PROLOGUE

I remember the day Donald Trump was first elected. I was in a school musical rehearsal pretending to play the clarinet. I was the one announcing each state as it was called. And with each state called, we entered the era of Trump, and no matter how much we liked it, our world would never be the same.

Our generation, like many before us, is one defined by politics. But the politics we now find ourselves in is different. We are a generation that couldn’t escape it; in many ways, we have been forced to be hyper-aware of it for as long as we can remember.

Politics has always been a theatre. But today it’s pure spectacle. In the age of social media fantasy, Hollywood has receded into the background as politics has emerged as the new spectacle, with the attitude that the bigger, the better.

Politics became entertainment, both real and imagined, with leaders' words seeming unserious but their outcomes being ultra serious. Politics is a game, but now it no longer cares to hide it.

This shift was clearest for me in 2021, and, naturally, this collection began to take shape. It developed in my bedroom as I sat around in lockdown, watching the spectacle through a screen, feeling its impact acutely.

For me, the COVID-19 pandemic was a period of confusion, loneliness, and anger, as it was for many others. I felt like I was swimming at Michael Phelps's pace, but moving as fast as Eric the Eel. Determined to reach the end of the pool.

So, I began putting up artworks in the street because the only way to get through was to choose hope over the fear of what the future might hold. It was my small way of reclaiming a bit of control over my environment, when all control felt out of my hands, following the tradition of graffiti writers and other artists who came before me.

Over time, these artworks came to form a collection. Motivated by the same original need to have hope and spread it. It both provided me with an anchor in a chaotic world. And with each painting completed, I felt more hopeful and more in control of the future. I hope this collection reassures people that the future is in our hands and offers a collective hope to build a better future for all, making it a reality.

'The Crash Out'

I’ve had crashouts; you’ve had crashouts; we all have crashouts. Crashouts take many forms and happen for many reasons.

Crashouts are powerful, if not ignored, because they allow us to understand our feelings and are often made up of the feelings we most suppress and ignore. The emotions deemed unacceptable or negative by society: anger, fear, anguish about our personal lives or about the world at large.

Now, I am not advocating that we all start running around crashing out everywhere; that is not helpful. I’ve done this; it’s not fun, it’s not cute. But using the emotions that come to the forefront during constructive crashing out can be a superpower for change. Crashouts can show us what we are and aren’t okay with, and when we’ve pushed the not okay too far.

An example of a personal crashout I had was whilst watching Trump’s second inauguration, and Mr. Musk decided to do a special little salute. I started crying. Why, you may ask?

Well, it was 4 am, a week before my period, and I just watched the wealthiest man in the world declare openly that he was a fascist. And yes, I was already aware Elon was a fascist, but the blatant ownership of that fact made my heart sink, and all I could think was we’re unbelievably fucked.

Yes, I live on the other side of the world, and it wasn’t like Gina Rinehart was doing a cheeky nazi salute (although I suspect she might like to). Still, I knew in that moment that the Overton window of the world had truly shifted, because the trickle-down effect is real under imperialism.

So, yes, I cried. Yeah, it’s really lame. Elon Musk made me cry. I don't know; his Chainsaw really got to me. In that moment, I learnt that, in my core, I wasn’t okay with it, and the only way I could be okay was to stand against it and the implications it might have.

Crashouts can be that wake-up moment. A moment at rock bottom can help you turn those negative emotions into something good and build something new.

I can’t provide five steps to turn your crashout into something constructive unless you purchase my $10,000 course. I’m just fucking with you. I’m not a self-help guru; I’m a 22-year-old with limited life experience and still learning, though I can assure you I am a UFC champion.

Turning a crash out, or the emotions that cause them, begins with acknowledging them and turning them into motivation, a skill I’m still learning. Because ignoring them turns them into a destructive force.

Like heck I wouldn’t have crashed out; this collection wouldn’t exist, and I’m very grateful to the people and to myself who gave me the time and space to turn those experiences into something constructive.

P.S. This painting is not a portrait of me crashing out about Elon Musk, please let me make that clear...

'My Daily Commute'

I was on a train to a 9-hour shift, staring at my reflection in the window, trying to muster my best

hospo smile, when all I wanted to do was scream. This is when the concept for this piece came to me.

We all have many faces for the many spaces we exist in. All of them are a curated version of our true selves. Both conscious and subconscious performance are needed to move through the world.

For me, at least, this performance is most evident in the workplace, where we have to set our feelings and our lives aside to put our ‘best face’ forward.

I know I am not alone in this feeling; otherwise, why would Severance be so popular?

This dance between our actual reality and the reality we present to others can be draining. It’s what allows people to work in ways they disagree with. It’s a coping mechanism necessary to survive.

We mustn’t blame the individual; this performance isn’t fake, it's a performance choreographed by the systems we live under. The system's constructs are bogus, but the governance of those constructs is very real.

We are told that the ability to play the ‘game’ promises us power, status, mobility, and access. We are all born with various capacities to play/ participate in the ‘game’. We were told that if we play the game, we will find happiness, but at what cost?

This performance is inherently oppressive, and it’s extra insidious because we often enforce it on ourselves. Suppressing our needs and wants and losing touch with our inner humanity allows us to be inhuman to others. Not gonna lie, it’s lowkey genius, as it's a perpetuating cycle where being submissive to the system feels like the only option.

So, ask you to take a closer look at the faces you have in your life. Why do you have them? Whom do they serve? What impacts do they have on you and others? Because the system won’t change unless we begin to understand how we mold ourselves to it.

‘THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME’

‘Home is where the heart is,’ says thousands of signs sitting in bargain bins around the world. Although the saying makes me squirm, it does have some merit.

For me, Inner Sydney is home, and although I no longer live there, it is the place I still consider home. It is where many of the most integral moments of my life occurred. It is a place where you could spin me around 3 times and put on a blindfold, and I would still find my way with the confidence of a pigeon.

It’s not just the physical environment that makes it home; more importantly, it’s the people and community who were there as I grew up, whether passively or directly. Because Architecture gives a place its character, people give a place its soul.

A place that feels like home is a unique dance between character and soul, one that makes you feel part of it.

Of course, that dance will change course, whether that is due to its natural progression or external forces.

And I’m going to drop the big G word. Gentrification. It is one of the forces that changes the rhythms of this dance, removing the soul but not the character. So, it remains eerily familiar to those who call it home.

When this change feels outside of your control, it can be excruciating. Like looking at a photograph of someone who has passed, you are comforted by their image, but it is painful because they themselves are not really there.

These days, I go home, it feels like home, but different, like I’m out of step with the dance, and the soul I once knew and was a part of has changed like a peasant at a royal waltz. The home I once knew, which is a part of me, is becoming more and more simply a part of me that only exists within me.

It makes me sad when a place that feels like home, you so desperately want/need to be a part of, no longer wants you. You become an observer of a place you call ‘home’.

'Sydney Sizzler'

I am tired of watching the Ultra-wealthy be served up our public spaces and assets on a golden platter, promising to improve them, only to make them places where they only function for profit.

I was standing in the new Wynyard station development, above six train platforms, hundreds of people rushing around me in monochromatic smart-casual outfits, but it was silent. It really unnerved me. Although I was in the beating heart of Sydney, I felt alone; if I had just evaporated into thin air, no one would notice. I realised in that moment this new development wasn’t for me, and it wasn’t for people like me. To me, the new George St development doesn’t feel like an improvement; it's just ‘chic uncanny valley’, a speciality of Merrivale.

Merrivale’s wrapped expansion has fundamentally changed the city's cultural fabric. It’s made Sydney toxic to those of a particular tax bracket to participate. Developments like these make the city more divided and feel soulless.

To control people, you must control the space they occupy. Whoever controls a space determines how it can be used and what its purpose is. The loss of public spaces to private entities changes them from places of community building and connection to places of profit. The insidious part is that they can often maintain the facade of community, but it's exclusive to those who can make the space profitable.

Our public spaces are essential, and their control should not be sacrificed to corporations. It impacts every level of our lives, from the personal to societal. They are the places where we come together, learn, build, and unite. They are places where culture can grow and develop, but when they are privately controlled, a culture of consumption replaces cultural exchange.

It halts a city's cultural development, and what is even sadder is that, these days, the government feels it needs to rely on these corporations and private interests to improve our cities. Swallowing the bullshit that these corporations will bring innovation to our towns, like oh Packers pecker another casino, now that's innovative, at least now I have a guiding compass whenever I am lost in Sydney.

I am sick of walking past a new development promising a grand future, only to find another with the same four restaurants. How many Tottis does a city need?

I am sick of seeing a city that I love get gorged on by a select few, while those who call it home fight for the crumbs left behind.

'Sav'

Sav, you are a dear friend. You always made me feel loved, appreciated, and that my voice mattered. You were always interested in others, and in my times of dire need, you made me feel seen. I know I am not alone in this sentiment.

I thank you sincerely and sorely miss you. You are a fucking lovely unit, and you gave and continue to give me hope. And despite the short time you were in my life, you made a deep impact, an impact I hope you can see. You know how our yappathons shaped this collection. I hope to make you proud.

Also, thank you for forcing me to listen to "Offshore" by Chicane with my headphones on; it always makes my train trips feel cinematic.

'Stand by Me'

This is the first piece I completed in the collection. It really sets the tone for the collection as a whole. At the time, I was disillusioned and was trying to survive. I was truly in deep in that ‘oh, fuck’ transitional moment when you realise that you’re not just ‘in the world but not of the world’. I know using that quote may make you think I went through a religious phase, but I didn’t, just watch a lot of moron reality TV. Still, I do believe that the saying applied to many of us at one point or another, when you are aware of the world at large, but naive to the impact of the greater world, when serious topics were just that, and really the important thing was the best scheme you and your mates had devised, or whatever beef was happening between peers.

When I was making this piece, I was yearning to go back to a time when that was the case, unwilling to accept that, and really pissed off that I didn’t get to go on the ultimate ‘stand by me’ adventure. I had to admit that I was in the world and of it, and, like everybody else, I had to deal with it. And I know this sounds like a lot of self-indulgent complaining, and in many ways, maybe it is, because the world was a lot less grey, and also I couldn’t miss this incredible opportunity to nostalgia bait my ass.

I felt most invincible when I was with my mates because we were all in it for the ride, sharing a ‘fuck around and find out’ mentality.

The only difference, to me, then and now is that I know I am not ‘invincible.’ The only thing that has changed is that I am no longer naive and innocent, which is a good thing; it means I can approach the world in a more nuanced, dynamic way. Knowing that we are not invincible makes this life, and the connections, friendships, and experiences, so much more meaningful.

There are many reactions people can have to the loss of perceived invincibility. We can stunt ourselves by refusing to believe it and tryna recreate it, and embarrassing ourselves and then probably dying alone. Or we could become a cynical nihilistic git with a ‘what is the point’ life and the world ‘sucks’ attitude, and probably die alone.

Or decide to have fun, be curious, be rebellious and have hope, have hope that because I am in the world, I can make it better for the other people around me.

I will still hold onto the attitudes and ideals that were so colourful before that realisation. And if I do become cynical and jade, I should probably die alone… I’m kidding, no one deserves that.

‘We Invent the future, with each step forward we take.’

The inspiration for this piece is the song ‘I’m not afraid of the future’ by Joey Negro featuring Akabu, with the main chorus serving as the title of the piece.

I love this song; it's a slapper. It makes me feel hopeful, especially when the world feels hopeless.

I am not afraid of the future because, to me, to be afraid means giving up. Actually, no, that's harsh, we’re allowed to be scared, I’m worried, but to let that fear guide you is to give up.

And I have said many times, and will continue to, that I refuse to let fear guide me because I must have hope that the future can be better.

We stand at a crossroads. We can begrudgingly shuffle into the techno-feudal/fascist fantasy that the Tech bro/ oligarchs have envisioned. Or we can decide to say fuck them.

The cracks are already starting to show in the facade, and we as a collective have the capacity to make those cracks into Sans Andrea’s faultlines, and there won’t be any Dwayne the ‘Rock’ Johnson to save them. And yeah, it won’t be cute, because what's a shake-up?

I don’t have a clear path to a complete system change, and I don't expect to. All I can say is that the current systems of power are dependent on normalizing isolation, justifying inhumane treatment, and exploiting the masses, whether that is for their labour or for their data and everything in between.

I also understand that the tentacles of control weave through every aspect of our lives, whether we consent or not, and whether that consent is freely given or under duress. But this has only become the way because a dictator’s biggest enemies are his subjects, and fear is the power they truly hold. But that power is starting to awaken, which is why the individuals are squirming frantically, trying to maintain it with their weapon of choice being fear.

I know I’m only echoing the sentiments of those who came before me with much more elegant tongues, but we must remind ourselves of this truth because it allows us or me to move through the world with hope. After all, they don’t have the actual power; they only have a facade of it.

We invent the future that is our power, whether it takes the form of mutual aid and community building, direct action, or showing up for those who are less privileged. Most importantly, it is seeing the humanity in others, listening and sharing our ideas, thoughts, and struggles, and being open, being okay in the nuance of the human experience, and allowing that to guide and inform the future we want to build. To remain resilient, we must remain hopeful. Now, I’ll get off my soapbox and get to work, because we have a future to build...

'Dad, our Futures are Up'

Every morning before primary school, whilst eating my Weetbix, the radio would be playing, and every morning I would hear about the ups and downs of the NASDAQ.

I wondered who NASDAQ was. Why was their future up? Was their future important? Should I be worried if NASDAQ’s future is down? I heard about them every morning, so I assumed they were pretty important person!

These are reasonable questions and concerns for a 7-year-old… at least I hope.

Thankfully, I know now NASDAQ is not a person. But it is funny how the stock market is worshiped in our modern world. It’s omnipresent, impacting all of us whether we’re aware of it or not.

I thought that 1929 would’ve been the moment we collectively scratched our chins, let the stock market kick the bucket, and went back to the drawing board. But that sort of thinking on my part is highly optimistic and naive, because we know what that crash resulted in: WW2, the invention of the atomic bomb, and the cementation of America’s dominance.

And as the world’s No.1 dick swinger, America found that controlling the stock market was a pretty hectic tool for empire expansion and maintenance.

Over the years, we’ve had many financial failings, each time a band-aid was placed on an ever-intensifying wound. With people often saying it’s too big to fail, I think that mentality feels a little optimistic and naive.

Although I can tell you about the stock market's impact on history and people, I still don’t quite understand what it is or what it is meant to do. Like it just feels imaginary, like my friend named NASDAQ when I was 7.

But I don’t really want to understand it, because why would I want to understand something that puts dollars before people, before the planet? Like it’s time for something new… and don’t you dare say CRYPTO, same system, new lipstick.

We imagined this system, and the first step to leave it behind is to imagine a world led by people, not ruled by money—a world where a 7-year-old could never think that NASDAQ is a person.

THEY DIDN’T RIOT, THEY DANCED’

Often, it feels as though the world is coming to an end. The world's not ending; it’s just the world as we know it.

We humans, are obsessed with the idea of the end of the world, like some of our more iconic panics have been the Y2K panic and the 2012 panic. More tragic was the 1997 Hale-Bopp.

No matter where or when in history, there’s probably a 90% chance you’d be able to find someone with their knickers in a knot about an armageddon on the horizon. It never came, and maybe they were relieved, disappointed, or a bit of both.

I think it’s natural for humans to want to feel significant or be part of a grand moment in history. And since we all missed out on the beginning, our next best bet is the end.

But why does the end always have to be scary?

We are more than ever entering the end of the world as we know it. It has been over for a while. And will continue for a while longer. Slow and steady until one day you look around and go Truly, what the fuck is actually going on. We are closer to that WTF moment than we have ever been.

But with every end comes a new beginning, some new hope.

We can choose to be scared or to be hopeful. We can isolate, bunker down, disconnect, and become passive observers of the collapse. I’m not going to lie, watching the world fall apart while wrapped in a doona burrito sounds pretty appealing.

But I would rather seize this moment to help create a new beginning that feels even more appealing than a burrito doona.

I hope that current systems and structures will fall and will be consumed by the very monster they created and uphold. And no doubt they will kick and scream as they go.

Right now, they feel like Goliath, but lucky for us, we have a lot more rocks than David.

We can choose the world we want to create, a world that is better for all of us and the natural world, a world of collaboration, connection, and creation, instead of a world of exploitation, atomization, and destruction. Because no matter how we like it, the earth has about 5 billion years left on her clock, and she will keep circling the sun whether we’re here or not.

It’s exciting! I don’t know what the future holds, but I know it’s already starting to happen, and the systems of power are groaning under the pressure. Kicking and screaming all the way to their demise, stubborn but thankfully not immovable. Because, as you know, they said the Titanic was unsinkable…

A society that continues to be governed by the structures and systems that persistently fail and exploit us is much scarier to me than a world where those systems are no more.

We have a choice between destruction and creation, between fear and hope, between rioting and dancing. And you know what I’ll be dancing, and I hope you join the boogie.