatre in Australia or producing a giant interactive multi arts installation in Federation Square that merged engineering and community arts. I connected first time audiences to work and provided and opportunity for emerging artists to make work and test new ideas. It’s so deeply satisfying to see these artists still having a thriving professional life in the arts.

Melbourne at the time was a supportive community of artists and facilitators who didn’t wait to get funding to test an idea. This DIY sense of adventure and the organisations like The Store Room, Melbourne Workers, LaMama, Platform and Fringe were conduits and enablers for this work and it made for a rich, layered and diverse arts scene. In those days you could always find a spare garage, warehouse or shop front in the inner city that hadn’t been turned into industrial townhouses with bespoke laneways eateries and you could usually scrape together enough dollars to buy a few floodlights from Mitre Ten and put on a profit share show.

The book, coming out of Melbourne University is driven by the passion of Jana Perkovic and Andrew Fuhrmann who believe that there was something unique about the time. They will interview several key figures in the performing arts in Melbourne and these transcripts will form the heart of the book. I look forward to reading it!

Thankyou for reminding me of a time when female leaders could still be a little wild, a little rebellious and just a little working class.

For more information about me check out my LinkedIn profile.

photos in main pic by John Sones

The ethics of arts reviewing on a small island’

This week I did an interview on ABC radio and was prompted by the producer Rachel to think about the challenges and importance of the reviewing work I do for ArtsHub.

We live and work on a small island called lutruwita (Tasmania). Most of us work in similar circles, and we know each other socially. It’s a tight ecology of supportive personal and working relationships.

Even more so here, you’ve got to balance the integrity of your analysis with the kindness of knowing what impact your words can have. The arts is one of those industries where there is a great deal of emotional investment in the work and a desire by everyone in it to build the resilience of the sector.

At times I’ve held positions that I felt were too much of a conflict of interest. One for for a venue, and also when I was working for a funding body. They were times in which my livelihood was tied directly to the success of the work or my impartiality was of prime importance.

The work of some organisations I review are ones in which I might talk with as part of my new consulting practise and this is a new ethical dilemma which I will need to balance. Sometimes you can just say ‘I would rather in this instance that someone else reviewed’.

This is trickier in a small island whose print media has ceased employing performing arts reviewers. Arts reviewing plays a vital role in generating new audiences, the viability of future touring and funding applications for companies. Without it there is a gap left most felt in regional areas and places where decision makers don’t travel too often. You feel like you want to contribute towards this goal.

Personally, I feel brave enough and have enough integrity to fairly spell out if a work hasn’t reached its potential or if a work has exceeding and reached a unique place for audiences. But I know others who have not put their hand up to review because they fear professional or social retribution if they spell out the flaws in a work.

Sometimes this reticence to provide critical analysis results in the kind of plot description reviewing that describes everything as ‘AMAZING’, ‘FIVE STARS’. Sometimes as a way of assuring the reader that the reviewer is a big supporter of that genre, their friends, or the arts in general. Which is not useful when a work comes across as truly extraordinary, because you’ve got nowhere to go.

You hope that arts reviewing isn’t all about the reductionist task of summing up a work in a star rating, but you understand both as a reviewer and practitioner who has made and produced work, that quite a lot of cast and crew will skip the words and head to the little icons at the end of the review. You understand how much that can sting or elate and how hard on themselves people can be in our industry. You know how much audiences look to it.

I’m lucky to have an editor that understands that sometimes it’s not the most useful thing to the artist or the audiences to reduce the work into a rating system and as such at times I’ve written reviews without them.

Last week I gave my first 5 star review to a local work I felt 100% confident about. It was extraordinary and masterful on every level, and I knew that I’d be happy that it represented a ceiling. It’s not often I feel that.

It was wonderful to see a handful of other people emerge who were reviewing this work also. I hope that continues, as this little island could benefit from diverse, well thought through points of view on work shared publicly.

For more information about me check out my LinkedIn profile.


*photo- Mel King in The Mares, photograph Amy Brown

Arts audiences- nurturing curiosity

I’ve been writing about the Ten Days on the Island Festival in Tasmania for a commission with ArtsHub.

This weekend just gone has seen me in the North of Tasmania. I’ve seen 8 shows now, and have another 5 to go, when the festival moves to Hobart this weekend. It’s got me thinking about audience development. The ways in which I’ve approached it across my working life and the ways in which I’d like to approach it with clients moving forward.

Anyone who has worked with me will know I have a passion for access to the arts, to growing first time audiences and for breaking down stereotypes about who does and doesn’t engage with the arts. My clients know that I apply 360 holistic thinking, translational communications and end user scenarios to everything I do ( I hope in a charmingly nerdy and endearing way) and have a deep sense of satisfaction and celebration when clients nail the quinella of nurturing curiosity and new audiences for their work.

We know that engaging in the arts- whether it be reading a book, wandering through a gallery or engaging in large public interactive celebrations and events is something that is on the rise in Australia. We know about the benefits of this engagement, the brilliant and unique way in which the arts can help us understand, navigate, digest and analyse the world and people. How it can assist our growth, increase our humanity and understanding of difference and connect isolated communities. We’ve drilled down into demographic segments, we’ve worked out what our story is, we’ve set our price points and we’ve strategised our marketing campaign accordingly.

But how much do we really know about people who sit outside of the bubble we have a tendency to create in the arts? How much do we know about the their pathways to attendance, the road blocks along the way and how our decisions effect this pathway, be it successful or aborted?

I had a non arts experience this past weekend that has got me thinking.

It was a stunning weekend, they kind of weekend where Tasmanians had thrown away ‘end of Summer’ thoughts and headed to the beach, a picnic, to the pub. It was delicious in every way.

I had heard that there was a tomato and garlic festival on ‘somewhere up north”. Anyone driving along the freeway would know (signs guiding you every step of the way), or who had joined gardening groups on Facebook (posts, invites, conversations), or who had talked to anyone who loved gardening (word of mouth). You could eat, learn, bring dogs, the kids could do activities and perhaps most importantly meet Tasmanian gardening  legend Peter Cundall. They had even thought about the myriad of Winnebago drivers that hit Tasmania over the warmer months- free self contained stays overnight and a big turning space for them. Their programming, communications and marketing was solid gold, they were right on track to gain a whole bunch of new attendees.

By the time you got there, there was a spectacular line up of cars waiting to enter into the Tasmanian Tomato and Garlic Festival like it was WoodStock (well they did have Peter Cundall and he’s kinda like the Hendrix of tomatoes). The Tasmanian Tomato and Garlic Festival in Selbourne  reported its biggest ever attendance that Sunday. Unfortunately, while they had done absolutely everything right in the realm of programming and marketing and intrigued everyone by putting tomatoes and garlic together in a celebration of gardening and cooking, they hadn’t planned for such a success. Not enough shade, long lines and frustrated attendees. The long car line was the roadblock for me, I was on my way to a theatre showing and couldn’t risk it.

I think it’s important that we think of the roadblocks, both in promotion and execution and make it easier to make art a part of everyday life. If we want to attract experience seekers then let’s make sure we design experiences that make them want to attend and come back again for more.

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Do you want your coffee in a cup or a mug? Ruminating on Tassie life.

For the past week I’ve been spending most of my time driving a Winnebago through remote and far north Tassie communities following the Ten Days on the Island Festival for ArtsHub.

It’s reminded me again that for the most part Tassie hasn’t been ‘Monafied’*. It’s still the warm, friendly country town where everyone knows each other’s names and they swap tomatoes for relish over the neighbouring fence. There’s still tiny bakeries selling vanilla slices for $2 and cafes asking you if you want you coffee in a mug or a cup.

If you want the key to the local hall it’s most likely that Bev has it- ‘just pop down the side of the house, I’ll leave it in the meter box hon’.

Dressing up for the theatre means wearing covered shoes (maybe) and reactions to art aren’t cloaked in any idea of coolness or what ‘should’ be said.

It’s brilliantly refreshing and completely pointless trying to impose any kind of east coast mainland sensibilities onto it- just enjoy!

It’s not to say we don’t like fancy things; world-class art museums, cheese, wine and pepperberries and some of the best pinot in the world, but it comes with a decent dose of honesty on the side. Capital city snobberies are almost completely useless here, simplicity, getting along, groundedness and survival are the cornerstones of life. It’s in the DNA of Tasmanians.

I moved to Tasmania permanently just over 2 years ago. My Dad lived here before he passed.

During the first year four things became clear.

1. You must develop an excellent recipe for zucchini slice (you’ll work out why in your first Summer)

2. Every snake here has the capacity to kill you (true story)

3. No one will believe you’re actually here to stay unless you’ve “done a Winter’ 

4. ‘It’s a small island’. This phrase is muttered with collective resignation and glimmers of hope, and deployed to cure all manner of disagreements.

The entire state is classified as regional, and many of its outlying areas to do not have connection to basic services. It has the greatest growing housing market in the country and a simultenous homelessness and health care crisis. It’s a state where you can be served up world renowed experimental dining experiences on famous locally designed pottery in Hobart and an instant coffee made in a blender and called a cappuccino.

Sometimes you get frustrated about the Tasmanian habit of not putting an address on advertising for an event ‘because everyone knows where it is’ and at times the insularity of Island life makes you crave outside stimulus.


That’s the thing about living on an island – you can always look out to see the horizon. Whatever land is over those oceans is only a plane trip away. And those big, beautiful skies and beaches with no one else on them will be right back where you left them- in one of the most stunning places on earth.

 *I can’t claim credit for this brilliant term of phrase- I first heard it from Jane Haley

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milaythina-nika waranta; waranta milaythina-nika (this country is us, and we are this country)

It’s International Women’s Day, and I’ve spent the day on the trail of the opening events for Ten Days on the Island on Tasmania’s Nth East Coast. It’s been a day of beautiful and rugged landscapes and inspiring conversations.

The name of this blog post comes from the title of the Lola Greeno show at the festival.

It’s the original language spoken here in Tasmania and a thought that’s been resonating with me all day. I have been contemplating the festival’s connection to place in the first of three features articles for ArtsHub on the Ten Days on the Island Festival.

In a small moment of quiet contemplation this morning I listened to the interview with Dr Emma Lee as part of Here She Is, an exhibition in Devonport. Dr Lee is a trawlwulwuy woman now living on the Nth West Coast of Tassie. She says in her interview-

I am nothing without these things of country

It brings into focus for me the women who have fought, often quietly to overcome challenges and find belonging. Women who have woven the thread of connection through their families; the thread of knowledge, language, place. Despite, and sometimes because of the dogged efforts by colonisation to destroy them.

Battles that Indigenous women all over the world have in common.

On International Womens Day there’s unanswered questions inside of me as I think about my own indigenaity, as a visitor and an outsider to Tasmania, but also the commonality of the threads that connect Indigenous women to each other. I’m inspired and uplifted.


(thank you in Michif)


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Ten Days on the Island and my epic adventure through the heart of it all.

I’m setting out tomorrow at dawn for what started as a crazy idea I pitched to my rather fantastic Editor Richard Watts, at ArtsHub.

You see, I wanted to undertake Festival Director Lindy Hume’s challenge of taking an epic journey through Tasmania; to navigate with intrepid curiosity both the festival program and the landscape. I wanted to understand more about how a festival expressed and spoke to a sense of place, and how audiences responded to this creative well spring of ideas and art that pop up in their communities in March.

The program is diverse and adventurous.

We start at dawn on a beach in Devonport sharing a Welcome to Country and end with a world premiere of a new work by Kate Mulvany- The Mares, with Tas Theatre Company in Hobart.

So that’s where I’ll be for the next three weeks. I’ve packed a few opening night frocks, beanies, scarves, a puffer jacket and my cozzie. It is Tassie after all, just like Queensland except different- here we’re playing in the sand one day, playing in the snow the next!

And of course Tully, my big stick loving, water dog is coming too. She’s got a comfy spot at the back of the Winnebago and is totally ready to lose her stuff over all the new flora and fauna.

I mean, what’s an epic road trip without a dog?

I’m looking forward to the glorious conversations, the art, performances, contemplation and films, and all the epic vistas between. I hope to see you at the festival!

Keep an eye out on ArtsHub- I’ll be writing a feature after each leg of the festival, just in case you’re not taking the epic adventure too…

For more info on the Ten Days on the Island Festival Program:

For gratuitous over sharing of adorable and humorous pictures of Tully, the Winnebago and glorious Tasmanian scenery follow me.
Instagram: kapitalcity

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