Simon Zoric

When Simon Zoric exhibited a silicone copy of his dick and balls on the floor at West Space someone actually slipped over on it. It sounds like a modern take on a banana skin gag from a 1920s film that might have had tap dancing, or minstrelry in it—but it really happened and he says it wasn’t

Juliet Rowe

If Juliet Rowe were a car I think she would be a Porsche. Not because the artist bears a resemblance to the car itself. Juliet’s hair is long and dark and cascades in unruly tendrils over her strong shoulders. Her features loom sculpturally from her commanding face. Her dark eyes flash dramatically as she speaks.

Fiona Waters

There’s a new kind of cafe-culture bourgeoning out of Melbourne’s inner west. The spindly black-clad hipsters of Melbourne’s north have all but been replaced by a new breed. Baby-bouncing, pedigree-dog coveting, piccolo-latte sippers, the lot of them. All vying for a table at one of the cafes on Seddon’s up-and-coming strip. The words Sour Dough