Journal articles on the topic 'Gardens Australia Design'

The increasing process of urbanisation has major implications for the environment, biodiversity, and health and well-being of urban residents. Empirical evidence for urban greening benefits suggests that it is an appropriate planning and policy approach for tackling some of the problems associated with urbanisation, including biodiversity loss and heat island effects. Gardens on private residential lots represent a substantial proportion of greenspaces in low density cities with extensive suburban areas. Drawing on a qualitative study of residents in Sunshine North, Melbourne, Australia, this paper discusses three questions about the relationship of private gardens to public greenspaces:1) how does residents’ use of private gardens impact their use of other neighbourhood greenspaces;2) can private gardens address inequality of access to greenspaces in lower income neighbourhoods; and,3) what does this imply for planning and neighbourhood design?Contrary to previous research, the findings did not show a meaningful relationship between residents’ use of their gardens and local greenspaces, and further, that large yards and gardens do not substitute for poor access to local greenspaces. The paper concludes that policy makers and planners cannot assume private gardens and public greenspaces are interchangeable. While private gardens and local greenspaces can both provide positive benefits to residents, private gardens do not act as a substitute for local greenspaces in neighbourhoods of varying socio-economic status.

Abstract Objective To compare consumer rated quality of care among individuals living long-term in homelike clustered domestic and standard models of residential care in Australia. Design Cross-sectional study. Setting Seventeen residential aged care facilities in four Australian states providing alternative models of care. Study participants A sample of individuals with high prevalence of cognitive impairment living in residential care for 12 months or longer, not immediately in palliative care and having a proxy available to provide consent and assist with data collection. Of 901 eligible participants, 541 consented and participated in the study. Main outcome measure Consumer rated quality of care was measured using the Consumer Choice Index–6 Dimension instrument (CCI-6D) providing a preference weighted summary score ranging from 0 to 1. The six dimensions of care time, shared-spaces, own-room, outside and gardens, meaningful activities and care flexibility were individually evaluated. Results Overall consumer rated quality of care (Mean ∆: 0.138, 95% CI 0.073–0.203 P < 0.001) was higher in clustered domestic models after adjusting for potential confounders. Individually, the dimensions of access to outside and gardens (P < 0.001) and flexibility of care (P < 0.001) were rated significantly better compared to those living in standard model of care. Conclusions Homelike, clustered domestic models of care are associated with better consumer rated quality of care, specifically the domains of access to outdoors and care flexibility, in a sample of individuals with cognitive impairment. Including consumer views on quality of care is feasible and should be standard in future evaluations of residential care.

Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to critically explore the historical background and current approach of the most common statutory instrument to maintain green landscapes in private residential gardens in cities and townships in suburban New South Wales (NSW), Australia. Design/methodology/approach – The narrative presents a transdisciplinary study. While its emphasis is on law and town planning, it also encompasses local government and legal history while touching upon environmental management and ecological science. This panoply of areas reflects the sheer complexity of the topic. While the presentation is initially descriptive, it moves on to a critique of the NSW Government's recent statutory approach. Findings – The paper demands that further attention must be paid to improving the design and architecture of statutory plans and underlying policies to not only improve urban biodiversity but also retain, as far as practicable, the visual beauty of the suburban landscape. This means reliance on local government to devise their own acceptable approaches. Flexibility rather than rigidity is warranted. Originality/value – The amount of scholarly material on this topic is relatively rare. The majority of information relies on excellent on-ground research and experience on the part of local experts, namely council employees and consultants. Academic and practical material must be drawn together to improve biodiversity conservation at both the local and regional spheres.

The incidence and spread of Hop latent virus (HpLV), Hop mosaic virus (HpMV), and Apple mosaic virus (ApMV) in nurseries and gardens established with elite material (certified free of HpLV, HpMV, and ApMV by serological testing), and the effect of these viruses on production of 2 newly adopted hop (Humulus lupulus) cultivars were assessed in Tasmania, Australia. Infection by HpLV in Agate was associated with significant losses in dry cone yield of 40–70% compared with the yield of elite plants. Infection by HpLV in Agate was also associated with a 44% reduction in alpha acid levels and the cohumulone proportion of the alpha acids. However, in the second year, no significant reductions in levels of alpha acid and beta acid contents, or in the ratio of alpha to beta acids were detected. Plants infected by HpLV were also significantly shorter than elite plants in both seasons. No significant effects on growth or yield were detected for HpMV in Agate or for any of the virus combinations tested in Super Pride. The incidences and spread of HpLV, HpMV, and ApMV were consistently higher in Agate than in Super Pride and the incidences of all these viruses were higher at Forrester River than at Bushy Park and Gunns Plains. The presence of viruses in nurseries containing material propagated from elite mother plants is also of concern and may be contributing to high levels of virus incidence found soon after establishment. When combined, this information can be used to design control strategies for the Australian hop industry for these cultivars.

The benefits of ecosystem services to cities are well documented; for example, water-sensitive urban design to mitigate stormwater flows and purify run-off, the cooling benefits provided by tree shade, and psychological benefits of urban greening. Cities tend to displace nature, and in urban environments where nature exists it tends to be as highly altered ecosystems. This paper sets out how it is possible to regenerate nature in cities. We outline the principles of how to do this through a study on a new regenerative urban development in Perth, Australia, where urban planning is intended to support the regeneration of a bioregional habitat within the city. The authors, drawn from sustainability, property development and ecological backgrounds, describe how urban regeneration can potentially facilitate the regeneration of endemic habitat within the city. This builds on the original ecosystem functionality to provide an urban ecosystem that enables biodiversity to regenerate. Perth lies on the Swan Coastal Plain, a biodiversity hotspot; it is home to 2.1 million people and numerous endemic species such as the endangered Black Cockatoo. Low reproduction rates and habitat loss through agricultural clearing, fire and urban expansion have greatly reduced the Black Cockatoo’s range and this continuing trend threatens extinction. However, the charismatic Black Cockatoos enjoy passionate support from Perth’s citizens. This paper describes a range of strategies whereby new urban development could potentially harness the popularity of the iconic Black Cockatoo to build momentum for urban habitat regeneration (for the cockatoos and other species) on the Swan Coastal Plain. The strategies, if systematically operationalised through urban planning, could allow city-scale ecological gain. The authors suggest a framework for nature-positive design and development that offers multiple benefits for human and non-human urban dwellers across scales, from individual gardens, to city/regional scale habitat corridors. Collectively, these strategies can increase the capacity of the city to support endemic species, simultaneously enhancing a bioregional “sense of place”, and numerous associated ecosystem services to increase urban resilience in the face of climate change.

With increasing pressure to ensure that sustainability features in homes are commercially viable, demonstration projects are vital to highlight the real-world challenges and opportunities for innovation. This paper documents the incorporation of sustainability objectives into the “East Village at Knutsford” residential “living laboratory” development, within the Knutsford urban regeneration precinct, approximately 1.5 km east of the Fremantle central business district in Western Australia. The sustainability objectives for the project include being a “Net Zero Energy Development” using 100% renewable energy and maximizing the self-supply of energy, reducing mains water consumption as much as is practical, and using the landscape design to complement these objectives without compromising a best-practice urban greening outcome. The paper documents the design initiatives and strategies that have been included to achieve these objectives in a commercially viable project and the results of modelling where it has been used to test the design against the objectives to ensure their validity. The key features that have been incorporated into the townhouses component of the development are outlined, illustrating integrated design and systems thinking that builds on previous demonstration projects, incorporating solar energy storage and electric vehicle charging plus significant mains water savings by adopting water-sensitive features in the homes and the within the private and public gardens. The expected grid energy and mains water consumption levels in the homes through modelling compared to the metropolitan average is 80% lower. The project is presented as an important step in the application of available technologies and design features to meet stated sustainability objectives, highlighting the benefits of an embedded living laboratory research approach.

AbstractSchool gardens are becoming increasingly recognised as important sites for learning and for bringing children into relationship with food. Despite the well-known educational and health benefits of gardening, children's interactions with the non-human entities and forces within garden surroundings are less understood and examined in the wider garden literature. Using a relational materialist approach (Hultman & Lenz Taguchi, 2010) that considers the material artefacts that constitute a learning environment, this article examines children's interactions with the animate and inanimate life forces through three specific garden photographs. The photos belong to data derived from a study that examined food, ecology and design pedagogies in three Australian primary schools. This paper argues that children's interactions with the non-human materialities of a garden are a vital dimension of gardening practice. The agential powers of gardens have great capacity to mobilise and inform children's inhabitation of food gardens.

<p><strong>Abstract.</strong> This paper reports on a research project that has a focus on the perception of place, collective experience, and shared perceptions. It aims to demonstrate how mapping can be used to bring depth and meaning to places through portraying emotions, memory, sensation, and the imagination. This study explores how maps can be developed to create a deeper understanding and explore perceptions of place. It draws upon the diverse experiences of a participatory study of a single, shared place, the Edinburgh Gardens in North Fitzroy, Melbourne, Australia. This participatory study expands upon a previous research study of the Edinburgh Gardens, which focused on the influence of time in the perception of place. While time plays a significant role in changing perceptions of place, emotions, sensory inputs, and memory also play vital roles in shaping these perceptions.</p><p> The intent of this study was to look for shared experiences, synergies, or differences between different participants’ visits to the park, while examining how people perceive, move through, and understand the place and their emotional connection to it. Through a three-part participatory study, <i>1. Memory</i>, <i>2. Experience</i>, and <i>3. Reflection</i>, the data collected informs a series of emotional maps of the Edinburgh Gardens.</p><p> The first part of the study, <i>Memory</i>, asked participants to recall and describe a memory of an experience they had at the Edinburgh Gardens. Questions included why the event was significant, were they with other people, how long did they stay, and could they remember any smells or sounds or think of any colours associated with the experience. Participants were also asked to draw a map of the gardens as they remembered them (Figure 1). The second part of the study, <i>Experience</i>, asked participants to go for a walk in the park and capture their experience in real-time (Figure 2). This included many of the same questions as Part 1, while also asking them to record their route as they moved through the park, via a GPS walking app and pen and paper (Figure 3). The final part of the study, <i>Reflection</i>, asked participants to reflect and compare the visits to the park.</p><p> The intention of this participatory component of the research programme is to visually explore emotional connections to place by creating prototype maps of place perceptions. The study focuses on the making of place and examines how places are perceived through deep mapping and associated spatial narratives. In creating these prototype maps, it investigates how the cartographic sciences, design thinking, and artistic expression can inform one another to spark new ideas and generate new ways of thinking about approaches to cartography and in turn, the possibilities that emerge when these disciplines work together.</p><p> Through a practical and theoretical investigation into emotional cartography, this study explores perception of place and the representation of shared perceptions through mapping. Furthermore, it illustrates the role memory and conscious experience have on feelings and emotions attached to perception of place. Through creating prototypes of emotional maps, we are able to see the crossover between scientific cartography and artistic expression and appreciate how these different disciplines can be engaged to shape new approaches to cartography and reveal the map’s ability to impart emotion and evoke a sense of place.</p>

ObjectiveTo develop recommendations regarding opportunities and barriers for nature-based care in oncology contexts using a structured knowledge generation process involving relevant healthcare and design experts.DesignFour-round modified electronic Delphi study. Oncology patients’ nature-based recommendations, uncovered in preceding qualitative investigation, were included in the first round for the expert participants’ consideration. Key items (opportunities and barriers) were developed using data aggregation and synthesis, followed by item prioritisation and 10-point Likert scale ranking (1=not important, 10=very important). Descriptive statistics were calculated to assess items of highest importance representing expert recommendations.ContextOnline Delphi process constituting an electronic international survey.ParticipantsA purposive sample of 200 potential panellists (recruitment target n=40) comprising healthcare practitioners, managers, designers, architects and researchers were invited to participate; experts were identified via research networks, snowballing and systematic literature review.Results38 experts across seven countries (Australia, USA, UK, New Zealand, Canada, Denmark and Sweden) returned questionnaire 1, which determined consent and acceptance for participation. Initial response rate was 19%, and subsequent response rates were 84%, 82% and 84% for rounds 2, 3 and 4, respectively. The Delphi panel developed recommendations consisting of 10 opportunities and 10 barriers. The following opportunities were rated to be of highest importance: window views from clinical areas onto nature; outdoor settings, gardens and courtyards with easy and effortless access; and nature-based physical exercise adapted to patient requirements. Highest-rated barriers for nature-based oncology care included lack of knowledge and awareness about benefits of nature engagement and inaccessibility, not considering access requirements for the very sick and frail.ConclusionsExperts suggested and agreed on a set of recommendations, which represent critical considerations for the safe adoption of nature-based oncology opportunities. These findings fill a gap in understanding about helpful nature-based oncology care and may translate into oncology design and innovation.

Urban living style is associated with various negative impacts on human health, e.g. connected with the environmental problems. Thus, promoting health of urban population is nowadays one of the most challenging issues of the 21st century together with the growing needs for sustainable development and establishment of the biophilic or livable cities. It is increasing awareness among researchers and health practitioners of the potential benefits to the health from activities in natural settings and especially from regular contact with nature, which can be perceived as a preventive medical tool. This paper discusses the close relationship between the concepts of health-supporting landscapes and sustainability in modern cities based on literature review and case studies from EU, Russian and Australian projects. We first review the historical and modern paradigms (of the various disciplines) which determine the discourse in nature – human health and well-being research. This includes examination of Hippocrates «naturalistic history», Humboldt’s concept of natural garden design; Oertel ‘s ‘Terrain Kur’; «salutogenic approach» of Antonovsky; McHarg’s Design with Nature; Ecopolis programme, Wilson’s biophilia and some other approaches. Then there is a comparative analysis of structural similarities and differences in the past and current scientific schools devoted to understanding human – landscape interaction. One of the principal arguments is that nature also has another value for health, regardless of natural remedies. It includes, for example, the healing of space, outdoor training trails in parks, everyday use of urban green spaces and peri-urban recreation areas for sport and exercises. We provide an analysis of some examples based on the modern concepts of biophilic cities, therapeutic landscapes, healing gardens, green infrastructure and nature-based solutions. This article also discusses the main types of healing gardens and therapeutic landscapes and suggests the framework of design principles of healing and therapeutic landscapes. The analysis proved that healing gardens and therapeutic landscapes provide multiple benefits and can be regarded as nature-based solutions. These essential aspects of multifunctionality, multiculturality and social inclusion are well intertwined with the approach of biophilia.

Odo Strewe arrived in New Zealand in 1938, a refugee from Nazi Germany. After release from internment on Matiu (Somes Island) as an Enemy Alien during World War Two, he married and moved to Auckland where he started a landscape design and construction business. Strewe had explored the idea of plants inside buildings in the very first house that he had made for his family in Glen Eden, Auckland in 1949. An Australian journalist writing about the house described the interior "with tropical paw paws almost coming indoors to join forces with the banana that is really growing and fruiting, right inside the house." Strewe continued to advocate for this disciplinary contest in subsequent years by writing about indoor gardening in New Zealand Modern Homes and Gardens and designing gardens that challenged the boundaries between landscape and the interior. This paper will explore the design strategies of two of Strewe's interior gardens in the 1960s as he developed this aspect of his landscape design practice.

There has been increasing interest in reuse of effluent from sewage treatment plants in Australia in recent years, not only for agricultural or land irrigation purposes but also for the provision of dual water supplies to residential areas for the non-potable purposes of toilet flushing, car washing, garden watering and park or other open space irrigation. The Rouse Hill development in the north west of Sydney is Australia's first full scale application of domestic non-potable reuse, with the sewage treatment plant and the dual water distribution system being commissioned in late 1994. This paper describes the Rouse Hill project as a whole including the reasoning behind the installation of the dual water supply system, the design of the sewage treatment plant, the effluent qualities achieved, the design of the dual water distribution system and the requirements of the regulatory authority, the NSW Environmental Protection Authority.

We present the design and pilot study of QuickTales, a mobile storytelling platform through which urban gardeners can share gardening experiences. QuickTales was built as a response to design patterns, drawing on previous studies we conducted with residential gardeners and different gardening communities in a large Australian city. Given the diversity of needs and wants of urban gardeners, the intent for QuickTales was for it to serve as a multi-purpose tool for different individuals and groups across the local urban agriculture ecology. The evaluation provides initial insights into the use of storytelling in this context. We reflect on the use of design patterns to as they were used to inform the design of QuickTales, and propose opportunities for further design pattern development.

The design of hospital environments with an increased focus on incorporating nature and natural features has been reported to have multiple health and well-being benefits. This paper reports on three Australian case studies that each investigated the relationship between green spaces and people's mental health. The results suggest that gardens or other green spaces should be included within plans for future healthcare design. While we acknowledge that there are a range of considerations in the allocation of healthcare resources and programmes for maximum benefit, we believe that those programmes which highlight the beneficial outcomes for people with mental illness of ‘feeling blue and touching green’ are worth implementing.

Reviewing and further reviving the historical landscape have significant impacts on developing this field for the designers [1]. It is useful for contemporary designers to learn from the past. They can practice analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of diverse past examples, recognizing the success criteria of contemporary designed landscapes, and exploring new ways to design sustainable public spaces for the future. This article will examine the Paddington Reservoir Garden, in Paddington, Sydney, Australia. This is as a successful and influential example as a heritage redesigned as a contemporary public open space.

Walter Burley Griffin and Marion Mahony Griffin synthesized a modern crystallized interior within their Capitol Theatre design (1920–24) in Melbourne. The Capitol’s auditorium, a mine-like cavity, houses a constructed landscape, elucidating the link between architecture and geological references. Ornamented with prefabricated stepped plasterwork, the auditorium is inserted with opal-coloured light technologies. Through the concept of the “constructed landscape”, this article traces the garish luxury elements found within the Griffins’ Capitol auditorium to understand the design associations between Paul Scheerbart’s Expressionist writings on crystal-glass iconography and William Le Baron Jenney’s symbolic crystal cave. The Griffins’ architectural contribution to the Australian entertainment industry conveys both Jugendstil garden effects and Mesoamerican echoes through its elaborative prismatic ridges. Owing to its transcendental opal allusions, the Capitol’s auditorium shows a constructed landscape model and constitutes a form of garish luxury, exemplifying early Australian glamour.

This article compares two former Pacific War incarceration histories in the us and Australia, inquiring how their narratives of confinement and redress might be interpreted spatially and materially, and how these sensibilities are incorporated into contemporary heritage strategies including, in these examples, through Japanese garden designs. At the Manzanar Historic Site in California, the efforts of several generations advocating for civil rights and preservation of the Manzanar Relocation Center have overlapped with the National Park Service’s efforts to fulfil its federal mandates to preserve and restore the historic site. Conversely at Cowra, New South Wales, these histories are interwoven with post-war commemorative spaces, aimed at drawing visitors to former incarceration sites and encouraging contemplation of these difficult histories. This article analyses their complex creative processes and interpretive strategies as useful for drawing these isolated national stories into broader global interrogations of their significance.

The popularity of rainwater use in Australia depends completely on the individual householder's preference. The quality of reticulated water supplies in major cities of Australia is far superior to water stored in rainwater tanks. However, due to persistent drought and the implementation of stringent water restrictions, cities such as Melbourne have encouraged the use of rainwater harvesting within the property. The benefits of trapping stormwater within a property and using it effectively also reduce polluted runoff excess reaching receiving water. The study reported herein focuses on the effectiveness of rainwater tanks as a potential water sensitive urban design element used to manage stormwater using the MUSIC model. The study shows that the installation of a 3 kL tank reduces hydraulic loading by 75%, Total Suspended Solids by 97%, Total Phosphorous by 90% and Total Nitrogen by 81% if the rainwater stored in the tank is used to meet the indoor demand (toilet flushing and laundry use) as well as the outdoor demand (garden watering).

INTRODUCTION Our needs as social and familial beings change over the course of our lives; however, it has become common practice to build as though these needs remain static through time. The needs of a child, young adult, family, middle age and the elderly are dynamic between generations, and adding to these evolving life needs is the crisis of housing affordability. Three decades ago a house could cost 3–4 times an individual's annual income, today that cost is closer to 10–12 times. In response to these challenges, this article explores the concept of Sustainable Micro-Villages, providing insight into a new approach to energy-efficient housing with reference to our case-study project—Carwoola House. Sustainable Micro-Villages can be defined as a cluster of integrated dwellings, referred to here as Living Pods. Essentially a “single house” on a single site, these micro-villages can be comprised of two or more smaller buildings that provide private dwelling space for a single person, couples, couples with children, parents, elderly, friends and any combination of social groups. Living pods cluster around a natural garden setting, enhanced by water-harvesting, and are connected with covered, open or enclosed links depending on the climate of the site. The recent iterations of this type of dwelling also incorporate solar passive design, passive house and greenhouse technology. In Australia, new house designs are evaluated as part of an approvals process for their energy rating. 1 The Australian Building Code requires a minimum 6-star rating, ranging up to 10 stars for any new home to be built. A 6-star rating provides a good level of insulation and energy performance if built correctly, while 10 stars represent the highest level of energy performance and refers to a dwelling that needs no heating or cooling. Sustainable Micro-Villages consistently achieve an 8 to 10-star rating by combining Solar Passive Design principles (good orientation, thermal mass and thermal performance) and Passive House Technology (high thermally performing building with low air leakage, no thermal bridging, high performance glazing and heat recovery ventilation) in various combinations to suit the climate, context and budget.

The main purpose of this paper is to demonstrate how the old modernist engineering technologies, such as single purpose stormwater infiltration basins, can be transformed into quality environments that integrate ecological and social functions and promote multiple sets of outcomes, including biodiversity restoration, water management, and cultural and recreational purposes, among other urban roles. Using the principles and theories of biophilic urbanism, regenerative design, and qualitative inquiry, this article analyzes and discusses the actors, drivers, strategies, constraints, and values motivating the stakeholders to reinvent Perth’s stormwater infrastructure through two local case studies. The “WGV sump park” was developed through a public-private partnership, including professional consultants with community input, and the “Green Swing sump garden” was an owner-builder community-driven project involving volunteers, who maintain it. The results of this research suggest that both projects are successful at managing stormwater in a way that creates multiple community and biodiversity benefits. Communities could gain improved access to nature, social interaction, health, and well-being if local governments support these alternative approaches to regenerate underutilized stormwater infrastructure by promoting biophilic interventions. Mainstreaming this design approach identified some issues that may arise during the implementation of this biophilic urban approach, and the paper suggests ways to enhance the wider delivery of regenerative and biophilic design into urban planning, involving volunteer delivery and maintenance for small scale projects and fully professional assessments for large scale projects.

Over approximately 100 years, the Australian capital, Canberra, has evolved in association with the predominant values, vision and cultural relationships of people to the area. The location and design of the city derived from a formal intention to integrate nature and culture for the benefit and edification of residents and in symbolisation of the city’s importance as the seat of national decision-making and legislature. Established on a native grassland surrounded by wooded hills and ridges, and with nearby confluences of rivers as security of water supply, the city’s landscape was transformed through centralised planning and implementation of Garden City and City Beautiful constructs to become one of the world’s most liveable regions. Twentieth-century expansion of the city’s suburbs, tree streetscapes and gardens progressed with varying emphasis on exotic versus native species, and contemporary programs aim to increase urban tree canopy cover to 30%. Yet, there is increasing acknowledgement of the landscape’s rich history of culture–nature interactions extending back at least 25,000 years. Indicators are evident in human modification of tree-dominated ecosystems, the overlapping ways in which people related to elemental landscape features, and a continuity of valuing particular sites for ceremonies, social activities and human movement. With projected steady population growth, climate change, and associated impacts on the environment and natural resources, contemporary planning must be innovative and integrative to ensure ecologically sustainable development. Strong visionary leadership is needed to develop a landscape policy that encompasses key natural assets including threatened woodlands and mature native trees for their intrinsic values and as habitat for threatened fauna, cultural landscape values such as forested montane and ridge areas, and heritage and protected trees. From pre-European to current times, planning, modification and management of environmental and ecosystem values has been integral to enabling local people to sustain themselves. The next challenge is to create clarity about the future of this cultural landscape and enhance the community’s attachment to and stewardship of the city and its landscape.

The composition of trash found in urban stormwater runoff was analysed following its collection by a trash rack and two floating booms in Sydney, Australia. Basically garden refuse, plastic and paper products were the main components of the trash collected. The effectiveness of trash interception devices was examined using results of field trials. For various flow velocities, widths of channel or river, storm-related loads and cleansing frequency the choice of trash racks or booms can be made. Testing of a range of trash rack designs was performed in the laboratory with the principal aim of preventing rack blockages. Whilst both spacing between bars and the angle of inclination of the rack were related to self cleansing, ultimate blockage could not be prevented for the configuration tested. Either the racks should be designed to allow for overtopping when blocked or booms be used, despite their lesser efficiency.

Understanding how the design of urban infrastructure influences the independence and autonomy of people with intellectual disability has far-reaching implications for community inclusion and participation. This article explores how urban design elements of an apartment complex influence how a person with an intellectual disability receives support and participates in the wider community. The study reports on the post-occupancy evaluation of an Australian development of over 400 apartments in Sydney, where 25 people with intellectual disability received 24-hour support. Fifty-three interviews were conducted with people with intellectual disability, their families, and disability support staff. Participants with intellectual disability described what living in their new apartment was like and appreciated the outdoor gardens. However, they also explained that wayfinding was more difficult than in their previous homes—all free-standing group homes. Disability support staff discussed how providing community care for people with intellectual disability in an apartment differed from a suburban free-standing house. Findings were translated into design suggestions for improving service provision to people with disability through the urban design around multi-tower sites of mixed-tenure apartments. The article concludes with recommendations for urban design features to support safe, efficient, and quality care in a high-density urban setting. When viewed through a lens of social infrastructure, the results show how urban design has the potential to influence the collective independence and provision of care to diverse communities in urban centres and cities and is relevant to people with disability, older people, and other community groups who rely on community-care support to remain living independently at home.

The aim of this paper is to present the implementation and evaluation of two recognised programs, one from Australia and one from Denmark, that endeavour to integrate and enhance food and nutrition education across the secondary school curriculum and whole school programs. This paper details descriptions of design, delivery mode, core components and evaluation of each program based on existing detailed reports and original research investigations. Resultantly, one program in Australia (Stephanie Alexander Kitchen Garden Program) and one program in Denmark (LOMA or LOkal MAd = local food) are reported as two case studies. The target group for both programs is secondary school students in Years 7–12; both programs are conducted within secondary schools and within school hours. Both interventions focus on developing secondary students’ food production and food preparation knowledge and skills. Their evaluation methods have consisted of pre- and post-intervention surveys, single case study, and focus groups with both students and teachers. Both programs have reported possible integration across secondary school subjects and modifications in students’ knowledge and skills in food and nutrition. These programs have focused on developing an experiential and localised learning model for food and nutrition education, which may also address food insecurity concerns among adolescents which has been shown to correlate with poor nutrient intake and consequential health complications. Their overall model can be adapted taking into account the social, economic, and environmental context of a secondary school.

Phenotypic and genotypic characterization were performed to assess heritability, variability, and seed yield stability of pea genotypes used in breeding to increase the pea production area. A European pea diversity panel, including genotypes from North America, Asia, and Australia consisting of varieties, breeding lines, pea, and landraces was examined in 2019 and 2020 in Serbia and Belgium using augmented block design. The highest heritability was for thousand seed weight; the highest coefficient of variation was for seed yield. The highest positive correlation was between number of seeds per plant and number of pods per plant; the highest negative correlation was between seed yield and protein content. Hierarchical clustering separated pea germplasm based on use and type. Different Principal component analysis grouping of landraces, breeding lines, and varieties, as well as forage types and garden and dry peas, confirms that there was an apparent decrease in similarity between the genotypes, which can be explained by their different purposes. Pea breeding should be focused on traits with consistent heritability and a positive effect on seed yield when selecting high-yielding genotypes, and on allowing for more widespread use of pea in various agricultural production systems.

<p><strong>The influence of material bulk density and duration of distillation on the yi eld and characteristic of Melaleuca bracteata oil</strong></p><p>Melaleuca bracteata belongs to Myrtaceae family which is grown wildly in Australia and Quensland. The oil is produced from Ihe leaves and (wigs by distillation and is used in fragrances industry. The oil content of leaves and twigs range between 0.4 to 1.0% with metil eugenol as the major component (70-80%). Because of its high metil eugenol content M. bracteata oil can be used to control fruil flies The experiment was carried out to evaluate the influence of material bulk density in the distillation vessel and duration of distillation on the yield and charac¬ teristic of the oil produced. Material used was (he leaves and twigs of M bracteata from the experimental garden of the Research Institute for Spice and Medicinal Crops. Manoko, Lembang (1200 in above the sea level). The experiment at 1993 was designed as completely randomized design, arranged factorially with three replications. The result showed that the optimum distillation condition was 1 56 g/l material bulk density in the vessel and 3 hours distillation. Such distillation condition produced 1.09 % oil yield with (he characteristics as follow speciic gravity I 0263, refractive index 1 5296, optical rotation -3.3°, solubility in 70% cthanol 1 : 1, methyl eugenol content 86.1%, acid number 0.56, ester number 15.4 and ester number after acetylation 39.3. Referring to Australia oil, the Indonesian M bracteata oil has higher value of esther number both before and after acetylation.</p>

Individuals in the vanguard of a species invasion face altered selective conditions when compared with conspecifics behind the invasion front. Assortment by dispersal ability on the expanding front, for example, drives the evolution of increased dispersal, which, in turn, leads to accelerated rates of invasion. Here I propose an additional evolutionary mechanism to explain accelerating invasions: shifts in population growth rate ( r ). Because individuals in the vanguard face lower population density than those in established populations, they should (relative to individuals in established populations) experience greater r -selection. To test this possibility, I used the ongoing invasion of cane toads ( Bufo marinus ) across northern Australia. Life-history theory shows that the most efficient way to increase the rate of population growth is to reproduce earlier. Thus, I predict that toads on the invasion front will exhibit faster individual growth rates (and thus will reach breeding size earlier) than those from older populations. Using a common garden design, I show that this is indeed the case: both tadpoles and juvenile toads from frontal populations grow around 30 per cent faster than those from older, long established populations. These results support theoretical predictions that r increases during range advance and highlight the importance of understanding the evolution of life history during range advance.

Amyas Connell (1901-80) was a New Zealand architect and a leading figure in British modernism. His first commission, High and Over (1929-31) for the archaeologist and classical scholar Bernard Ashmole was described as the first fully worked out modernist house built in England. The project drew attention from a wide range of architectural critics including Howard Robertson and the Country Life writer Christopher Hussey. A short film entitled The House of a Dream made by British Pathé ensured the house was seen by the large cinema audience in 1931. High and Over became more contentious over time when Connell's intention to combine classical and modern design tendencies was criticised by more doctrinaire modernists. High and Over occupies a place where the traditions of classicism and the emergent features of modernism intersect. Connell's path, if taken, may have produced a distinctively British form of classical modernism. [NEW PARAGRAPH] This paper seeks to establish the context for High and Over from a New Zealand perspective and through comparison with other projects by colonial architects in Britain. Connell's critical profile has been shaped by the notion that British modernism was in the hands of "Wild Colonial Boys," a soubriquet used to frame Connell's work in the 1930s by the British writer Dennis Sharp. In this interpretation, the depth of Connell's experience prior to High and Over is overlooked. Connell's partnership with the Australian-born Stewart Lloyd Thomson (1902-90) has not been covered in any previous study of the Connell, Ward and Lucas practice. The High and Over project included a number of related structures set in a landscape plan not usually included in analysis of the complex whole. The relationship between the garden plan and the designs of the Armenian architect Gabriel Guévrékian seen at the Paris Exposition and the Villa Noailles at Hyéres (1927) has also not been traversed.

Objective: To investigate patient, staff, and carer responses to an environmental intervention in an oncology clinic waiting room and evaluate the acceptability of artificial plant materials. Design Postintervention: Cross-sectional survey study. Setting: Oncology outpatient clinic waiting room located in a metropolitan comprehensive cancer center in Australia. Main Outcome Measure: Observer ratings of perceived qualities and effects of lifelike (fake) plants while spending time in the waiting room. Participants: Convenience sample ( N = 143) consisted of 73 cancer patients, 13 staff, 52 carers, and 5 “others” aged between 24 and 89 years ( M = 56, SD = 14.5). Intervention: Artificial plant arrangements, hanging installations, two movable green walls, and one rock garden on wheels placed throughout the outpatients’ clinic waiting room. Results: Eighty-one percent (115/142) of respondents noticed the green features when first entering the waiting room and 67% (90/134) noticed they were artificial. Eighty-one percent (115/142) indicated “like/like a lot” when reporting their first reaction to the green features. Forty-eight percent (68/143) were positively affected and 23% (33/143) were very positively affected. Eighty-one percent (110/135) agreed/strongly agreed that “The greenery brightens the waiting room,” 62% (80/130) agreed/strongly agreed that they “prefer living plants,” and 76% (101/133) agreed/strongly agreed that “‘lifelike’ plants are better than no plants.” Comments included mostly positive appraisals and occasional adverse reactions to artificial plants. No significant differences were found between patients’, staff, and carers’ reactions. Conclusions: The environmental intervention positively impacted patients’, staff, and carers’ perceptions of the oncology waiting room environment. Patients, staff, and carers mostly accepted artificial plants as an alternative design solution to real plants.

To understand how newcomers and established immigrants perceive cultural landscapes that have been imbued with a nationality’s cultural meanings and heritage, exploring the cultural background and landscape myths and values of that immigrants’ community can be a starting point. Examining whether immigrants perceive or prefer those values in a new landscape setting requires a wider understanding of immigrants’ activities, preferences, and expectations.The present paper aims to investigate how Australian urban park landscape settings may be perceived by Iranian immigrants in terms of having aesthetic attributes, and how they use these spaces. It approaches the issue of immigration and park experiences through seeking the links between park settings and the way immigrants see and interpret them based on their cultural, social, and geographical backgrounds. It particularly focuses on Iranian immigrants and Iran’s cultural landscape to explore different views of constructed natural landscapes and their effects on park usage and aesthetic preferences. This study explores how the icons of Iranian cultural landscape (Persian garden), urban park design, and past park use patterns of these immigrants may mediate interactions with new park environments, and how they may contribute to evoke a ‘sense of aesthetic’. It applies survey questionnaire, semi-structured indepth individual interview, and Q methodology with photographs as research methods, and employs theories of ‘place’ and ‘landscape visual characters’ to explore park usage and aesthetic preferences in both contexts: Iran and Australia.Findings of this study highlight the preference of undertaking ‘passive activities’ in urban park landscapes by Iranian research participants and demonstrate that they highly admire the aesthetic and picturesque aspects of Australian park landscapes. However, they miss the characteristics of Iran’s parks as well as the recreational, social, and sporting activities they used to carry out there.

This paper tested the general hypothesis that differences in grazing intensity and phosphate application lead to adjustments in the structure of an annual legume community in natural and diverse grassland at Tel Hadya, Syria, due to changes in competitive relationships between species. The management treatments imposed were a factorial design of 0 or 60 kg/ha of superphosphate fertiliser (applied annually) and relatively low or high continuous sheep stocking intensities. These management treatments were applied for 13 years across three replicate paddocks for each treatment before the annual legume seed banks were sampled. The seed was sorted and representative plants were grown in a common garden in Perth, Australia, to assess reproductive and morphological traits. We found that phosphate application had more influence on species composition than stocking rate and favoured species with relatively competitive reproductive strategies (plants with relatively large seeds, low fecundity and early maturity). Contrary to our expectations, a higher stocking rate did not result in an increase in the proportion of small seeds in the legume seed bank or favour species with other strongly ruderal-type reproductive strategies (high fecundity and high seed dormancy). In paddocks without phosphate application, the high and low stocking rate paddocks were dominated by different species (Trifolium tomentosum and T. campestre), each with a similar reproductive strategy. Plant architecture and/or differences in animal selectivity may account for these differences. The study highlights the importance of phosphate fertiliser for maintaining seedbanks of competitive-type (large seed size, highly productive with good early vigour) annual legume species.

As part of the award-winning Big Anxiety Festival in Australia, an exhibition of mixed-media drawings of plants and seeds was displayed at the University of Sydney, at the same time as two public drawing workshops in the Royal Botanic Garden Sydney. This paper describes and summarizes the various drawing techniques used in these workshops, and discusses the feedback from participants, who self-identified as having anxiety. Drawing using different types of approaches allowed workshop participants to mediate their tacit knowledge of the symptoms and solutions of living with anxiety, and to transition to a lived experience of proactively using drawings to improve their individual cognition, mindsets and mental health. Utilizing the platform afforded by the promotion of Mental Health Month in New South Wales, allowed the drawing exhibitions and workshops to be understood more broadly within an interdisciplinary context, which embedded their impact on other fields of research, including ecopsychology and biophilia, in a salutogenic model of practice. Specific to this approach, a ‘sense of coherence’ was deliberately embedded in both of the workshops’ sequential drawing exercises, which were observational and objective in intent. The exhibitions in 2017 and 2019 also consciously deployed a ‘sense of coherence’ in their design. Documentation drawings have recently been used as a tool to alleviate anxiety and promote wellness in medical staff working in a UK Emergency Department during the COVID-19 pandemic. This demonstrated the widespread potential applications for drawings to provide an antidote and a method of communication to proactively and positively assist mental health. Further research and exploration of the role that drawing plants and nature can play in the construction of learning in the context of individuals struggling with anxiety may offer routes to new knowledge and better understanding and potentially enhance connections between art and health researchers and institutions globally.

Purpose – The purpose of this paper is to elucidate the role that visual measures of attention to product and information and price display signage have on purchase intention. The authors assessed the effect of visual attention to the product, information or price sign on purchase intention, as measured by likelihood to buy. Design/methodology/approach – The authors used eye-tracking technology to collect data from Australian and US garden centre customers, who viewed eight plant displays in which the signs had been altered to show either price or supplemental information (16 images total). The authors compared the role of visual attention to price and information sign, and the role of visual attention to the product when either sign was present on likelihood to buy. Findings – Overall, providing product information on a sign without price elicited higher likelihood to buy than providing a sign with price. The authors found a positive relationship between visual attention to price on the display sign and likelihood to buy, but an inverse relationship between visual attention to information and likelihood to buy. Research limitations/implications – An understanding of the attention-capturing power of merchandise display elements, especially signs, has practical significance. The findings will assist retailers in creating more effective and efficient display signage content, for example, featuring the product information more prominently than the price. The study was conducted on a minimally packaged product, live plants, which may reduce the ability to generalize findings to other product types. Practical implications – The findings will assist retailers in creating more effective and efficient display signage content. The study used only one product category (plants) which may reduce the ability to generalize findings to other product types. Originality/value – The study is one of the first to use eye-tracking in a macro-level, holistic investigation of the attention-capturing value of display signage information and its relationship to likelihood to buy. Researchers, for the first time, now have the ability to empirically test the degree to which attention and decision-making are linked.

Valaris Adds Fresh Rig Contracts to Backlog Valaris has scooped a number of new contracts and contract extensions, adding an associated $466 million to its contract backlog. The company received a 540-day contract with Equinor offshore Brazil for use of drillship Valaris DS-17. The rig will be reactivated for this contract, which is expected to begin in mid-2023. The total contract value is around $327 million, including an upfront payment totaling $86 million for mobilization costs, a contribution toward reactivation costs, and capital upgrades. The remaining contract value relates to the operating day rate and additional services. Also in Brazil, Valaris received a contract extension with TotalEnergies EP Brasil offshore Brazil for the use of drillship Valaris DS-15. The option is in direct continuation of the current firm program. “We are particularly pleased to have been awarded another contract for one of our preservation stacked drillships, Valaris DS-17, and look forward to partnering with Equinor on their flagship Bacalhau project in Brazil,” said Valaris Chief Executive Anton Dibowitz. “We expect Brazil to be a significant growth market for high-specification floaters over the next several years, and we are well positioned to benefit by now adding a third rig to this strategic basin.” The contractor also was awarded a two-well contract extension with Woodside offshore Australia for semisubmersible Valaris DPS-1. The two-well extension has an estimated duration of 38 days and will be in direct continuation of the existing firm program for Woodside’s Enfield plug-and-abandonment (P&A) campaign. The P&A work covers 18 wells in total. Woodside also awarded Valaris a separate one-well extension for the rig. The work has an estimated duration of 60 days with Woodside’s Scarborough development campaign. Elsewhere, Shell awarded a 4-year contract for heavy-duty modern jackup Valaris 115 offshore Brunei. The $159-million contract is expected to begin in April 2023. The contract was also awarded various short-term deals for jackups with Shell in the UK, an undisclosed operator in the Gulf of Mexico (GOM), Cantium in the GOM, and GB Energy offshore Australia. Shell Joins Equinor in GOM Sparta Development Shell has agreed to purchase 51% of Equinor’s interest in the North Platte deepwater development project in the US Gulf of Mexico (GOM). Equinor will retain 49% interest in the project, and Shell will become the new operator of the field. The new partners also have agreed to rename North Platte to Sparta. Sparta straddles four blocks of the Garden Banks area, 275 km off the coast of Louisiana in approximately 1300 m of water depth. Front-end engineering and design has been matured for the project. Equinor and Shell will review the work that has been completed and update the development plan. Shell said that Sparta aligns with its strategy to pursue upstream investments that can remain competitive over time, both from a financial and environmental-intensity perspective. North Platte was discovered by Cobalt Energy and Total in 2012. The partners said the Wilcox-aged discovery would require 20K-psi technology to develop. Cobalt went bankrupt in 2017 and its stake in the asset was sold to Equinor and Total. In early 2022, TotalEnergies walked away from the project and its operatorship to focus on other projects, leaving Equinor with 100% interest. BP Awarded King Mariout Block in Egypt’s West Med BP has been awarded the King Mariout exploration block offshore Egypt following its participation last year in the limited bid round organized by the Egyptian Natural Gas Holding Company. The King Mariout Offshore area is located 20 km west of the Raven field in the Mediterranean Sea and covers 2600 km2 with water depths ranging between 500 and 2100 m. The block is within the West Nile Delta area, for which material gas discoveries could be developed using existing infrastructure. BP holds a 100% stake in the block. BP is a major player in Egypt investing more than $35 billion in the area over the past 60 years. LLOG Begins Production From Spruance in GOM LLOG has kicked off production from its operated Spruance Field located in Ewing Bank Blocks 877 and 921 in the US GOM. The two-well subsea development is producing, in combination, approximately 16,000 B/D of oil and 13 MMcf/D via a 14-mile subsea tieback to the EnVen-operated Lobster platform in nearby Block 873. The Spruance Field was initially discovered by LLOG and its partners in mid-2019 via a subsalt exploratory well, the Ewing Bank 877 #1, which was drilled in 1,570 ft to a total depth of 17,000 ft and logged around 150 net ft of oil pay in multiple high-quality Miocene sands. A second well, the Ewing Bank 921 #1, was drilled from the same surface location as the discovery well to a total depth of 16,600 ft in early October 2020. The well delineated the main field pays and logged additional oil pay in the exploratory portion of the well, finding a total of more than 200 net ft of oil. LLOG is the operator of the Spruance Field and owns a 22.64% working interest with partners Ridgewood Energy (23.89%), EnVen (13.5%), Beacon Asset Holdings (11.61%), Houston Energy (11.2%), Red Willow (11.15%), and CL&F (6%). Egypt Signs Agreement With Chevron To Drill First Exploration Well in East Med Chevron is planning to drill the first exploration well in its concession area in the Eastern Mediterranean this September. The well plans come as Egyptian Natural Gas Holding signed a memorandum of understanding with the US-based producer to cooperate in transporting, importing, and exporting natural gas from the area. Chevron expanded its presence in the area following its $5-billion acquisition of Noble Energy in 2020. The two companies will evaluate options for natural gas transmission from the East Mediterranean to Egypt to optimize its value through liquefaction before re-exporting and selling it, according to the memorandum. In addition, the two firms will perform research on low-carbon natural gas. APA Suriname Campaign Offers Mixed Results APA Corporation successfully flow tested its Krabdagu exploration well (KBD-1) on Block 58 offshore Suriname, while its Rasper exploration well on Block 53 offered disappointing results. Flow-test data collected in the two lower intervals, the Upper Campanian (32 m of net oil pay) and Lower Campanian (32 m of net oil pay), indicate oil-in-place resources of approximately 100 million bbl and 80 million bbl, respectively, connected to the KBD-1 well. Appraisal drilling will be necessary to confirm additional resource and development-well locations, according to APA. The exploration well encountered another high-quality interval in the Upper Campanian that was not in a location suitable for flow testing. This shallower Campanian zone will need to be flow tested in the appraisal stage from a better location. The APA-TotalEnergies joint venture is currently drilling the Dikkop exploration well in the central portion of Block 58 with drilling rig Maersk Valiant. Following completion of operations at Dikkop, the rig is expected to continue exploration and appraisal activities in the central portion of Block 58. APA Suriname and operator TotalEnergies each hold a 50% working interest in the block. Meanwhile, APA’s Rasper well in Block 53 off Suriname encountered water-bearing reservoirs in the Campanian and Santonian intervals. The Noble Gerry de Souza drillship has been mobilized to the next exploration prospect, Baja, in the southwestern corner of Block 53. Baja lies 11 km northeast of the recently announced Block 58 discovery at Krabdagu and will test Maastrichtian and Campanian targets. APA Suriname, the operator, holds a 45% working interest in the block, Petronas holds a 30% working interest, and CEPSA a 25% working interest. Novatek JV Wins North Yarudeyskoye License Novatek’s Yargeo joint venture has won the license to survey, explore, and develop production at the North Yarudeyskoye oil and gas condensate field over the next 27 years. The license area is in the Yamal-Nenets autonomous region in the Arctic, Russia’s principal gas-producing area. North Yarudeyskoye holds an estimated hydrocarbon resource potential of 93.5 million BOE. The greater Yarudeyskoye field began producing in 2015 and by 2017 was responsible for nearly a third of Novatek’s liquids production. The company, Russia’s largest private natural gas producer, noted that it had participated in the recent auction to explore and develop North Yarudeyskoye through Gazprom Bank’s Electronic Trading Platform and that the win was Novatek’s first on that platform. PDC Energy Gets Green Light for Kenosha, Broe Developments The Colorado Oil and Gas Conservation Commission has approved PDC Energy’s Kenosha and Broe developments’ permit applications. The Kenosha development, which encompasses 69 wells on three pads in rural Weld County, Colorado, further increases PDC’s permitted inventory by another rig year and solidifies drilling and completion activity well into 2024. The Broe permit encompasses 30 wells in rural Weld County. The Broe plan was initiated by Great Western Petroleum, which was acquired by PDC in May 2022 and represents PDC’s first development plan approval on Great Western acreage. Combined with the Kenosha plan approval, PDC added 99 new wells to its inventory in June and will soon have more than 675 permits and drilled and uncompleted wells. Both fields are in the greater Wattenberg area. The new permits add to an already-established multiyear inventory of projects in the DJ Basin. Kenosha is the second oil and gas development plan to be approved, and the company anticipates further approvals with its Guanella area plan and others. PDC’s operations in the Wattenberg field are focused in the horizontal Niobrara and Codell plays. The Wattenberg represents PDC Energy’s largest asset with more than 85% of its 2021 production and 90% of its year-end 2021 proved reserves.

King sago palm or sago cycas are the other name of Kangi palm (Cycas revoluta) sago palm has been used as an indoor and outdoor landscape plant for centuries. The present study was conducted to estimate the effect of different priming treatments on seed germination of sago palm (Cycas revoluta L.) in the research area of Department of Horticulture PMAS, University of Arid Agriculture Rawalpindi, Pakistan. The Experiment consisted of ten treatments; the seeds without pulp were soaked in solution of 500, 750 and 1000 ppm GA3 and 2%, 3% and 4% solution of KNO3 for 24 hr at room temperature. In case of hot water treatment, seeds were primed at 80oC, 90oC and 100oC for 30, 20 and 10 minutes respectively. The effect of different concentrations of gibberellic acid (GA3), potassium nitrate (KNO3) and hot water on various parameters like germination rate, germination percentage, germination value, decayed seed percentage, time of germination, number of leaves and seedling height were studied. Significant results of germination rate (55.56 days), germination value (192.19) were achieved from 500 ppm GA3. Maximum germination percentage (73.33%) and number of leaves (2) were observed in KNO3 at 2% followed by 500 ppm GA3. Similarly lowest decayed seed percentage (26.66%) and time of germination (59.41 days) were noted in 2% KNO3. The seedling height was optimum (19.33 cm) in 3% KNO3 followed by 2% KNO3. Best germination results were obtained due to permeability of hard seed coat made by low concentrations of priming treatments (KNO3 @ 3%).Key wordCycas revoluta, gibberellic acid, potassium nitrate, germination parametersINTRODUCTIONThe sago palm (Cycas revoluta L.) is one of the important cycad commonly known as Kanghi palm or Japanese sago or simply sago palm. The cold hardy sago palm has been used as an indoor and outdoor landscape plant for centuries. It is used as a significant or focal point in any landscape design. Despite its importance in ornamental industry, it is facing certain problems regarding its germination due to its hard seed coat. It has been estimated that over 25% of all palm species require over 100 days for germination and they have less than 20% total germination (Tomlinson, 1990). So, there is a serious need of consideration to sort out this major issue. The reasons for this remain obscure, as little research work has been accomplished on seed dormancy in palms. Certain mechanical and chemical scarification, pretreatments were proved to be effective in germination of the hard-seeded species of Cycas and some other species (Frett, 1987; Chauhan et al., 2009; Rouhi et al., 2010). Cycad seeds respond to various pretreatment, including scarification, depulping and exposure to some chemical materials like gibberellic acid (GA3), potassium nitrate (KNO3) and soaking in hot water for specific period of time.The overall development of plant is regulated by the growth hormones, nutrient and environmental factors. They also vary in their germination requirement (Chauhan et al., 2009). KNO3 is most widely used chemical for promoting germination. Solutions of 0.1 to 0.2% KNO3 are common in routine germination testing and are recommended by the Association of Official Seed Analysts and the International Seed Testing Association for germination tests of many species (Copeland and McDonald, 1995).OBJECTIVESThe objectives of the present research was to minimize the time period of seed germination and to enhance percentage of germination by breaking the external dormancy through different levels of chemicals including GA3, KNO3 and hot water.MATERIALS AND METHODSThis study was conducted in the research field of Department of Horticulture PMAS, Arid Agriculture University Rawalpindi. An experiment was conducted by using Completely Randomized Design (CRD).The seeds of sago palm were collected from 10-15 years old female stocks growing at a commercial garden located in suburb of Islamabad city. Uniform, equal and the same weight and healthy seeds were selected. The seeds had diameter 2.54 to 5.08 cm. Seeds were soaked in fresh water for two weeks to remove pulp from the upper surface of hard seed coat. Seeds without pulp were soaked in solution of 500, 750 and 1000 ppm GA3 and 2%, 3% and 4% solution of KNO3 for 24 hr at room temperature. In case of hot water treatment, seeds were primed at 80oC, 90oC and 100oC for 30, 20 and 10 minutes respectively (Table 1). Then seeds were washed with few drops of tween twenty in order to remove surface tension. Seeds were dried at 24oC room temperature. After sterilization, 10 seeds of sago palm were planted in each pot of 14 inch diameter containing sterilized soil media ( Sand, soil, FYM 1:1:1) at 4-8 cm depth and incubated in a greenhouse at daytime temperature of 25±2°C and relative humidity of 60-80% and watered weekly depending on weather conditions. Germination was evaluated at the end of 10 months. Seed emergence was recorded as germination index. The data for germination rate (days), germination percentage (%), germination value, seed decayed percentage (%) and time of germination (days) were recorded during the course of study. After seed germination, observations were recorded for number of leaves an d seedling height. The data collected was compiled and analysed statistically by using computer software germination; observations were recorded for number of leaves (Steel and Torrie, 1980).RESULTS AND DISCUSSIONAnalysis of data showed that parameters related to germination significantly affected by hydro and chemical priming treatments (Table 2). Seeds treated with 500 ppm GA3 showed maximum germination rate (55.56 days) which was statistically significant with control. Hot water treatments observed average germination rate. Minimum germination rate (159.88 days) was recorded in unprimed seeds. Gibberellin encourage germination by inducing hydrolytic enzymes that weaken the hurdle tissues such as the endosperm or seed coat, inducing mobilization of food reserves in seed and stimulating expansion of the embryo (Bewley and Black, 1994; Dhoran and Gudadhe, 2012).Germination rate (days) and germination percentage (%): The data regarding germination percentage indicated that difference between primed and non-primed seeds was statistically significant. Lower concentrations of potassium nitrate (KNO3) @ 2% and gibberellic acid (GA3) @ 500 ppm treatments significantly affected the germination percentage 73.33% and 70% respectively as compared to control (33.33%). Significant improvement in seed germination might be due to enhanced breakdown of reserve metabolites present in seed. The lower concentration of KNO3 has promoting effect on seed germination as compared to its higher concentration. This leads to supposition that higher concentrations exercise decreasing effects on seed germination by causing death of cells and ultimately result in loss of seed viability (Nascimento, 2003; Ramzan et al., 2010).Germination value: Analysis of variance revealed that germination value was affected by various priming treatments (Table 2). Result regarding germination value (192.19) was highest in T1 (500 ppm GA3) followed by 186.42 in T4 (3% KNO3) and 184.12 in T2 (750 ppm GA3). Minimum germination (74.43) was noted in control. The gibberellic acid has positive effect on germination value due to its hormonal regulation capability and retarding effect against abscisic acid present in dormant seeds (Var et al., 2010; Zarchini et al., 2013; Pipinis et al., 2015).Decayed seed percentage (%): Data regarding decayed seed percentage have displayed in Table 2. The difference between primed and non-primed seed was significant and primed seed have minimum decayed seed percentage as compared to non-primed seeds. Lowest decayed seed percentage (26.66%) was recorded when 2% KNO3 was applied followed by 30% when 500 ppm GA3) was applied. Whereas maximum decayed (66.66%) of seeds was occurred in untreated seeds. It is reported that scarified treatments have improved germination as compared to non-scarified seeds. Decayed seed percentage might be highest in control due to impermeability of hard seed coat (Fallahabadi et al., 2012).Time of germination (days): Potassium nitrate showed a statistically significant effect on reducing the germination time (Table 2). Minimum time of germination (59.41 days) was recorded in seeds treated with 2% KNO3 followed by 3% and 4% KNO 3 levelswhich took 63.81 days and 72.15 days respectively while maximum time duration was taken by control (204.58 days). Reduction in seed germination time was occurred when seeds of Descurainia sophia and Plantago ovate were primed with 0.3% KNO3 (Ali et al., 2010; Gashi et al., 2012). Stimulating effect of nitrate for seed germination might be due to dormancy breakage (Hilhorst, 1990). It stimulates oxygen uptake (Hilton and Thomas, 1986) and KNO3 act as co-factor for phytochrome (Mavi et al., 2006).Number of leaves: Analysis of data showed that number of leaves influenced by different treatments. Hormonal priming with 2% KNO3 gave maximum number of leaves per seedling followed by priming with 3% KNO3, 4% KNO3 and in 500 ppm GA3, 750 ppm GA3 and 1000 ppm GA3 in improving number of leaves per seedling as compared to other physical priming treatments, while results of minimum number of leaves were achieved in non-primed seeds. It was suggested that potassium is an important macronutrient that plays a key role in carbohydrate metabolism and photosynthesis (Marschner, 2011; Kazemi, 2013).Seedling height (cm): Analysis of variance exposed that there was a significant difference between primed and non-primed seed for seedling height (Table. 2). It was found that maximum seedling height was 19.33 cm influenced by 3% KNO3 while minimum 11.33 cm observed in 90oC hot water. It is reported that foliar application of K, improved the chlorophyll and fruits-NK content (Sarrwy et al., 2010; Marschner, 2011; Kazemi, 2013).CONCLUSIONThe present study was undertaken to assess the effect of different priming treatments on seed germination of Cycas revoluta L. The results of the study clearly indicated that germination rate and germination value were maximum at lower concentration of gibberellic acid (500 ppm GA3). While, germination percentage, maximum number of leaves, maximum seedling height , decayed seed percentage and time required for seed germination were observed minimum at lower concentration of potassium nitrate (2% and 3% KNO3). Hot water treatments had least effect on seed germination. CONFLICT OF INTERESTAuthors have no conflict of interest.REFERENCES Ali, T., P. Hossein, F. Asghar, Z. Salman and Z. C. M. Ali, 2010. The effect of different treatments on improving seed germination characteristics in medicinal species of Descurainia sophia and Plantago ovata. African Journal of Biotechnology, 9(39): 6588-6593.Bewley, J. and M. Black, 1994. Seeds: Physiology of development and germination plenum. Plenum Press New York, USA.Chauhan, J., Y. Tomar, N. I. Singh and S. Ali, 2009. Effect of growth hormones on seed germination and seedling growth of black gram and horse gram. Journal of American Science, 5(5): 79-84.Copeland, L. and M. McDonald, 1995. Seed science and technology (3rd eds.). 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R. and J. A. Thomas, 1986. Regulation of pregerminative rates of respiration in seeds of various weed species by potassium nitrate. Journal of Experimental Botany, 37(10): 1516-1524.Kazemi, M., 2013. Effect of foliar application of humic acid and potassium nitrate on cucumber growth bull. Bulletin of Environment, Pharmacology and Life Sciences, 2(11): 03-06.Marschner, H., 2011. Marschner's mineral nutrition of higher plants. Academic Press.Mavi, K., S. Ermis and I. Demir, 2006. The effect of priming on tomato rootstock seeds in relation to seedling growth. Asian Journal of Plant Sciences, 5(6): 940-947.Nascimento, W. M., 2003. Muskmelon seed germination and seedling development in response to seed priming. Scientia Agricola, 60(1): 71-75.Pipinis, E., E. Milios, M. Georgiou and P. J. F. I. Smiris, 2015. Effects of gibberellic acid and cold stratification on seed germination of two sorbus species. 21(1): 107-114.Ramzan, A., I. Hafiz, T. Ahmad and N. Abbasi, 2010. Effect of priming with potassium nitrate and dehusking on seed germination of gladiolus (Gladiolus alatus). Pakistan Journal of Botany, 42(1): 247-258.Rouhi, H., K. Shakarami and R. Afshari, 2010. Seed treatments to overcome dormancy of waterlily tulip (Tulipa kaufmanniana regel). Australian Journal of Crop Science, 4(9): 718.Sarrwy, S., E. A. Mohamed and H. Hassan, 2010. Effect of foliar sprays with potassium nitrate and mono-potassium phosphate on leaf mineral contents, fruit set, yield and fruit quality of picual olive trees grown under sandy soil conditions. American-Eurasian Journal of Agricultural Environmental Science, 8(4): 420-430.Steel, R. G. and J. H. Torrie, 1980. Principles and procedures of statistics, a biometrical approach. McGraw-Hill Kogakusha, Ltd.Tomlinson, P. B., 1990. The structural biology of palms. Oxford University Press.Var, M., B. Bekci and D. Dinçer, 2010. Effect of stratification treatments on germination of Sorbus torminalis L. Crantz (wild service tree) seeds with different origins. African Journal of Biotechnology, 9(34): 5535-5541.Zarchini, M., D. Hashemabadi, N. Negahdar and S. Zarchini, 2013. Improvement seed germination of wild service tree (Sorbus aucoparia L.) by gibberellic acid. Annals of Biological Research, 4(1): 72-74.

The symposium INSIDEOUT was held in Melbourne Australia from 22 to 24 April 2005. Its focus was to encourage new thinking, research and teaching between interior and landscape discourse and practice. Papers by national and international academics, practitioners and postgraduate students in the disciplines of interior design, landscape architecture, art and design were presented and published in this issue of IDEA Journal. All papers – except the invited papers by Elizabeth Grosz and Ross Gibson – have been refereed in accordance with the IDEA Journal refereeing process. The symposium was supported by IDEA (Interior Design/Interior Architecture Educators Association), RMIT School of Architecture and Design, The Australian Institute of Landscape Architects, the Louis Laybourne Smith School of Architecture and Design at the University of South Australia, and the Royal Botanic Gardens, Melbourne. In keeping with the concept of bringing two sides together – insides and outsides – this introduction is composed of two views.

Most of Australia’s capital cities and towns have been on water restrictions since at least 2007. As metropolitan and regional water supplies continue to dwindle in the southern regions of the continent, water managers will impose tighter conditions on the use of limited resources. It is thus important to examine human attachments to their outdoor spaces to better understand how residents will potentially respond to such policies. For policies designed to reduce the domestic consumption of limited resources to succeed, Australians must perceive them as equitable in both their design and outcome. An historical perspective on contemporary sustainability issues such as water scarcity is useful to explain how present-day values and behaviours towards resource use have been formulated, shaped and renegotiated by those experiences of preceding generations. As outdoor water use is an important focus of current water efficiency measures, a more nuanced understanding of the meanings historically invested in certain gardens can provide insights into how residents can react to disruptions in their watering routines. Using 1970s Perth, Western Australia as a case study through which to analyse such reactions, I argue that the water efficiency measures enacted by the then Metropolitan Water Board overlooked the variety of socio-cultural meanings attached to suburban gardens and as a consequence, affected households unequally.

Taste and Lively Matter in the Anthropocene This paper is concerned with the role of taste in relation to food produced in backyard or community gardens. Taste, as outlined by Bourdieu, is constructed by many factors driven primarily by one’s economic position as well as certain cultural influences. Such arguments tend to work against a naïve reading of the “natural” attributes of food and the biological impulses and responses humans have to taste. Instead, within these frameworks, taste is positioned as a product of the machinations of human society. Along these lines, it is generally accepted that the economic and, consequently, the social shaping of tastes today have been significantly impacted on by the rise of international agribusiness throughout the twentieth century. These processes have greatly reduced the varieties of food commercially available due to an emphasis on economies of scale that require the production of food that can be grown in monocultures and which can withstand long transport times (Norberg-Hodge, Thrupp, Shiva). Of course, there are also other factors at play in relation to taste that give rise to distinction between classes. This includes the ways in which we perform our bodies and shape them in the face of our social and economic conditions. Many studies in this area focus on eating disorders and how control of food intake cannot be read simply as examples of disciplined or deviant bodies (Bordo, Probyn, Ferreday). Instead, the links between food and subjectivity are much more complex. However, despite the contradictions and nuance acknowledged in relation to understandings of food, it is primarily conceptualised as an economic and symbolic good that is controlled by humans and human informed processes. In line with the above observations, literature on food provisioning choices in the areas of food sociology and human geography tends to focus on efforts to understand food purchasing decisions and eating habits. There is a strong political-economic dimension to this research even when its cultural-symbolic value is acknowledged. This is highlighted by the work of Julie Guthman which, among other things, explores “the conversion of tastes into commodities (as well as the reverse)” (“Commodified” 296). Guthman’s analysis of alternative food networks, particularly the organic sector and farmers markets, has tended to reaffirm a Bourdieuan understanding of class and distinction whereby certain foods become appropriated by elites, driving up price and removing it from the reach of ordinary consumers (“Commodified”, “Fast Food”). There has also been, however, some recognition of the limits of such approaches and acknowledgement of the fragility and porous nature of boundaries in the food arena. For example, Jordan points out in her study of the heirloom tomato that, even when a food is appropriated by elites, thereby significantly increasing its cost, consumption of the food and its cultural-symbolic meaning can continue unchanged by those who have traditionally produced and consumed the food privately in their gardens. Guthman is quite right to highlight the presence of huge inequities in both mainstream and alternative food systems throughout the world. Food may, however, be able to disrupt the dominance of these economic and social representations through its very own agentic qualities. To explore this idea, this paper draws on the work of political theorist, Jane Bennett, and eco-feminist, Val Plumwood, and applies some of their key insights to data gathered through in-depth interviews with 20 community gardeners and 7 Canberra Show exhibitors carried out from 2009 to 2012. These interviews were approximately 1 to 2 hours long in duration and were carried out in, or following, an extensive tour of the gardens of the participants, during which tastings of the produce were regularly offered to the interviewers. Jane Bennett sets out to develop a theoretical approach which she names “thing-power materialism” which is grounded in the idea that objects, including food, have agency (354). Bennett conceptualises this idea through her notion of “lively matter” and the “thing power” of objects which she defines as “the curious ability of inanimate things to animate, to act, to produce effects dramatic and subtle” (“The force” 351, “Vibrant”). The basic idea here is that if we are willing to read agency into the nonhuman things around us, then we become forced to recognise that humans are simply one more element of a world of things which can act on, with or against others through various assemblages (Deleuze and Guatarri). These assemblages can be made, undone and rebuilt in multiple ways. The power of the elements to act within these may not be equal, but nor are they stable and static. For Bennett, this is not simply a return to previous materialist theories premised on naïve notions of object agency. It is, instead, a theory motivated by attempts to develop understandings and strategies that encourage engaged ecological living practices which seek to avoid ongoing human-inflicted environmental damage caused by the “master rationality” (Plumwood) that has fuelled the era of the anthropocene, the first geological era shaped by human action. Anthropocentric thinking and its assumptions of human superiority and separateness to other elements of our ecological mesh (Morton “Thinking”) has been identified as fuelling wasteful, exploitative, environmentally damaging practices. It acts as a key impediment to the embrace of attitudinal and behavioural changes that could promote more ecologically responsible and sustainable living practices. These ideas are particularly prominent in the fields of ecological humanities, ecological feminism and political theory (Bennett “The force”, “Vibrant”; Morton “Ecological”, “Thinking”, “Ecology”; Plumwood). To redress these issues and reduce further human-inflicted environmental damage, work in these spaces tends to highlight the importance of identifying the interconnections and mutual reliance between humans and nonhumans in order to sustain life. Thus, this work challenges the “master rationality” of the anthropocene by highlighting the agentic (Bennett “The force,” “Vibrant”) or actant (Latour) qualities of nonhumans. In this spirit, Plumwood writes that we need to develop “an environmental culture that values and fully acknowledges the nonhuman sphere and our dependency on it, and is able to make good decisions about how we live and impact on the nonhuman world” (3). Food, as a basic human need, and its very gustatory taste, is animated by nonhuman elements. The role of these nonhumans is particularly visible to those who engage in their own gardening practices. As such, the ways in which gardeners understand and speak of these processes may provide insights into how an environmental culture as envisaged by Plumwood could be supported, harnessed and shared. The brevity of this paper means only a quick skim of the murky ontological waters into which its wades can be provided. The overarching aim is to identify how the recent resurgence of cultural materiality can be linked to the ways in which everyday people conceptualise and articulate their food provisioning practices. In so doing, it demonstrates that gardeners can conceptualise their food, and the biological processes as well as the nonhuman labour which bring it to fruition, as having actant qualities. This is most overtly recognised through the gardeners’ discussions of how their daily habits and routines alter in response to the qualities and “needs” of their food producing gardens. The gardeners do not express this in a strict nature/culture binary. Instead, they indicate an awareness of the interconnectedness and mutual reliance of the human and nonhuman worlds. In this way, understandings of “taste,” as produced by human centred relations predicated on exchange of capital, are being rethought. This rethinking may offer ways of promoting a more sustainable engagement with ecological beliefs and behaviours which work against the very notion of human dominance that produced the era of the anthropocene. Local Food, Taste and Nonhuman Agency Recent years have seen an increase in the purchasing, sale and growing of local food. This has materialised in multiple forms from backyard, verge and community gardens to the significant growth of farmers markets. Such shifts are attributed to increasing resistance to the privileging of globalised and industrial-scale agri-business, practices which highlight the “master rationality” underpinning the anthropocene. This backlash has been linked to environmental motivations (Seyfang “Shopping,” “Ecological,” “Growing”); desires to support local economies (particularly the financial well-being of farmers) (Norberg-Hodge); and health concerns in relation to the use of chemicals in food production (Goodman and Goodman). Despite evidence that people grow or buy food based on gustatory taste, this has received less overt attention as a motivator for food provisioning practices in the literature (Hugner). Where it is examined, taste is generally seen as a social/cultural phenomenon shaped by the ideas related to the environmental, economic and health concerns mentioned above. However, when consumers discuss taste they also refer to notions of freshness, the varieties of food that are available, and nostalgia for the “way food used to be”. Taste in its gustatory sense and pleasure from food consumption is alluded to in all of the interviews carried out for this research. While the reasons for gardening are multiple and varied, there is a common desire to produce food that tastes better and, thus, induces greater pleasure than purchased food. As one backyard gardener and successful Royal Canberra Show exhibitor notes: “[e]verything that you put [grow] in the garden [has a] better taste than from the market or from the shop.” The extent of this difference was often a surprise for the gardeners: “I never knew a home grown potato could taste so different from a shop bought potato until I grew [my own] […] and I couldn’t believe the taste.” The gardeners in this research all agreed that the taste of commercially available fruit and vegetables was inferior to self-produced food. This was attributed to the multiple characteristics of industrialised food systems. Participants referred specifically to issues ranging from reduction in the varieties available to the chemical intensive practices designed to lead to high yields in short periods of time. The resulting poor taste of such foods was exemplified by comments such as shop bought tomatoes “don’t taste like tomatoes” and the belief that “[p]otatoes and strawberries from the shop taste the same as each other”. Even when gardeners raised health concerns about mainstream food, emphasising their delight in growing their own because they “knew what had gone into their food” (Turner, “Embodied”), the issue of taste continued to play an important role in influencing their gardening practices. One gardener stated: “I prefer more [food that] is tasty than one that is healthy for me”. The tastiest food for her came from her own community garden plot and this motivated her to travel across town most days to tend the garden. While tasty food was often seen as being more nutritious, this was not the key driver in food production. The superior taste of the fruit and vegetables grown by these gardeners in Canberra calls their bodies and minds into action to avoid poor tasting food. This desire for tasty food was viewed as common to the general population but was strongly identified as only being accessible to people who grow their own. A backyard gardener, speaking of the residents of an aged care facility where he volunteers observes: “[w]hen you…meet these people they've lost that ability to do any gardening and they really express it. They miss the taste, the flavours.” Another backyard gardener and Show exhibitor recounted a story from two years prior when he and his wife invited guests for a New Year’s Day lunch. While eating their meal, a guest asked “did you grow these carrots?” When he confirmed that he had, she declared: “I can taste it.” Others noted that many young people don’t know what they are missing out on because they have never tasted home-grown produce. Through the sense of taste, the tomatoes, potatoes and carrots and myriad of other foodstuffs grown at homes or in community gardens actively encourage resistance to, or questioning of, the industrial agricultural system and its outputs. The gardeners link poor tasting food to a loss of human responsiveness to plants resulting from the spatial characteristics of industrial agriculture. Modern agribusiness requires large-scale, global production and streamlined agricultural processes that aim to limit the need for producers to respond to unique climatic and soil conditions (through genetically modification technology, see Turner, “Reflections”) and removes the need, and capacity, for individual care of plants. This has led to heavy reliance on agricultural chemicals. The gardeners tend to link high-level usage of pesticides and herbicides with poor taste. One highly successful Show exhibitor, states that in his food, “There’s better taste …because they haven’t got the chemicals in them, not much spray, not much fertiliser, for that is better”. However, when chemical use is limited or removed, the gardeners acknowledge that food plants require more intensive and responsive human care. This involves almost daily inspection of individual plants to pick off and squash (or feed to chickens and birds) the harmful bugs. The gardeners need to be vigilant and capable of developing innovative techniques to ensure the survival of their plants and the production of tasty food. They are, of course, not always successful. One organic community gardener lamented the rising populations of slaters and earwigs which could decimate whole beds of newly sprouted seedlings overnight. This was a common issue and, in response, the gardeners research and trial new methods of control (including encouraging the introduction of “good” bugs into the ecosystem through particular plantings). Ultimately, however, the gardeners were resigned to “learn[ing] to live with them [the ‘bad’ bugs]” while exerting regular bodily and mental efforts to reduce their populations and maximise their own food production. The lack of ultimate control over their growing patch, and the food it could produce, was acknowledged by the gardeners. There was an awareness and understanding of the role nonhuman elements play in food production, ranging from weather conditions to soil microbes to bugs. The gardeners talk of how their care-giving is responsive to these elements. As one community gardener asserts: “…we prefer to … garden in a way that naturally strengthens the plant immune system.” This involves regular attention to soil microbes and the practice of what was referred to as “homeopathic” gardening. Through a responsive approach to the “needs” of plants, the soil, and other nonhuman elements, the plants then delivered “vitamins and minerals” to the gardeners, packaged in tasty food. The tastiest foods ensured their survival through seed-saving practices: “[i]f something tastes good, we’ll save the seed from it”. In this way, the plant’s taste encourages gardeners to invest their human labour to secure its future. The production of tasty food was understood to be reliant on collaborative, iterative and ongoing efforts between human and nonhuman elements. While gardening has often been represented as an attempt to bend nature to the will of humans (Power), the gardeners in this study spoke about working with nature in their quest to produce good tasting food. This was particularly evident in the interviews with gardeners who exhibit produce in the Canberra Show (see NMA for further details). However, despite the fact that taste is the key motivator for growing their own food, it is not a factor in Show judging. Instead, fruit and vegetable entries (those not turned into value added goods such as jams or relishes) are judged on appearance. While this focus on appearance tends to perpetuate the myth that the fruits and vegetables we consume should conform to an ideal type that are blemish free and uniform in size (just as is prized in industrialised agriculture), the act of gardening for the Show and the process of selecting produce to enter, contradicted this assumption. Instead, entering the Show seemed to reinforce awareness of the limits of human control over nature and emphasise the very agency of nonhuman elements. This is highlighted by one exhibitor and community gardener who states: I suppose you grow vegetables for the enjoyment of eating them, but there’s also that side of getting enough and perfecting the vegetables and getting… sometimes it’s all down to the day of whether you’ve got three of something, if it’s the right size and colour and so I’ll enter it [in the Show] on the day instead of putting an entry form in before …you just don’t know what you’re going to have, the bugs decide to eat this or the mice get it or something. There’s always something. In this way, where “there’s always something” waiting to disrupt a gardener’s best laid plans, the exhibitors involved in this project seem to be acutely aware of the agency of nonhumans. In these interviews there is evidence that nonhuman elements act on the gardeners, forcing them to alter their behaviours and engage with plants to meet both of their needs. While perfect specimens can sometimes be grown for the Show, the gardeners acknowledge that this can only be done with an element of luck and careful cultivation of the partnership between human and nonhuman elements in the garden. And, even then, you never know what might happen. This lack of ultimate control is part of the challenge and, thus, the appeal, of competing in the Show. Conclusion The era of the anthropocene demonstrates the consequences of human blindness to ecological matters. Myths of human supremacy and a failure to respect nonhuman elements have fuelled a destructive and wasteful mentality that is having serious consequences for our environment. This has prompted efforts to identify new environmental cultures to promote the adoption of more sustainable lifestyles. The resurgence of cultural materialism and the agentic capacity of objects is one key way in which this is being explored as a means of promoting new ethical approaches to how humans live their lives enmeshed with nonhumans. Food, as a basic necessity, provides a key way in which the interconnected relationships between humans and nonhumans can be brought to the fore. Taste, as a biological response and organic attribute of foodstuffs, can induce humans to act. It can cause us to alter our daily habits, behaviours and beliefs. Perhaps a more attentive approach to food, its taste and how it is produced could provide a framework for rethinking human/nature relations by emphasising the very limits of human control. References Bordo, Susan. Unbearable Weight: Feminism, Western Culture and the Body. Berkeley, CA: U of California P, 1993. Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Trans. R. Nice. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1984. Bennett, Jane. “The Force of Things: Steps Toward an Ecology of Matter.” Political Theory 32.3 (2004): 347–372. ---. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology Of Things. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2010. Deleuze, Gilles, and Felix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1993. Ferreday, Donna. “Unspeakable Bodies: Erasure, Embodiment and the Pro-Ana Community.” International Journal of Cultural Studies 6 (2003): 277–295. Goodman, David, and Michael Goodman. “Alternative Food networks.” International Encyclopedia of Human Geography. Ed. R. Kitchin and N. Thrift. Oxford: Elsevier, 2008. Guthman, Julie. “Commodified Meanings, Meaningful Commodities: Re–thinking Production–Consumption Links through the Organic System of Provision.” Sociologia Ruralis 42.4 (2002): 295–311. ---. “Fast Food/Organic Food: Reflexive Tastes and the Making of ‘Yuppie Chow’.” Social and Cultural Geography 4.1 (2003): 45–58. Hugner, Renee. S., Pierre McDonagh, Andrea Prothero, Clifford J. Scultz, and Julie Stanton. “Who Are Organic Food Consumers?: A Compilation And Review Of Why People Purchase Organic Food.” Journal of Consumer Behaviour 6.2–3 (2007): 94–110. Jordan, Jennifer A. “The Heirloom Tomato as Cultural Object: Investigating Taste and Space.” Sociologia Ruralis 47.1 (2007): 20–41. Latour, Bruno. Science in Action: How to Follow Scientists and Engineers Through Society. Milton Keynes: Open UP, 1987. Morton, Timothy. The Ecological Thought. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010. ---. “Thinking Ecology, the Mesh, the Strange Stranger and the Beautiful Soul.” Collapse VI (2010): 265–293. ---. Ecology without Nature. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 2007. National Museum of Australia Urban Farming and the Agricultural Show. 12 Mar. 2014. ‹http://www.nma.gov.au/online_features/urban_farming_agricultural_show/home›. Norberg-Hodge, Helena. “Beyond the Monoculture: Strengthening Local Culture, Economy and Knowledge.” The Journal of Sustainability Education. 19 Mar. 2012. 13 Mar. 2014 ‹http://www.jsedimensions.org/wordpress/content/beyond-the-monoculture-strengthening-local-culture-economy-and-knowledge_2012_03›. Plumwood, Val. Environmental Culture: The Ecological Crisis of Reason. London and New York: Routledge, 2002. Power, Emma. “Human-Nature Relations in Suburban Gardens.” Australian Geographer 36.1 (2005): 39–53. Probyn, Elspeth. Carnal Appetites: Foodsexidentites. London: Routledge, 2000. Seyfang, Gil. “Shopping for Sustainability: Can Sustainable Consumption Promote Ecological Citizenship?”. Environmental Politics 14.2 (2005): 290–306. -----. “Ecological Citizenship and Sustainable Consumption: Examining Local Organic Food Networks.” Journal of Rural Studies 22 (2006): 383–395. -----. “Growing Sustainable Consumption Communities: The Case Of Local Organic Food Networks.” International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy 27.3/4 (2007): 120–134. Shiva, Vandana. Stolen Harvest: The Hijacking of the Global Food Supply. Cambridge, MA: South End P, 2000. Thrupp, Lori Ann. “Linking Agricultural Biodiversity and Food Security.” International Affairs 76.2 (2000): 265–282. Turner, Bethaney. “Embodied Connections: Sustainability, Food Systems And Community Gardens.” Local Environment: The International Journal of Justice and Sustainability 16.6 (2011): 509-522. ---. “Reflections On a New Technology”. National Museum of Australia 2012. 12 Mar. 2014. ‹http://www.nma.gov.au/history/pate/objects/collection_reflections/genetically_modified_food_and_farming›. Acknowledgements Thank you to the gardeners who volunteered to be part of this study. The interviews related to the Royal Canberra Show were carried out as part of a collaborative project between the Faculty of Arts and Design at the University of Canberra (Joanna Henryks and Bethaney Turner) and the People and the Environment team (George Main and Kirsten Wehner) at the National Museum of Australia.

Permaculture is a creative design process that is based on ethics and design principles. It guides us to mimic the patterns and relationships we can find in nature and can be applied to all aspects of human habitation, from agriculture to ecological building, from appropriate technology to education and even economics. (permacultureprinciples.com)This paper considers permaculture as an example of counterculture in Australia. Permaculture is a neologism, the result of a contraction of ‘permanent’ and ‘agriculture’. In accordance with David Holmgren and Richard Telford definition quoted above, we intend permaculture as a design process based on a set of ethical and design principles. Rather than describing the history of permaculture, we choose two moments as paradigmatic of its evolution in relation to counterculture.The first moment is permaculture’s beginnings steeped in the same late 1960s turbulence that saw some people pursue an alternative lifestyle in Northern NSW and a rural idyll in Tasmania (Grayson and Payne). Ideas of a return to the land circulating in this first moment coalesced around the publication in 1978 of the book Permaculture One: A Perennial Agriculture for Human Settlements by Bill Mollison and David Holmgren, which functioned as “a disruptive technology, an idea that threatened to disrupt business as usual, to change the way we thought and did things”, as Russ Grayson writes in his contextual history of permaculture. The second moment is best exemplified by the definitions of permaculture as “a holistic system of design … most often applied to basic human needs such as water, food and shelter … also used to design more abstract systems such as community and economic structures” (Milkwood) and as “also a world wide network and movement of individuals and groups working in both rich and poor countries on all continents” (Holmgren).We argue that the shift in understanding of permaculture from the “back to the land movement” (Grayson) as a more wholesome alternative to consumer society to the contemporary conceptualisation of permaculture as an assemblage and global network of practices, is representative of the shifting dynamic between dominant paradigms and counterculture from the 1970s to the present. While counterculture was a useful way to understand the agency of subcultures (i.e. by countering mainstream culture and society) contemporary forms of globalised capitalism demand different models and vocabularies within which the idea of “counter” as clear cut alternative becomes an awkward fit.On the contrary we see the emergence of a repertoire of practices aimed at small-scale, localised solutions connected in transnational networks (Pink 105). These practices operate contrapuntally, a concept we borrow from Edward Said’s Culture and Imperialism (1993), to define how divergent practices play off each other while remaining at the edge, but still in a relation of interdependence with a dominant paradigm. In Said’s terms “contrapuntal reading” reveals what is left at the periphery of a mainstream narrative, but is at the same time instrumental to the development of events in the narrative itself. To illustrate this concept Said makes the case of novels where colonial plantations at the edge of the Empire make possible a certain lifestyle in England, but don’t appear in the narrative of that lifestyle itself (66-67).In keeping with permaculture design ecological principles, we argue that today permaculture is best understood as part of an assemblage of design objects, bacteria, economies, humans, plants, technologies, actions, theories, mushrooms, policies, affects, desires, animals, business, material and immaterial labour and politics and that it can be read as contrapuntal rather than as oppositional practice. Contrapuntal insofar as it is not directly oppositional preferring to reframe and reorientate everyday practices. The paper is structured in three parts: in the first one we frame our argument by providing a background to our understanding of counterculture and assemblage; in the second we introduce the beginning of permaculture in its historical context, and in third we propose to consider permaculture as an assemblage.Background: Counterculture and Assemblage We do not have the scope in this article to engage with contested definitions of counterculture in the Australian context, or their relation to contraculture or subculture. There is an emerging literature (Stickells, Robinson) touched on elsewhere in this issue. In this paper we view counterculture as social movements that “undermine societal hierarchies which structure urban life and create, instead a city organised on the basis of values such as action, local cultures, and decentred, participatory democracy” (Castells 19-20). Our focus on cities demonstrates the ways counterculture has shifted away from oppositional protest and towards ways of living sustainably in an increasingly urbanised world.Permaculture resonates with Castells’s definition and with other forms of protest, or what Musgrove calls “the dialectics of utopia” (16), a dynamic tension of political activism (resistance) and personal growth (aesthetics and play) that characterised ‘counterculture’ in the 1970s. McKay offers a similar view when he says such acts of counterculture are capable of “both a utopian gesture and a practical display of resistance” (27). But as a design practice, permaculture goes beyond the spectacle of protest.In this sense permaculture can be understood as an everyday act of resistance: “The design act is not a boycott, strike, protest, demonstration, or some other political act, but lends its power of resistance from being precisely a designerly way of intervening into people’s lives” (Markussen 38). We view permaculture design as a form of design activism that is embedded in everyday life. It is a process that aims to reorient a practice not by disrupting it but by becoming part of it.Guy Julier cites permaculture, along with the appropriate technology movement and community architecture, as one of many examples of radical thinking in design that emerged in the 1970s (225). This alignment of permaculture as a design practice that is connected to counterculture in an assemblage, but not entirely defined by it, is important in understanding the endurance of permaculture as a form of activism.In refuting the common and generalized narrative of failure that is used to describe the sixties (and can be extended to the seventies), Julie Stephens raises the many ways that the dominant ethos of the time was “revolutionised by the radicalism of the period, but in ways that bore little resemblance to the announced intentions of activists and participants themselves” (121). Further, she argues that the “extraordinary and paradoxical aspects of the anti-disciplinary protest of the period were that while it worked to collapse the division between opposition and complicity and problematised received understandings of the political, at the same time it reaffirmed its commitment to political involvement as an emancipatory, collective endeavour” (126).Many foresaw the political challenge of counterculture. From the belly of the beast, in 1975, Craig McGregor wrote that countercultures are “a crucial part of conventional society; and eventually they will be judged on how successful they transform it” (43). In arguing that permaculture is an assemblage and global network of practices, we contribute to a description of the shifting dynamic between dominant paradigms and counterculture that was identified by McGregor at the time and Stephens retrospectively, and we open up possibilities for reexamining an important moment in the history of Australian protest movements.Permaculture: Historical Context Together with practical manuals and theoretical texts permaculture has produced its foundation myths, centred around two father figures, Bill Mollison and David Holmgren. The pair, we read in accounts on the history of permaculture, met in the 1970s in Hobart at the University of Tasmania, where Mollison, after a polymath career, was a senior lecturer in Environmental Psychology, and Holmgren a student. Together they wrote the first article on permaculture in 1976 for the Organic Farmer and Gardener magazine (Grayson and Payne), which together with the dissemination of ideas via radio, captured the social imagination of the time. Two years later Holmgren and Mollison published the book Permaculture One: A Perennial Agricultural System for Human Settlements (Mollison and Holmgren).These texts and Mollison’s talks articulated ideas and desires and most importantly proposed solutions about living on the land, and led to the creation of the first ecovillage in Australia, Max Lindegger’s Crystal Waters in South East Queensland, the first permaculture magazine (titled Permaculture), and the beginning of the permaculture network (Grayson and Payne). In 1979 Mollison taught the first permaculture course, and published the second book. Grayson and Payne stress how permaculture media practices, such as the radio interview mentioned above and publications like Permaculture Magazine and Permaculture International Journal were key factors in the spreading of the design system and building a global network.The ideas developed around the concept of permaculture were shaped by, and in turned contributed to shape, the social climate of the late 1960s and early 1970s that captured the discontent with both capitalism and the Cold War, and that coalesced in “alternative lifestyles groups” (Metcalf). In 1973, for instance, the Aquarius Festival in Nimbin was not only a countercultural landmark, but also the site of emergence of alternative experiments in living that found their embodiment in experimental housing design (Stickells). The same interest in technological innovation mixed with rural skills animated one of permaculture’s precursors, the “back to the land movement” and its attempt “to blend rural traditionalism and technological and ideological modernity” (Grayson).This character of remix remains one of the characteristics of permaculture. Unlike movements based mostly on escape from the mainstream, permaculture offered a repertoire, and a system of adaptable solutions to live both in the country and the city. Like many aspects of the “alternative lifestyle” counterculture, permaculture was and is intensely biopolitical in the sense that it is concerned with the management of life itself “from below”: one’s own, people’s life and life on planet earth more generally. This understanding of biopolitics as power of life rather than over life is translated in permaculture into malleable design processes across a range of diversified practices. These are at the basis of the endurance of permaculture beyond the experiments in alternative lifestyles.In distinguishing it from sustainability (a contested concept among permaculture practitioners, some of whom prefer the notion of “planning for abundance”), Barry sees permaculture as:locally based and robustly contextualized implementations of sustainability, based on the notion that there is no ‘one size fits all’ model of sustainability. Permaculture, though rightly wary of more mainstream, reformist, and ‘business as usual’ accounts of sustainability can be viewed as a particular localized, and resilience-based conceptualization of sustainable living and the creation of ‘sustainable communities’. (83)The adaptability of permaculture to diverse solutions is stressed by Molly Scott-Cato, who, following David Holmgren, defines it as follows: “Permaculture is not a set of rules; it is a process of design based around principles found in the natural world, of cooperation and mutually beneficial relationships, and translating these principles into actions” (176).Permaculture Practice as Assemblage Scott Cato’s definition of permaculture helps us to understand both its conceptual framework as it is set out in permaculture manuals and textbooks, and the way it operates in practice at an individual, local, regional, national and global level, as an assemblage. Using the idea of assemblage, as defined by Jane Bennett, we are able to understand permaculture as part of an “ad hoc grouping”, a “collectivity” made up of many types of actors, humans, non humans, nature and culture, whose “coherence co-exists with energies and countercultures that exceed and confound it” (445-6). Put slightly differently, permaculture is part of “living” assemblage whose existence is not dependent on or governed by a “central power”. Nor can it be influenced by any single entity or member (445-6). Rather, permaculture is a “complex, gigantic whole” that is “made up variously, of somatic, technological, cultural, and atmospheric elements” (447).In considering permaculture as an assemblage that includes countercultural elements, we specifically adhere to John Law’s description of Actor Network Theory as an approach that relies on an empirical foundation rather than a theoretical one in order to “tell stories about ‘how’ relationships assemble or don’t” (141). The hybrid nature of permaculture design involving both human and non human stakeholders and their social and material dependencies can be understood as an “assembly” or “thing,” where everything not only plays its part relationally but where “matters of fact” are combined with “matters of concern” (Latour, "Critique"). As Barry explains, permaculture is a “holistic and systems-based approach to understanding and designing human-nature relations” (82). Permaculture principles are based on the enactment of interconnections, continuous feedback and reshuffling among plants, humans, animals, chemistry, social life, things, energy, built and natural environment, and tools.Bruno Latour calls this kind of relationality a “sphere” or a “network” that comprises of many interconnected nodes (Latour, "Actor-Network" 31). The connections between the nodes are not arbitrary, they are based on “associations” that dissolve the “micro-macro distinctions” of near and far, emphasizing the “global entity” of networks (361-381). Not everything is globalised but the global networks that structure the planet affect everything and everyone. In the context of permaculture, we argue that despite being highly connected through a network of digital and analogue platforms, the movement remains localised. In other words, permaculture is both local and global articulating global matters of concern such as food production, renewable energy sources, and ecological wellbeing in deeply localised variants.These address how the matters of concerns engendered by global networks in specific places interact with local elements. A community based permaculture practice in a desert area, for instance, will engage with storing renewable energy, or growing food crops and maintaining a stable ecology using the same twelve design principles and ethics as an educational business doing rooftop permaculture in a major urban centre. The localised applications, however, will result in a very different permaculture assemblage of animals, plants, technologies, people, affects, discourses, pedagogies, media, images, and resources.Similarly, if we consider permaculture as a network of interconnected nodes on a larger scale, such as in the case of national organisations, we can see how each node provides a counterpoint that models ecological best practices with respect to ingrained everyday ways of doing things, corporate and conventional agriculture, and so on. This adaptability and ability to effect practices has meant that permaculture’s sphere of influence has grown to include public institutions, such as city councils, public and private spaces, and schools.A short description of some of the nodes in the evolving permaculture assemblage in Sydney, where we live, is an example of the way permaculture has advanced from its alternative lifestyle beginnings to become part of the repertoire of contemporary activism. These practices, in turn, make room for accepted ways of doing things to move in new directions. In this assemblage each constellation operates within well established sites: local councils, public spaces, community groups, and businesses, while changing the conventional way these sites operate.The permaculture assemblage in Sydney includes individuals and communities in local groups coordinated in a city-wide network, Permaculture Sydney, connected to similar regional networks along the NSW seaboard; local government initiatives, such as in Randwick, Sydney, and Pittwater and policies like Sustainable City Living; community gardens like the inner city food forest at Angel Street or the hybrid public open park and educational space at the Permaculture Interpretive Garden; private permaculture gardens; experiments in grassroot urban permaculture and in urban agriculture; gardening, education and landscape business specialising in permaculture design, like Milkwood and Sydney Organic Gardens; loose groups of permaculturalists gathering around projects, such as Permablitz Sydney; media personalities and programs, as in the case of the hugely successful garden show Gardening Australia hosted by Costa Georgiadis; germane organisations dedicated to food sovereignty or seed saving, the Transition Towns movement; farmers’ markets and food coops; and multifarious private/public sustainability initiatives.Permaculture is a set of practices that, in themselves are not inherently “against” anything, yet empower people to form their own lifestyles and communities. After all, permaculture is a design system, a way to analyse space, and body of knowledge based on set principles and ethics. The identification of permaculture as a form of activism, or indeed as countercultural, is externally imposed, and therefore contingent on the ways conventional forms of housing and food production are understood as being in opposition.As we have shown elsewhere (2014) thinking through design practices as assemblages can describe hybrid forms of participation based on relationships to broader political movements, disciplines and organisations.Use Edges and Value the Marginal The eleventh permaculture design principle calls for an appreciation of the marginal and the edge: “The interface between things is where the most interesting events take place. These are often the most valuable, diverse and productive elements in the system” (permacultureprinciples.com). In other words the edge is understood as the site where things come together generating new possible paths and interactions. In this paper we have taken this metaphor to think through the relations between permaculture and counterculture. We argued that permaculture emerged from the countercultural ferment of the late 1960s and 1970s and intersected with other fringe alternative lifestyle experiments. In its contemporary form the “counter” value needs to be understood as counterpoint rather than as a position of pure oppositionality to the mainstream.The edge in permaculture is not a boundary on the periphery of a design, but a site of interconnection, hybridity and exchange, that produces adaptable and different possibilities. Similarly permaculture shares with forms of contemporary activism “flexible action repertoires” (Mayer 203) able to interconnect and traverse diverse contexts, including mainstream institutions. Permaculture deploys an action repertoire that integrates not segregates and that is aimed at inviting a shift in everyday practices and at doing things differently: differently from the mainstream and from the way global capital operates, without claiming to be in a position outside global capital flows. In brief, the assemblages of practices, ideas, and people generated by permaculture, like the ones described in this paper, as a counterpoint bring together discordant elements on equal terms.ReferencesBarry, John. The Politics of Actually Existing Unsustainability: Human Flourishing in a Climate-Changed, Carbon Constrained World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012.Bennett, Jane. “The Agency of Assemblages and the North American Blackout.” Public Culture 17.3 (2005): 445-65.Castells, Manuel. “The New Public Sphere: Global Civil Society, Communication, Networks, and Global Governance.” ANNALS, AAPSS 616 (2008): 78-93.Crosby, Alexandra, Jacqueline Lorber-Kasunic, and Ilaria Vanni. “Mapping Hybrid Design Participation in Sydney.” Proceedings of the Arte-Polis 5th International Conference – Reflections on Creativity: Public Engagement and the Making of Place. Bandung, 2014.Grayson, Russ, and Steve Payne. “Tasmanian Roots.” New Internationalist 402 (2007): 10–11.Grayson, Russ. “The Permaculture Papers 2: The Dawn.” PacificEdge 2010. 6 Oct. 2014 ‹http://pacific-edge.info/2010/10/the-permaculture-papers-2-the-dawn›.Holmgren, David. “About Permaculture.” Holmgren Design, Permaculture Vision and Innovation. 2014.Julier, Guy. “From Design Culture to Design Activism.” Design and Culture 5.2 (2013): 215-236.Law, John. “Actor Network Theory and Material Semiotics.” In The New Blackwell Companion to Social Theory, ed. Bryan S. Turner. Chichester, West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell. 2009. 141-158. Latour, Bruno. “On Actor-Network Theory. A Few Clarifications plus More than a Few Complications.” Philosophia, 25.3 (1996): 47-64.Latour, Bruno. “Why Has Critique Run Out of Steam? From Matters of Fact to Matters of Concern.” Critical Inquiry 30 (2004): 225–48. 6 Dec. 2014 ‹http://www.ensmp.fr/~latour/articles/article/089.html›.Levin, Simon A. The Princeton Guide to Ecology. Princeton: Princeton UP. 2009Lockyer, Joshua, and James R. Veteto, eds. Environmental Anthropology Engaging Ecotopia: Bioregionalism, Permaculture, and Ecovillages. Vol. 17. Berghahn Books, 2013.Madge, Pauline. “Ecological Design: A New Critique.” Design Issues 13.2 (1997): 44-54.Mayer, Margit. “Manuel Castells’ The City and the Grassroots.” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 30.1 (2006): 202–206.Markussen, Thomas. “The Disruptive Aesthetics of Design Activism: Enacting Design between Art and Politics.” Design Issues 29.1 (2013): 38-50.McGregor, Craig. “What Counter-Culture?” Meanjin Quarterly 34.1 (1975).McGregor, Craig. “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.” Meanjin Quarterly 30.2 (1971): 176-179.McKay, G. “DiY Culture: Notes Toward an Intro.” In G. McKay, ed., DiY Culture: Party and Protest in Nineties Britain, London: Verso, 1988. 1-53.Metcalf, William J. “A Classification of Alternative Lifestyle Groups.” Journal of Sociology 20.66 (1984): 66–80.Milkwood. “Frequently Asked Questions.” 30 Sep. 2014. 6 Dec. 2014 ‹http://www.milkwoodpermaculture.com.au/permaculture/faqs›.Mollison, Bill, and David Holmgren. Permaculture One: A Perennial Agricultural System for Human Settlements. Melbourne: Transworld Publishers, 1978.Musgrove, F. Ecstasy and Holiness: Counter Culture and the Open Society. London: Methuen and Co., 1974.permacultureprinciples.com. 25 Nov. 2014.Pink, Sarah. Situating Everyday Life. London: Sage, 2012.Robinson, Shirleene. “1960s Counter-Culture in Australia: the Search for Personal Freedom.” In The 1960s in Australia: People, Power and Politics, eds. Shirleene Robinson and Julie Ustinoff. Newcastle, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2012.Said, Edward. Culture and Imperialism. London: Chatto & Windus, 1993.Scott-Cato. Molly. Environment and Economy. Abingdon: Routledge, 2011.Stephens, Julie. Anti-Disciplinary Protest: Sixties Radicalism and Postmodernism. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge UP, 1998.Stickells, Lee. “‘And Everywhere Those Strange Polygonal Igloos’: Framing a History of Australian Countercultural Architecture.” In Proceedings of the Society of Architectural Historians, Australia and New Zealand 30: Open. Vol. 2. Eds. Alexandra Brown and Andrew Leach. Gold Coast, Qld: SAHANZ, 2013. 555-568.

Abstract Background Parks provide opportunities for physical activity and social interaction and are critical for enhancing public health. It is therefore important to better understand the needs and preferences of park features among adults to help park designers to create parks that optimise use. This qualitative study provided an in-depth examination of factors and characteristics that influence visitation, park-based physical activity, and social interaction among adults (19–64 years). We also explored perceptions of parks and park use and impacts of COVID on park usage and needs. Methods Participants (n = 27, 40.4 years [+ 11.9], 70% female) were interviewed from 2017 to 2020 while walking through one of eight diverse parks located in varying socioeconomic areas of metropolitan Melbourne, Australia. Participants were prompted to discuss their experiences, opinions and preferences regarding park features. All interviews were transcribed verbatim and analysed using NVivo 12 software. Results Park features and characteristics highly valued for visitation related to aesthetics and atmosphere, including trees, gardens, spaciousness, and water features. Features most valued for physical activity included walking and bike tracks, basketball rings, nice aesthetics, and sports walls. Features most valued for social interaction included seating and tables, and picnic/barbecue areas. Conclusions This study highlights features and characteristics that may be important to prioritise, to encourage active and social park visits among adults. This evidence will help policy and decision makers, urban planners, landscape architects, and local, state, and national government organisations to create parks that support adults to lead healthy and active lives. Future research should examine the relative importance of the features identified in this study to inform future park design/redesign.

The term “coffee palace” was primarily used in Australia to describe the temperance hotels that were built in the last decades of the 19th century, although there are references to the term also being used to a lesser extent in the United Kingdom (Denby 174). Built in response to the worldwide temperance movement, which reached its pinnacle in the 1880s in Australia, coffee palaces were hotels that did not serve alcohol. This was a unique time in Australia’s architectural development as the economic boom fuelled by the gold rush in the 1850s, and the demand for ostentatious display that gathered momentum during the following years, afforded the use of richly ornamental High Victorian architecture and resulted in very majestic structures; hence the term “palace” (Freeland 121). The often multi-storied coffee palaces were found in every capital city as well as regional areas such as Geelong and Broken Hill, and locales as remote as Maria Island on the east coast of Tasmania. Presented as upholding family values and discouraging drunkenness, the coffee palaces were most popular in seaside resorts such as Barwon Heads in Victoria, where they catered to families. Coffee palaces were also constructed on a grand scale to provide accommodation for international and interstate visitors attending the international exhibitions held in Sydney (1879) and Melbourne (1880 and 1888). While the temperance movement lasted well over 100 years, the life of coffee palaces was relatively short-lived. Nevertheless, coffee palaces were very much part of Australia’s cultural landscape. In this article, I examine the rise and demise of coffee palaces associated with the temperance movement and argue that coffee palaces established in the name of abstinence were modelled on the coffee houses that spread throughout Europe and North America in the 17th and 18th centuries during the Enlightenment—a time when the human mind could be said to have been liberated from inebriation and the dogmatic state of ignorance. The Temperance Movement At a time when newspapers are full of lurid stories about binge-drinking and the alleged ill-effects of the liberalisation of licensing laws, as well as concerns over the growing trend of marketing easy-to-drink products (such as the so-called “alcopops”) to teenagers, it is difficult to think of a period when the total suppression of the alcohol trade was seriously debated in Australia. The cause of temperance has almost completely vanished from view, yet for well over a century—from 1830 to the outbreak of the Second World War—the control or even total abolition of the liquor trade was a major political issue—one that split the country, brought thousands onto the streets in demonstrations, and influenced the outcome of elections. Between 1911 and 1925 referenda to either limit or prohibit the sale of alcohol were held in most States. While moves to bring about abolition failed, Fitzgerald notes that almost one in three Australian voters expressed their support for prohibition of alcohol in their State (145). Today, the temperance movement’s platform has largely been forgotten, killed off by the practical example of the United States, where prohibition of the legal sale of alcohol served only to hand control of the liquor traffic to organised crime. Coffee Houses and the Enlightenment Although tea has long been considered the beverage of sobriety, it was coffee that came to be regarded as the very antithesis of alcohol. When the first coffee house opened in London in the early 1650s, customers were bewildered by this strange new drink from the Middle East—hot, bitter, and black as soot. But those who tried coffee were, reports Ellis, soon won over, and coffee houses were opened across London, Oxford, and Cambridge and, in the following decades, Europe and North America. Tea, equally exotic, entered the English market slightly later than coffee (in 1664), but was more expensive and remained a rarity long after coffee had become ubiquitous in London (Ellis 123-24). The impact of the introduction of coffee into Europe during the seventeenth century was particularly noticeable since the most common beverages of the time, even at breakfast, were weak “small beer” and wine. Both were safer to drink than water, which was liable to be contaminated. Coffee, like beer, was made using boiled water and, therefore, provided a new and safe alternative to alcoholic drinks. There was also the added benefit that those who drank coffee instead of alcohol began the day alert rather than mildly inebriated (Standage 135). It was also thought that coffee had a stimulating effect upon the “nervous system,” so much so that the French called coffee une boisson intellectuelle (an intellectual beverage), because of its stimulating effect on the brain (Muskett 71). In Oxford, the British called their coffee houses “penny universities,” a penny then being the price of a cup of coffee (Standage 158). Coffee houses were, moreover, more than places that sold coffee. Unlike other institutions of the period, rank and birth had no place (Ellis 59). The coffee house became the centre of urban life, creating a distinctive social culture by treating all customers as equals. Egalitarianism, however, did not extend to women—at least not in London. Around its egalitarian (but male) tables, merchants discussed and conducted business, writers and poets held discussions, scientists demonstrated experiments, and philosophers deliberated ideas and reforms. For the price of a cup (or “dish” as it was then known) of coffee, a man could read the latest pamphlets and newsletters, chat with other patrons, strike business deals, keep up with the latest political gossip, find out what other people thought of a new book, or take part in literary or philosophical discussions. Like today’s Internet, Twitter, and Facebook, Europe’s coffee houses functioned as an information network where ideas circulated and spread from coffee house to coffee house. In this way, drinking coffee in the coffee house became a metaphor for people getting together to share ideas in a sober environment, a concept that remains today. According to Standage, this information network fuelled the Enlightenment (133), prompting an explosion of creativity. Coffee houses provided an entirely new environment for political, financial, scientific, and literary change, as people gathered, discussed, and debated issues within their walls. Entrepreneurs and scientists teamed up to form companies to exploit new inventions and discoveries in manufacturing and mining, paving the way for the Industrial Revolution (Standage 163). The stock market and insurance companies also had their birth in the coffee house. As a result, coffee was seen to be the epitome of modernity and progress and, as such, was the ideal beverage for the Age of Reason. By the 19th century, however, the era of coffee houses had passed. Most of them had evolved into exclusive men’s clubs, each geared towards a certain segment of society. Tea was now more affordable and fashionable, and teahouses, which drew clientele from both sexes, began to grow in popularity. Tea, however, had always been Australia’s most popular non-alcoholic drink. Tea (and coffee) along with other alien plants had been part of the cargo unloaded onto Australian shores with the First Fleet in 1788. Coffee, mainly from Brazil and Jamaica, remained a constant import but was taxed more heavily than tea and was, therefore, more expensive. Furthermore, tea was much easier to make than coffee. To brew tea, all that is needed is to add boiling water, coffee, in contrast, required roasting, grinding and brewing. According to Symons, until the 1930s, Australians were the largest consumers of tea in the world (19). In spite of this, and as coffee, since its introduction into Europe, was regarded as the antidote to alcohol, the temperance movement established coffee palaces. In the early 1870s in Britain, the temperance movement had revived the coffee house to provide an alternative to the gin taverns that were so attractive to the working classes of the Industrial Age (Clarke 5). Unlike the earlier coffee house, this revived incarnation provided accommodation and was open to men, women and children. “Cheap and wholesome food,” was available as well as reading rooms supplied with newspapers and periodicals, and games and smoking rooms (Clarke 20). In Australia, coffee palaces did not seek the working classes, as clientele: at least in the cities they were largely for the nouveau riche. Coffee Palaces The discovery of gold in 1851 changed the direction of the Australian economy. An investment boom followed, with an influx of foreign funds and English banks lending freely to colonial speculators. By the 1880s, the manufacturing and construction sectors of the economy boomed and land prices were highly inflated. Governments shared in the wealth and ploughed money into urban infrastructure, particularly railways. Spurred on by these positive economic conditions and the newly extended inter-colonial rail network, international exhibitions were held in both Sydney and Melbourne. To celebrate modern technology and design in an industrial age, international exhibitions were phenomena that had spread throughout Europe and much of the world from the mid-19th century. According to Davison, exhibitions were “integral to the culture of nineteenth century industrialising societies” (158). In particular, these exhibitions provided the colonies with an opportunity to demonstrate to the world their economic power and achievements in the sciences, the arts and education, as well as to promote their commerce and industry. Massive purpose-built buildings were constructed to house the exhibition halls. In Sydney, the Garden Palace was erected in the Botanic Gardens for the 1879 Exhibition (it burnt down in 1882). In Melbourne, the Royal Exhibition Building, now a World Heritage site, was built in the Carlton Gardens for the 1880 Exhibition and extended for the 1888 Centennial Exhibition. Accommodation was required for the some one million interstate and international visitors who were to pass through the gates of the Garden Palace in Sydney. To meet this need, the temperance movement, keen to provide alternative accommodation to licensed hotels, backed the establishment of Sydney’s coffee palaces. The Sydney Coffee Palace Hotel Company was formed in 1878 to operate and manage a number of coffee palaces constructed during the 1870s. These were designed to compete with hotels by “offering all the ordinary advantages of those establishments without the allurements of the drink” (Murdoch). Coffee palaces were much more than ordinary hotels—they were often multi-purpose or mixed-use buildings that included a large number of rooms for accommodation as well as ballrooms and other leisure facilities to attract people away from pubs. As the Australian Town and Country Journal reveals, their services included the supply of affordable, wholesome food, either in the form of regular meals or occasional refreshments, cooked in kitchens fitted with the latest in culinary accoutrements. These “culinary temples” also provided smoking rooms, chess and billiard rooms, and rooms where people could read books, periodicals and all the local and national papers for free (121). Similar to the coffee houses of the Enlightenment, the coffee palaces brought businessmen, artists, writers, engineers, and scientists attending the exhibitions together to eat and drink (non-alcoholic), socialise and conduct business. The Johnson’s Temperance Coffee Palace located in York Street in Sydney produced a practical guide for potential investors and businessmen titled International Exhibition Visitors Pocket Guide to Sydney. It included information on the location of government departments, educational institutions, hospitals, charitable organisations, and embassies, as well as a list of the tariffs on goods from food to opium (1–17). Women, particularly the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU) were a formidable force in the temperance movement (intemperance was generally regarded as a male problem and, more specifically, a husband problem). Murdoch argues, however, that much of the success of the push to establish coffee palaces was due to male politicians with business interests, such as the one-time Victorian premiere James Munro. Considered a stern, moral church-going leader, Munro expanded the temperance movement into a fanatical force with extraordinary power, which is perhaps why the temperance movement had its greatest following in Victoria (Murdoch). Several prestigious hotels were constructed to provide accommodation for visitors to the international exhibitions in Melbourne. Munro was responsible for building many of the city’s coffee palaces, including the Victoria (1880) and the Federal Coffee Palace (1888) in Collins Street. After establishing the Grand Coffee Palace Company, Munro took over the Grand Hotel (now the Windsor) in 1886. Munro expanded the hotel to accommodate some of the two million visitors who were to attend the Centenary Exhibition, renamed it the Grand Coffee Palace, and ceremoniously burnt its liquor licence at the official opening (Murdoch). By 1888 there were more than 50 coffee palaces in the city of Melbourne alone and Munro held thousands of shares in coffee palaces, including those in Geelong and Broken Hill. With its opening planned to commemorate the centenary of the founding of Australia and the 1888 International Exhibition, the construction of the Federal Coffee Palace, one of the largest hotels in Australia, was perhaps the greatest monument to the temperance movement. Designed in the French Renaissance style, the façade was embellished with statues, griffins and Venus in a chariot drawn by four seahorses. The building was crowned with an iron-framed domed tower. New passenger elevators—first demonstrated at the Sydney Exhibition—allowed the building to soar to seven storeys. According to the Federal Coffee Palace Visitor’s Guide, which was presented to every visitor, there were three lifts for passengers and others for luggage. Bedrooms were located on the top five floors, while the stately ground and first floors contained majestic dining, lounge, sitting, smoking, writing, and billiard rooms. There were electric service bells, gaslights, and kitchens “fitted with the most approved inventions for aiding proficients [sic] in the culinary arts,” while the luxury brand Pears soap was used in the lavatories and bathrooms (16–17). In 1891, a spectacular financial crash brought the economic boom to an abrupt end. The British economy was in crisis and to meet the predicament, English banks withdrew their funds in Australia. There was a wholesale collapse of building companies, mortgage banks and other financial institutions during 1891 and 1892 and much of the banking system was halted during 1893 (Attard). Meanwhile, however, while the eastern States were in the economic doldrums, gold was discovered in 1892 at Coolgardie and Kalgoorlie in Western Australia and, within two years, the west of the continent was transformed. As gold poured back to the capital city of Perth, the long dormant settlement hurriedly caught up and began to emulate the rest of Australia, including the construction of ornately detailed coffee palaces (Freeman 130). By 1904, Perth had 20 coffee palaces. When the No. 2 Coffee Palace opened in Pitt Street, Sydney, in 1880, the Australian Town and Country Journal reported that coffee palaces were “not only fashionable, but appear to have acquired a permanent footing in Sydney” (121). The coffee palace era, however, was relatively short-lived. Driven more by reformist and economic zeal than by good business sense, many were in financial trouble when the 1890’s Depression hit. Leading figures in the temperance movement were also involved in land speculation and building societies and when these schemes collapsed, many, including Munro, were financially ruined. Many of the palaces closed or were forced to apply for liquor licences in order to stay afloat. Others developed another life after the temperance movement’s influence waned and the coffee palace fad faded, and many were later demolished to make way for more modern buildings. The Federal was licensed in 1923 and traded as the Federal Hotel until its demolition in 1973. The Victoria, however, did not succumb to a liquor licence until 1967. The Sydney Coffee Palace in Woolloomooloo became the Sydney Eye Hospital and, more recently, smart apartments. Some fine examples still survive as reminders of Australia’s social and cultural heritage. The Windsor in Melbourne’s Spring Street and the Broken Hill Hotel, a massive three-story iconic pub in the outback now called simply “The Palace,” are some examples. Tea remained the beverage of choice in Australia until the 1950s when the lifting of government controls on the importation of coffee and the influence of American foodways coincided with the arrival of espresso-loving immigrants. As Australians were introduced to the espresso machine, the short black, the cappuccino, and the café latte and (reminiscent of the Enlightenment), the post-war malaise was shed in favour of the energy and vigour of modernist thought and creativity, fuelled in at least a small part by caffeine and the emergent café culture (Teffer). Although the temperance movement’s attempt to provide an alternative to the ubiquitous pubs failed, coffee has now outstripped the consumption of tea and today’s café culture ensures that wherever coffee is consumed, there is the possibility of a continuation of the Enlightenment’s lively discussions, exchange of news, and dissemination of ideas and information in a sober environment. References Attard, Bernard. “The Economic History of Australia from 1788: An Introduction.” EH.net Encyclopedia. 5 Feb. (2012) ‹http://eh.net/encyclopedia/article/attard.australia›. Blainey, Anna. “The Prohibition and Total Abstinence Movement in Australia 1880–1910.” Food, Power and Community: Essays in the History of Food and Drink. Ed. Robert Dare. Adelaide: Wakefield Press, 1999. 142–52. Boyce, Francis Bertie. “Shall I Vote for No License?” An address delivered at the Convention of the Parramatta Branch of New South Wales Alliance, 3 September 1906. 3rd ed. Parramatta: New South Wales Alliance, 1907. Clarke, James Freeman. Coffee Houses and Coffee Palaces in England. Boston: George H. Ellis, 1882. “Coffee Palace, No. 2.” Australian Town and Country Journal. 17 Jul. 1880: 121. Davison, Graeme. “Festivals of Nationhood: The International Exhibitions.” Australian Cultural History. Eds. S. L. Goldberg and F. B. Smith. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1989. 158–77. Denby, Elaine. Grand Hotels: Reality and Illusion. London: Reaktion Books, 2002. Ellis, Markman. The Coffee House: A Cultural History. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2004. Federal Coffee Palace. The Federal Coffee Palace Visitors’ Guide to Melbourne, Its Suburbs, and Other Parts of the Colony of Victoria: Views of the Principal Public and Commercial Buildings in Melbourne, With a Bird’s Eye View of the City; and History of the Melbourne International Exhibition of 1880, etc. Melbourne: Federal Coffee House Company, 1888. Fitzgerald, Ross, and Trevor Jordan. Under the Influence: A History of Alcohol in Australia. Sydney: Harper Collins, 2009. Freeland, John. The Australian Pub. Melbourne: Sun Books, 1977. Johnson’s Temperance Coffee Palace. International Exhibition Visitors Pocket Guide to Sydney, Restaurant and Temperance Hotel. Sydney: Johnson’s Temperance Coffee Palace, 1879. Mitchell, Ann M. “Munro, James (1832–1908).” Australian Dictionary of Biography. Canberra: National Centre of Biography, Australian National U, 2006-12. 5 Feb. 2012 ‹http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/munro-james-4271/text6905›. Murdoch, Sally. “Coffee Palaces.” Encyclopaedia of Melbourne. Eds. Andrew Brown-May and Shurlee Swain. 5 Feb. 2012 ‹http://www.emelbourne.net.au/biogs/EM00371b.htm›. Muskett, Philip E. The Art of Living in Australia. New South Wales: Kangaroo Press, 1987. Standage, Tom. A History of the World in 6 Glasses. New York: Walker & Company, 2005. Sydney Coffee Palace Hotel Company Limited. Memorandum of Association of the Sydney Coffee Palace Hotel Company, Ltd. Sydney: Samuel Edward Lees, 1879. Symons, Michael. One Continuous Picnic: A Gastronomic History of Australia. Melbourne: Melbourne UP, 2007. Teffer, Nicola. Coffee Customs. Exhibition Catalogue. Sydney: Customs House, 2005.

Begonia is the fifth largest genus of flowering plants with over 1,800 species and hybrids. Begonias are known by their bright, full flowers and also their leaves, which vary to showcase patterns, designs or color. Begonias have a pan-tropical distribution, occupying the tropical regions of every continent except Australia. Begonias are commonly used in the landscape, although their heat tolerance makes them more desirable as a potted plant or houseplant in Florida. Begonias thrive best in partially-shaded areas, as they are sensitive to bright light and should be protected from the Florida summers in particular. Begonias grow in USDA Hardiness Zones 3 – 11, and are often used as hanging baskets, flowerpots, garden beds, and in the landscape (Gardening Solutions 2019). This EDIS publication is for Florida gardeners and horticulturalists hoping to learn more about the different classifications of begonias, as well as those interested in learning more about this potential landscape or houseplant.https://edis.ifas.ufl.edu/ep581

Purpose This paper aims to examine the planning policy and legal framework governing the creation and operation of urban agriculture in Sydney, Australia’s global city. All levels of urban agriculture are considered – from domestic and small community gardens to large agribusiness – as all make an important contribution to agricultural production in an urban context. Design/methodology/approach Using the Australian State of New South Wales and its capital Sydney, as a focus, the study examines the recent trend of the recognition and re-establishment of agriculture as a desired land use in cities. Three examples are selected for closer scrutiny – Horsley Park Urban Agriculture Precinct, located in the Western Sydney Parklands; City of Sydney’s City Farm, located in the inner suburb of St Peters; and the Western Sydney Aerotropolis Agribusiness Precinct, located at a new airport on the fringe of Sydney. Findings As more city-dwellers embrace urban food production and as city authorities seek to encourage and facilitate farming activities, it is clear that regulatory structures which allow it to happen should be incorporated into urban planning legislation at (in the Australian context) state government level. If cities want to encourage urban agriculture, planning legislation needs to be part of the broader legal framework for enabling it to germinate and thrive. Originality/value This paper explores the emergence of two new types of urban agriculture: first, the multi-functional, small-scale urban farming operation, situated conceptually between a community garden and a full-scale commercial agricultural enterprise, and located spatially in the midst of built-up urban form; and second, the intensive, high tech export-oriented model exemplified by the Aerotropolis Agribusiness Precinct.

IntroductionThe walking tour is an enduring feature of cities. Fuelled by a desire to learn more about the hidden and unknown spaces of the city, the walking tour has moved beyond its historical role as tourist attraction to play a key role in the transformation of urban space through gentrification. Conversely, the walking tour has a counter-history as part of a critical urban praxis. This article reflects on historical examples, as well as our own experience of conducting Field Trip, a critical geographical walking tour through an industrial precinct in Marrickville, a suburb of Sydney that is set to undergo rapid change as a result of high-rise residential apartment construction (Gibson et al.). This precinct, known as Carrington Road, is located on the unceded land of the Cadigal and Wangal people of the Eora nation who call the area Bulanaming.Drawing on a long history of philosophical walking, many contemporary writers (Solnit; Gros; Bendiner-Viani) have described walking as a practice that can open different ways of thinking, observing and being in the world. Some have focused on the value of walking to the study of place (Hall; Philips; Heddon), and have underscored its relationship to established research methods, such as sensory ethnography (Springgay and Truman). The work of Michel de Certeau pays particular attention to the relationship between walking and the city. In particular, the concepts of tactics and strategy have been applied in a variety of ways across cultural studies, cultural geography, and urban studies (Morris). In line with de Certeau’s thinking, we view walking as an example of a tactic – a routine and often unconscious practice that can become a form of creative resistance.In this sense, walking can be a way to engage in and design the city by opposing its structures, or strategies. For example, walking in a city such as Sydney that is designed for cars requires choosing alternative paths, redirecting flows of people and traffic, and creating custom shortcuts. Choosing pedestrianism in Sydney can certainly feel like a form of resistance, and we make the argument that Field Trip – and walking tours more generally – can be a way of doing this collectively, firstly by moving in opposite directions, and secondly, at incongruent speeds to those for whom the scale and style of strategic urban development is inevitable. How such tactical walking relates to the design of cities, however, is less clear. Walking is a generally described in the literature as an individual act, while the design of cities is, at its best participatory, and always involving multiple stakeholders. This reveals a tension between the practice of walking as a détournement or appropriation of urban space, and its relationship to existing built form. Field Trip, as an example of collective walking, is one such appropriation of urban space – one designed to lead to more democratic decision making around the planning and design of cities. Given the anti-democratic, “post-political” nature of contemporary “consultation” processes, this is a seemingly huge task (Legacy et al.; Ruming). We make the argument that Field Trip – and walking tours more generally – can be a form of collective resistance to top-down urban planning.By using an open-source wiki in combination with the Internet Archive, Field Trip also seeks to collectively document and make public the local knowledge generated by walking at the frontier of gentrification. We discuss these digital choices as oppositional practice, and consider the idea of tactical media (Lovink and Garcia; Raley) in order to connect knowledge sharing with the practice of walking.This article is structured in four parts. Firstly, we provide a historical introduction to the relationship between walking tours and gentrification of global cities. Secondly, we examine the significance of walking tours in Sydney and then specifically within Marrickville. Thirdly, we discuss the Field Trip project as a citizen-led walking tour and, finally, elaborate on its role as tactical media project and offer some conclusions.The Walking Tour and Gentrification From the outset, people have been walking the city in their own ways and creating their own systems of navigation, often in spite of the plans of officialdom. The rapid expansion of cities following the Industrial Revolution led to the emergence of “imaginative geographies”, where mediated representations of different urban conditions became a stand-in for lived experience (Steinbrink 219). The urban walking tour as mediated political tactic was utilised as far back as Victorian England, for reasons including the celebration of public works like the sewer system (Garrett), and the “othering” of the working class through upper- and middle-class “slum tourism” in London’s East End (Steinbrink 220). The influence of the Situationist theory of dérive has been immense upon those interested in walking the city, and we borrow from the dérive a desire to report on the under-reported spaces of the city, and to articulate alternative voices within the city in this project. It should be noted, however, that as Field Trip was developed for general public participation, and was organised with institutional support, some aspects of the dérive – particularly its disregard for formal structure – were unable to be incorporated into the project. Our responsibility to the participants of Field Trip, moreover, required the imposition of structure and timetable upon the walk. However, our individual and collective preparation for Field Trip, as well as our collective understanding of the area to be examined, has been heavily informed by psychogeographic methods that focus on quotidian and informal urban practices (Crosby and Searle; Iveson et al).In post-war American cities, walking tours were utilised in the service of gentrification. Many tours were organised by real estate agents with the express purpose of selling devalorised inner-city real estate to urban “pioneers” for renovation, including in Boston’s South End (Tissot) and Brooklyn’s Park Slope, among others (Lees et al 25). These tours focused on a symbolic revalorisation of “slum neighbourhoods” through a focus on “high culture”, with architectural and design heritage featuring prominently. At the same time, urban socio-economic and cultural issues – poverty, homelessness, income disparity, displacement – were downplayed or overlooked. These tours contributed to a climate in which property speculation and displacement through gentrification practices were normalised. To this day, “ghetto tours” operate in minority neighbourhoods in Brooklyn, serving as a beachhead for gentrification.Elsewhere in the world, walking tours are often voyeuristic, featuring “locals” guiding well-meaning tourists through the neighbourhoods of some of the world’s most impoverished communities. Examples include the long runningKlong Toei Private Tour, through “Bangkok’s oldest and largest slum”, or the now-ceased Jakarta Hidden Tours, which took tourists to the riverbanks of Jakarta to see the city’s poorest before they were displaced by gentrification.More recently, all over the world activists have engaged in walking tours to provide their own perspective on urban change, attempting to direct the gentrifier’s gaze inward. Whilst the most confrontational of these might be the Yuppie Gazing Tour of Vancouver’s historically marginalised Downtown Eastside, other tours have highlighted the deleterious effects of gentrification in Williamsburg, San Francisco, Oakland, and Surabaya, among others. In smaller towns, walking tours have been utilised to highlight the erasure of marginalised scenes and subcultures, including underground creative spaces, migrant enclaves, alternative and queer spaces. Walking Sydney, Walking Marrickville In many cities, there are now both walking tours that intend to scaffold urban renewal, and those that resist gentrification with alternative narratives. There are also some that unwittingly do both simultaneously. Marrickville is a historically working-class and migrant suburb with sizeable populations of Greek and Vietnamese migrants (Graham and Connell), as well as a strong history of manufacturing (Castles et al.), which has been undergoing gentrification for some time, with the arts playing an often contradictory role in its transformation (Gibson and Homan). More recently, as the suburb experiences rampant, financialised property development driven by global flows of capital, property developers have organised their own self-guided walking tours, deployed to facilitate the familiarisation of potential purchasers of dwellings with local amenities and ‘character’ in precincts where redevelopment is set to occur. Mirvac, Marrickville’s most active developer, has designed its own self-guided walking tour Hit the Marrickville Pavement to “explore what’s on offer” and “chat to locals”: just 7km from the CBD, Marrickville is fast becoming one of Sydney’s most iconic suburbs – a melting pot of cuisines, creative arts and characters founded on a rich multicultural heritage.The perfect introduction, this self-guided walking tour explores Marrickville’s historical architecture at a leisurely pace, finishing up at the pub.So, strap on your walking shoes; you're in for a treat.Other walking tours in the area seek to highlight political, ecological, and architectural dimension of Marrickville. For example, Marrickville Maps: Tropical Imaginaries of Abundance provides a series of plant-led walks in the suburb; The Warren Walk is a tour organised by local Australian Labor Party MP Anthony Albanese highlighting “the influence of early settlers such as the Schwebel family on the area’s history” whilst presenting a “political snapshot” of ALP history in the area. The Australian Ugliness, in contrast, was a walking tour organised by Thomas Lee in 2016 that offered an insight into the relationships between the visual amenity of the streetscape, aesthetic judgments of an ambiguous nature, and the discursive and archival potentialities afforded by camera-equipped smartphones and photo-sharing services like Instagram. Figure 1: Thomas Lee points out canals under the street of Marrickville during The Australian Ugliness, 2016.Sydney is a city adept at erasing its past through poorly designed mega-projects like freeways and office towers, and memorialisation of lost landscapes has tended towards the literary (Berry; Mudie). Resistance to redevelopment, however, has often taken the form of spectacular public intervention, in which public knowledge sharing was a key goal. The Green Bans of the 1970s were partially spurred by redevelopment plans for places like the Rocks and Woolloomooloo (Cook; Iveson), while the remaking of Sydney around the 2000 Olympics led to anti-gentrification actions such as SquatSpace and the Tour of Beauty, an “aesthetic activist” tour of sites in the suburbs of Redfern and Waterloo threatened with “revitalisation.” Figure 2: "Tour of Beauty", Redfern-Waterloo 2016. What marks the Tour of Beauty as significant in this context is the participatory nature of knowledge production: participants in the tours were addressed by representatives of the local community – the Aboriginal Housing Company, the local Indigenous Women’s Centre, REDWatch activist group, architects, designers and more. Each speaker presented their perspective on the rapidly gentrifying suburb, demonstrating how urban space is made an remade through processes of contestation. This differentiation is particularly relevant when considering the basis for Sydney-centric walking tours. Mirvac’s self-guided tour focuses on the easy-to-see historical “high culture” of Marrickville, and encourages participants to “chat to locals” at the pub. It is a highly filtered approach that does not consider broader relations of class, race and gender that constitute Marrickville. A more intense exploration of the social fabric of the city – providing a glimpse of the hidden or unknown spaces – uncovers the layers of social, cultural, and economic history that produce urban space, and fosters a deeper engagement with questions of urban socio-spatial justice.Solnit argues that walking can allow us to encounter “new thoughts and possibilities.” To walk, she writes, is to take a “subversive detour… the scenic route through a half-abandoned landscape of ideas and experiences” (13). In this way, tactical activist walking tours aim to make visible what cannot be seen, in a way that considers the polysemic nature of place, and in doing so, they make visible the hidden relations of power that produce the contemporary city. In contrast, developer-led walking tours are singularly focussed, seeking to attract inflows of capital to neighbourhoods undergoing “renewal.” These tours encourage participants to adopt the position of urban voyeur, whilst activist-led walking tours encourage collaboration and participation in urban struggles to protect and preserve the contested spaces of the city. It is in this context that we sought to devise our own walking tour – Field Trip – to encourage active participation in issues of urban renewal.In organising this walking tour, however, we acknowledge our own entanglements within processes of gentrification. As designers, musicians, writers, academics, researchers, venue managers, artists, and activists, in organising Field Trip, we could easily be identified as “creatives”, implicated in Marrickville’s ongoing transformation. All of us have ongoing and deep-rooted connections to various Sydney subcultures – the same subcultures so routinely splashed across developer advertising material. This project was borne out of Frontyard – a community not-just-art space, and has been supported by the local Inner West Council. As such, Field Trip cannot be divorced from the highly contentious processes of redevelopment and gentrification that are always simmering in the background of discussions about Marrickville. We hope, however, that in this project we have started to highlight alternative voices in those redevelopment processes – and that this may contribute towards a “method of equality” for an ongoing democratisation of those processes (Davidson and Iveson).Field Trip: Urban Geographical Enquiry as Activism Given this context, Field Trip was designed as a public knowledge project that would connect local residents, workers, researchers, and decision-makers to share their experiences living and working in various parts of Sydney that are undergoing rapid change. The site of our project – Carrington Road, Marrickville in Sydney’s inner-west – has been earmarked for major redevelopment in coming years and is quickly becoming a flashpoint for the debates that permeate throughout the whole of Sydney: housing affordability, employment accessibility, gentrification and displacement. To date, public engagement and consultation regarding proposed development at Carrington Road has been limited. A major landholder in the area has engaged a consultancy firm to establish a community reference group (CRG) the help guide the project. The CRG arose after public outcry at an original $1.3 billion proposal to build 2,616 units in twenty towers of up to 105m in height (up to thirty-five storeys) in a predominantly low-rise residential suburb. Save Marrickville, a community group created in response to the proposal, has representatives on this reference group, and has endeavoured to make this process public. Ruming (181) has described these forms of consultation as “post-political,” stating thatin a universe of consensual decision-making among diverse interests, spaces for democratic contest and antagonistic politics are downplayed and technocratic policy development is deployed to support market and development outcomes.Given the notable deficit of spaces for democratic contest, Field Trip was devised as a way to reframe the debate outside of State- and developer-led consultation regimes that guide participants towards accepting the supposed inevitability of redevelopment. We invited a number of people affected by the proposed plans to speak during the walking tour at a location of their choosing, to discuss the work they do, the effect that redevelopment would have on their work, and their hopes and plans for the future. The walking tour was advertised publicly and the talks were recorded, edited and released as freely available podcasts. The proposed redevelopment of Carrington Road provided us with a unique opportunity to develop and operate our own walking tour. The linear street created an obvious “circuit” to the tour – up one side of the road, and down the other. We selected speakers based on pre-existing relationships, some formed during prior rounds of research (Gibson et al.). Speakers included a local Aboriginal elder, a representative from the Marrickville Historical Society, two workers (who also gave tours of their workplaces), the Lead Heritage Adviser at Sydney Water, who gave us a tour of the Carrington Road pumping station, and a representative from the Save Marrickville residents’ group. Whilst this provided a number of perspectives on the day, regrettably some groups were unrepresented, most notably the perspective of migrant groups who have a long-standing association with industrial precincts in Marrickville. It is hoped that further community input and collaboration in future iterations of Field Trip will address these issues of representation in community-led walking tours.A number of new understandings became apparent during the walking tour. For instance, the heritage-listed Carrington Road sewage pumping station, which is of “historic and aesthetic significance”, is unable to cope with the proposed level of residential development. According to Philip Bennett, Lead Heritage Adviser at Sydney Water, the best way to maintain this piece of heritage infrastructure is to keep it running. While this issue had been discussed in private meetings between Sydney Water and the developer, there is no formal mechanism to make this expert knowledge public or accessible. Similarly, through the Acknowledgement of Country for Field Trip, undertaken by Donna Ingram, Cultural Representative and a member of the Metropolitan Local Aboriginal Land Council, it became clear that the local Indigenous community had not been consulted in the development proposals for Carrington Road. This information, while not necessary secret, had also not been made public. Finally, the inclusion of knowledgeable local workers whose businesses are located on Carrington Road provided an insight into the “everyday.” They talked of community and collaboration, of site-specificity, the importance of clustering within their niche industries, and their fears for of displacement should redevelopment proceed.Via a community-led, participatory walking tour like Field Trip, threads of knowledge and new information are uncovered. These help create new spatial stories and readings of the landscape, broadening the scope of possibility for democratic participation in cities. Figure 3: Donna Ingram at Field Trip 2018.Tactical Walking, Tactical Media Stories connected to walking provide an opportunity for people to read the landscape differently (Mitchell). One of the goals of Field Trip was to begin a public knowledge exchange about Carrington Road so that spatial stories could be shared, and new readings of urban development could spread beyond the confines of the self-contained tour. Once shared, this knowledge becomes a story, and once remixed into existing stories and integrated into the way we understand the neighbourhood, a collective spatial practice is generated. “Every story is a travel story – a spatial practice”, says de Certeau in “Spatial Stories”. “In reality, they organise walks” (72). As well as taking a tactical approach to walking, we took a tactical approach to the mediation of the knowledge, by recording and broadcasting the voices on the walk and feeding information to a publicly accessible wiki. The term “tactical media” is an extension of de Certeau’s concept of tactics. David Garcia and Geert Lovink applied de Certeau’s concept of tactics to the field of media activism in their manifesto of tactical media, identifying a class of producers who amplify temporary reversals in the flow of power by exploiting the spaces, channels and platforms necessary for their practices. Tactical media has been used since the late nineties to help explain a range of open-source practices that appropriate technological tools for political purposes. While pointing out the many material distinctions between different types of tactical media projects within the arts, Rita Raley describes them as “forms of critical intervention, dissent and resistance” (6). The term has also been adopted by media activists engaged in a range of practices all over the world, including the Tactical Technology Collective. For Field Trip, tactical media is a way of creating representations that help navigate neighbourhoods as well as alternative political processes that shape them. In this sense, tactical representations do not “offer the omniscient point of view we associate with Cartesian cartographic practice” (Raley 2). Rather these representations are politically subjective systems of navigation that make visible hidden information and connect people to the decisions affecting their lives. Conclusion We have shown that the walking tour can be a tourist attraction, a catalyst to the transformation of urban space through gentrification, and an activist intervention into processes of urban renewal that exclude people and alternative ways of being in the city. This article presents practice-led research through the design of Field Trip. By walking collectively, we have focused on tactical ways of opening up participation in the future of neighbourhoods, and more broadly in designing the city. 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IntroductionSydney’s Garden Palace was a magnificent building with a grandeur that dominated the skyline, stretching from the site of the current State Library of New South Wales to the building that now houses the Sydney Conservatorium of Music. The Palace captivated society from its opening in 1879. This article outlines the building of one of Sydney’s early structural icons and how, despite being destroyed by fire after three short years in 1882, it had an enormous impact on the burgeoning colonial community of New South Wales, thus building a physical structure, pride and a suite of memories.Design and ConstructionIn February 1878, the Colonial Secretary’s Office announced that “it is intended to hold under the supervision of the Agricultural Society of New South Wales an international Exhibition in Sydney in August 1879” (Official Record ix). By December the same year it had become clear that the Agricultural Society lacked the resources to complete the project and control passed to the state government. Colonial Architect James Barnet was directed to prepare “plans for a building suitable for an international exhibition, proposed to be built in the Inner Domain” (Official Record xx). Within three days he had submitted a set of drawings for approval. From this point on there was a great sense of urgency to complete the building in less than 10 months for the exhibition opening the following September.The successful contractor was John Young, a highly experienced building contractor who had worked on the Crystal Palace for the 1851 London International Exhibition and locally on the General Post Office and Exhibition Building at Prince Alfred Park (Kent 6). Young was confident, procuring electric lights from London so that work could be carried out 24 hours a day, to ensure that the building was delivered on time. The structure was built, as detailed in the Colonial Record (1881), using over 1 million metres of timber, 2.5 million bricks and 220 tonnes of galvanised corrugated iron. Remarkably the building was designed as a temporary structure to house the Exhibition. At the end of the Exhibition the building was not dismantled as originally planned and was instead repurposed for government office space and served to house, among other things, records and objects of historical significance. Ultimately the provisional building materials used for the Garden Palace were more suited to a temporary structure, in contrast with those used for the more permanent structures built at the same time which are still standing today.The building was an architectural and engineering wonder set in a cathedral-like cruciform design, showcasing a stained-glass skylight in the largest dome in the southern hemisphere (64 metres high and 30 metres in diameter). The total floor space of the exhibition building was three and half hectares, and the area occupied by the Garden Palace and related buildings—including the Fine Arts Gallery, Agricultural Hall, Machinery Hall and 10 restaurants and places of refreshment—was an astounding 14 hectares (Official Record xxxvi). To put the scale of the Garden Palace into contemporary perspective it was approximately twice the size of the Queen Victoria Building that stands on Sydney’s George Street today.Several innovative features set the building apart from other Sydney structures of the day. The rainwater downpipes were enclosed in hollow columns of pine along the aisles, ventilation was provided through the floors and louvered windows (Official Record xxi) while a Whittier’s Steam Elevator enabled visitors to ascend the north tower and take in the harbour views (“Among the Machinery” 70-71). The building dominated the Sydney skyline, serving as a visual anchor point that welcomed visitors arriving in the city by boat:one of the first objects that met our view as, after 12 o’clock, we proceeded up Port Jackson, was the shell of the Exhibition Building which is so rapidly rising on the Domain, and which next September, is to dazzle the eyes of the world with its splendours. (“A ‘Bohemian’s’ Holiday Notes” 2)The DomeThe dome of the Garden Palace was directly above the intersection of the nave and transept and rested on a drum, approximately 30 metres in diameter. The drum featured 36 oval windows which flooded the space below with light. The dome was made of wood covered with corrugated galvanised iron featuring 12 large lattice ribs and 24 smaller ribs bound together with purlins of wood strengthened with iron. At the top of the dome was a lantern and stained glass skylight designed by Messrs. Lyon and Cottier. It was light blue, powdered with golden stars with wooden ribs in red, buff and gold (Notes 6). The painting and decorating of the dome commenced just one month before the exhibition was due to open. The dome was the sixth largest dome in the world at the time. During construction, contractor Mr Young allowed visitors be lifted in a cage to view the building’s progress.During the construction of the Lantern which surmounts the Dome of the Exhibition, visitors have been permitted, through the courtesy of Mr. Young, to ascend in the cage conveying materials for work. This cage is lifted by a single cable, which was constructed specially of picked Manilla hemp, for hoisting into position the heavy timbers used in the construction. The sensation whilst ascending is a most novel one, and must resemble that experienced in ballooning. To see the building sinking slowly beneath you as you successively reach the levels of the galleries, and the roofs of the transept and aisles is an experience never to be forgotten, and it seems a pity that no provision can be made for visitors, on paying a small fee, going up to the dome. (“View from the Lantern of the Dome Exhibition” 8)The ExhibitionInternational Exhibitions presented the opportunity for countries to express their national identities and demonstrate their economic and technological achievements. They allowed countries to showcase the very best examples of contemporary art, handicrafts and the latest technologies particularly in manufacturing (Pont and Proudfoot 231).The Sydney International Exhibition was the ninth International Exhibition and the colony’s first, and was responsible for bringing the world to Sydney at a time when the colony was prosperous and full of potential. The Exhibition—opening on 17 September 1879 and closing on 20 April 1880—had an enormous impact on the community, it boosted the economy and was the catalyst for improving the city’s infrastructure. It was a great source of civic pride.Image 1: The International Exhibition Sydney, 1879-1880, supplement to the Illustrated Sydney News Jan. 1880. Image credit: Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (call no.: DL X8/3)This bird’s eye view of the Garden Palace shows how impressive the main structure was and how much of the Gardens and Domain were occupied by ancillary buildings for the Exhibition. Based on an original drawing by John Thomas Richardson, chief engraver at the Illustrated Sydney News, this lithograph features a key identifying buildings including the Art Gallery, Machinery Hall, and Agricultural Hall. Pens and sheds for livestock can also be seen. The parade ground was used throughout the Exhibition for displays of animals. The first notable display was the International Show of Sheep featuring Australian, French and English sheep; not surprisingly the shearing demonstrations proved to be particularly popular with the community.Approximately 34 countries and their colonies participated in the Exhibition, displaying the very best examples of technology, industry and art laid out in densely packed courts (Barnet n.p.). There were approximately 14,000 exhibits (Official Record c) which included displays of Bohemian glass, tapestries, fine porcelain, fabrics, pyramids of gold, metals, minerals, wood carvings, watches, ethnographic specimens, and heavy machinery. Image 2: “Meet Me under the Dome.” Illustrated Sydney News 1 Nov. 1879: 4. Official records cite that between 19,853 and 24,000 visitors attended the Exhibition on the opening day of 17 September 1879, and over 1.1 million people visited during its seven months of operation. Sizeable numbers considering the population of the colony, at the time, was just over 700,000 (New South Wales Census).The Exhibition helped to create a sense of place and community and was a popular destination for visitors. On crowded days the base of the dome became a favourite meeting place for visitors, so much so that “meet me under the dome” became a common expression in Sydney during the Exhibition (Official Record lxxxiii).Attendance was steady and continuous throughout the course of the Exhibition and, despite exceeding the predicted cost by almost four times, the Exhibition was deemed a resounding success. The Executive Commissioner Mr P.A. Jennings remarked at the closing ceremony:this great undertaking […] marks perhaps the most important epoch that has occurred in our history. In holding this exhibition we have entered into a new arena and a race of progress among the nations of the earth, and have placed ourselves in kindly competition with the most ancient States of the old and new world. (Official Record ciii)Initially the cost of admission was set at 5 shillings and later dropped to 1 shilling. Season tickets for the Exhibition were also available for £3 3s which entitled the holder to unlimited entry during all hours of general admission. Throughout the Exhibition, season ticket holders accounted for 76,278 admissions. The Exhibition boosted the economy and encouraged authorities to improve the city’s services and facilities which helped to build a sense of community as well as pride in the achievement of such a fantastic structure. A steam-powered tramway was installed to transport exhibition-goers around the city, after the Exhibition, the tramway network was expanded and by 1905–1906 the trams were converted to electric traction (Freestone 32).After the exhibition closed, the imposing Garden Palace building was used as office space and storage for various government departments.An Icon DestroyedIn the early hours of 22 September 1882 tragedy struck when the Palace was engulfed by fire (“Destruction of the Garden Palace” 7). The building – and all its contents – destroyed.Image 3: Burning of the Garden Palace from Eaglesfield, Darlinghurst, sketched at 5.55am, Sep 22/82. Image credit: Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW (call no.: SSV/137) Many accounts and illustrations of the Garden Palace fire can be found in contemporary newspapers and artworks. A rudimentary drawing by an unknown artist held by the State Library of New South Wales appears to have been created as the Palace was burning. The precise time and location is recorded on the painting, suggesting it was painted from Eaglesfield, a school on Darlinghurst Road. It purveys a sense of immediacy giving some insight into the chaos and heat of the tragedy. A French artist living in Sydney, Lucien Henry, was among those who attempted to capture the fire. His assistant, G.H. Aurousseau, described the event in the Technical Gazette in 1912:Mister Henry went out onto the balcony and watched until the Great Dome toppled in; it was then early morning; he went back to his studio procured a canvas, sat down and painted the whole scene in a most realistic manner, showing the fig trees in the Domain, the flames rising through the towers, the dome falling in and the reflected light of the flames all around. (Technical Gazette 33-35)The painting Henry produced is not the watercolour held by the State Library of New South Wales, however it is interesting to see how people were moved to document the destruction of such an iconic building in the city’s history.What Was Destroyed?The NSW Legislative Assembly debate of 26 September 1882, together with newspapers of the day, documented what was lost in the fire. The Garden Palace housed the foundation collection of the Technological and Sanitary Museum (the precursor to the Powerhouse Museum, now the Museum of Applied Arts and Sciences), due to open on 1 December 1882. This collection included significant ethnological specimens such as Australian Indigenous artefacts, many of which were acquired from the Sydney International Exhibition. The Art Society of New South Wales had hung 300 paintings in preparation for their annual art exhibition due to open on 2 October of that year, all of these paintings consumed by fire.The Records of the Crown Lands Occupation Office were lost along with the 1881 Census (though the summary survived). Numerous railway surveys were lost, as were: £7,000 worth of statues, between 20,000 and 30,000 plants and the holdings of the Linnean Society offices and museum housed on the ground floor. The Eastern Suburbs Brass Band performed the day before at the opening of the Eastern Suburbs Horticultural Society Flower show; all the instruments were stored in the Garden Palace and were destroyed. Several Government Departments also lost significant records, including the: Fisheries Office; Mining Department; Harbour and Rivers Department; and, as mentioned, the Census Department.The fire was so ferocious that the windows in the terraces along Macquarie Street cracked with the heat and sheets of corrugated iron were blown as far away as Elizabeth Bay. How Did The Fire Start?No one knows how the fire started on that fateful September morning, and despite an official enquiry no explanation was ever delivered. One theory blamed the wealthy residents of Macquarie Street, disgruntled at losing their harbour views. Another was that it was burnt to destroy records stored in the basement of the building that contained embarrassing details about the convict heritage of many distinguished families. Margaret Lyon, daughter of the Garden Palace decorator John Lyon, wrote in her diary:a gentleman who says a boy told him when he was putting out the domain lights, that he saw a man jump out of the window and immediately after observed smoke, they are advertising for the boy […]. Everyone seems to agree on his point that it has been done on purpose – Today a safe has been found with diamonds, sapphires and emeralds, there were also some papers in it but they were considerably charred. The statue of her majesty or at least what remains of it, for it is completely ruined – the census papers were also ruined, they were ready almost to be sent to the printers, the work of 30 men for 14 months. Valuable government documents, railway and other plans all gone. (MLMSS 1381/Box 1/Item 2) There are many eyewitness accounts of the fire that day. From nightwatchman Mr Frederick Kirchen and his replacement Mr John McKnight, to an emotional description by 14-year-old student Ethel Pockley. Although there were conflicting accounts as to where the fire may have started, it seems likely that the fire started in the basement with flames rising around the statue of Queen Victoria, situated directly under the dome. The coroner did not make a conclusive finding on the cause of the fire but was scathing of the lack of diligence by the authorities in housing such important items in a building that was not well-secured a was a potential fire hazard.Building a ReputationA number of safes were known to have been in the building storing valuables and records. One such safe, a fireproof safe manufactured by Milner and Son of Liverpool, was in the southern corner of the building near the southern tower. The contents of this safe were unscathed in contrast with the contents of other safes, the contents of which were destroyed. The Milner safe was a little discoloured and blistered on the outside but otherwise intact. “The contents included three ledgers, or journals, a few memoranda and a plan of the exhibition”—the glue was slightly melted—the plan was a little discoloured and a few loose papers were a little charred but overall the contents were “sound and unhurt”—what better advertising could one ask for! (“The Garden Palace Fire” 5).barrangal dyara (skin and bones): Rebuilding CommunityThe positive developments for Sydney and the colony that stemmed from the building and its exhibition, such as public transport and community spirit, grew and took new forms. Yet, in the years since 1882 the memory of the Garden Palace and its disaster faded from the consciousness of the Sydney community. The great loss felt by Indigenous communities went unresolved.Image 4: barrangal dyara (skin and bones). Image credit: Sarah Morley.In September 2016 artist Jonathan Jones presented barrangal dyara (skin and bones), a large scale sculptural installation on the site of the Garden Palace Building in Sydney’s Royal Botanic Garden. The installation was Jones’s response to the immense loss felt throughout Australia with the destruction of countless Aboriginal objects in the fire. The installation featured thousands of bleached white shields made of gypsum that were laid out to show the footprint of the Garden Palace and represent the rubble left after the fire.Based on four typical designs from Aboriginal nations of the south-east, these shields not only raise the chalky bones of the building, but speak to the thousands of shields that would have had cultural presence in this landscape over generations. (Pike 33)ConclusionSydney’s Garden Palace was a stunning addition to the skyline of colonial Sydney. A massive undertaking, the Palace opened, to great acclaim, in 1879 and its effect on the community of Sydney and indeed the colony of New South Wales was sizeable. There were brief discussions, just after the fire, about rebuilding this great structure in a more permanent fashion for the centenary Exhibition in 1888 (“[From Our Own Correspondents] New South Wales” 5). Ultimately, it was decided that this achievement of the colony of New South Wales would be recorded in history, gifting a legacy of national pride and positivity on the one hand, but on the other an example of the destructive colonial impact on Indigenous communities. For many Sydney-siders today this history is as obscured as the original foundations of the physical building. What we build—iconic structures, civic pride, a sense of community—require maintenance and remembering. References“Among the Machinery.” The Sydney Mail and New South Wales Advertiser 10 Jan. 1880: 70-71.Aurousseau, G.H. “Lucien Henry: First Lecturer in Art at the Sydney Technical College.” Technical Gazette 2.III (1912): 33-35.Barnet, James. International Exhibition, Sydney, 1880: References to the Plans Showing the Space and Position Occupied by the Various Exhibits in the Garden Palace. Sydney: Colonial Architect’s Office, 1880.“A ‘Bohemian’s’ Holiday Notes.” The Singleton Argus and Upper Hunter General Advocate 23 Apr. 1879: 2.Census Department. New South Wales Census. 1881. 3 Mar. 2017 <http://hccda.ada.edu.au/pages/NSW-1881-census-02_vi>. “Destruction of the Garden Palace.” Sydney Morning Herald 23 Sep. 1882: 7.Freestone, Robert. “Space Society and Urban Reform.” Colonial City, Global City, Sydney’s International Exhibition 1879. Eds. Peter Proudfoot, Roslyn Maguire, and Robert Freestone. Darlinghurst, NSW: Crossing P, 2000. 15-33.“[From Our Own Correspondents] New South Wales.” The Age (Melbourne, Vic.) 30 Sep. 1882: 5.“The Garden Palace Fire.” Sydney Morning Herald 25 Sep. 1882: 5.Illustrated Sydney News and New South Wales Agriculturalist and Grazier 1 Nov. 1879: 4.“International Exhibition.” Australian Town and Country Journal 15 Feb. 1879: 11.Kent, H.C. “Reminiscences of Building Methods in the Seventies under John Young. Lecture.” Architecture: An Australian Magazine of Architecture and the Arts Nov. (1924): 5-13.Lyon, Margaret. Unpublished Manuscript Diary. MLMSS 1381/Box 1/Item 2.New South Wales, Legislative Assembly. Debates 22 Sep. 1882: 542-56.Notes on the Sydney International Exhibition of 1879. Melbourne: Government Printer, 1881.Official Record of the Sydney International Exhibition 1879. Sydney: Government Printer, 1881.Pike, Emma. “barrangal dyara (skin and bones).” Jonathan Jones: barrangal dyara (skin and bones). Eds. Ross Gibson, Jonathan Jones, and Genevieve O’Callaghan. Balmain: Kaldor Public Arts Project, 2016.Pont, Graham, and Peter Proudfoot. “The Technological Movement and the Garden Palace.” Colonial City, Global City, Sydney’s International Exhibition 1879. Eds. Peter Proudfoot, Roslyn Maguire, and Robert Freestone. Darlinghurst, NSW: Crossing Press, 2000. 239-249.“View from the Lantern of the Dome of the Exhibition.” Illustrated Sydney News and New South Wales Agriculturalist and Grazier 9 Aug. 1879: 8.

Objective: To contribute staff perspectives on the design of palliative care facilities to better align with the philosophy of palliative care, in support of patient, family, and staff well-being. Background: The receipt of palliative care differs from other inpatient experiences owing to its distinct philosophy of care, longer lengths of stay, a greater presence of family members, and more frequent end-of-life events. While research regarding the optimal design of palliative care environments recognizes these differences, this knowledge has been slow to exert change on the guidelines and procurement processes that determine the design solutions possible within these settings. Sustained research attention is required. Methods: An online survey, comprising a series of open-ended questions, elicited the perceptions of palliative care staff regarding the relationship between the physical environment and the distinct philosophy of palliative care. Results: Responses from 89 Australian-based palliative care professionals confirmed the high value that staff place on environments that offer privacy, homeliness, safety, and access to gardens to assist the delivery of optimum care. Conclusions: Our findings illustrate that the implications of privacy and homeliness extend far beyond the patient room and that homeliness is about more than an aesthetic of comfort. This highlights a broader capacity for design to better support the philosophy of palliative care. Importantly, the data reveal a key relationship between staff well-being and the environments in which they work; environments that are unable to match the quality of care that staff aspire to deliver can engender frustration and distress.

Don't be afraid - it's only a flesh wound. The organs are intact although there is a threat of amputation, which we all know can easily be tolerated if the remaining bones are plentiful and sound and they are held in place by a tough skin. Where there's a will there's a will not and the National Museum of Australia (NMA) will not lie down in the face of Australian Government attempts to cut off its funding blood and give its guts a good going over. Not yet. Not for eternity. The NMA opened in March 2001 in Canberra, Australia's national capital. The buildings were designed by ARM (Ashton Raggatt McDougall), an architectural firm based in Melbourne, with landscape design by Room 4.1.3. Like other galleries and museums constructed in the last 20 years such as the Gugenheim in Bilbao and Libeskind's Jewish Museum, the NMA buildings and landscape are as much an exhibit as that which they contain. In fact the Jewish Museum first opened without containing anything other than space; the proper concern of architecture, some say. The strong colours and shapes of the NMA stand out in the grey, Modernist-inspired, concrete environment that is Canberra - some say this place is a perversion of Walter and Marion Burley Griffin's original plans for a garden wonderland; others marvel that the spirit of the original plan has even partially survived. I say, good bones and plenty of them. Bernard Tschumi says that society expects architecture to reflect its ideals and domesticate its deeper fears(72). This is certainly the brand of architecture that the Australian government thought it was ordering when it allocated funds for the building of a national museum. Not that Aussies have fears which need domesticating. No fear. A few secrets, some dirty laundry, a scar or two. But it can be argued that ARM have excoriated fear; they have tattooed it across the national forehead and said “read me if you can and if you dare”. ARM have provided a building which appears to be mostly skin. Hide the national scars under a national symbol that is all surface. A skin, but one which encases an undifferentiated body; of work, of nationhood, of stuff. The skin of the NMA is a site for writing; giant Braille dots the surface of the building, a confusion between writing and reading. For most, the dots are impossible to read – too large and too high to touch with human fingers and indecipherable by most who visit even if the scale and location would allow them to be touched. How did they have the nerve ending to write a writing that only hands can read; only hands so big that they have lost the delicate sense of touch, thereby rendering the Braille unreadable. Make a ceiling so high that it takes twenty million to change a light-bulb. Make a statement so clever that no-one gets it. Along with the Braille, the word eternity winds under and over, across and through the guts of the NMA. Howard Raggatt of ARM writes that having designed the shapes of the building forms, they “laid them out like dressmaking patterns, to press upon them this single stencilled script” – using software they superimposed the forms over a graphic of Arthur Stace’s Eternity and wrapped the Museum in it (45). Arthur Stace claimed that he was divinely inspired to write the word in ephemeral chalk an estimated 500,000 times on the footpaths of Sydney over a thirty-year period. He summoned the citizens to acknowledge the power of God. Raggatt says that its use on the outside of the NMA “encourages our hope to read this land”. And the text thickens. Is the writing of eternity on the national skin of the NMA a tattoo or stigmata? Derrida talks of these – tattoo and stigmata - in Writing and Difference in discussing the relationship between critical discourse and clinical discourse and focuses on Antonin Artuad’s “theatre of cruelty” (Artaud also inspired Deleuze and Guattari’s metaphor of the body without organs). Derrida begins with an exploration of the tendency to associate the work of art with the mental state of the artist. However from his specific critique of structuralism, he moves into much broader territory. Artuad’s attempts to make a verbal, not a grammatical theatre, “a graphism which …[is] an incarnation of the letter and a bloody tattoo” are judged by Derrida (and Artaud himself) to have been wanting precisely because such a tattoo “paralyzes gesture and silences the voice … represses the shout and the chance for a still unorganised voice” (235). Where the text (or in Artaud’s terms, breath) is “spirited/stolen…in order to place it in an order” the text is tattoo and it cannot hope to overturn the effects of power because it is on the surface rather than in opposition to it. By contrast, stigmata is a wound that cuts beneath the surface, “substituted for the text” that “undertakes neither a renewal, nor a critique” but “intends the effective, active, and non-theoretical destruction of Western civilization and its religions” (227). Text as stigmata is spirited/inspired rather than spirited/stolen. Granted, this section of Writing and Difference speaks of Artaud’s work in the context of theatre, however the theatrical metaphor is appropriate for the NMA – stand in the middle of the Garden of Australian Dreams surrounded by viewing platforms, and you understand that you are in the middle of a performance. But what does eternity do in this arena, on and under this skin? I have already described the writing of eternity around the NMA’s structure. Within the museum (in its stomach, it seems, when one seeks it out) is the small exhibition space built around the theme of eternity. Of course, it is a permanent exhibition – how could it be anything else. This space speaks to the people aspect of the NMA’s land, nation, people themes through “emotions” of separation, mystery, hope, joy, loneliness, thrill, devotion, fear, chance, and passion. The exhibits here are the stories of individuals. The black dress of Baby Azaria Chamberlain (who is alleged to have been killed by a dingo, a wild Australian native dog) (mystery) and an elaborate costume from the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras (thrill) are examples of the representations of Australian individuals. The eternity theme was chosen after the individual stories were selected and the curator realized that the NMA collection included one of the few remaining examples of Stace’s handiwork – one preserved on the back of the door of an outdoor toilet (if only there were space in this article to explore the significance of this in terms of Derrida’s linking of God and shit!). Marion Stell, the exhibition curator, writes that she believed this provided a link between the emotions as well as representing a fascinating individual story in its own right. Interestingly, the recentre view of the NMA that recommends the de/recon-struction of the Garden ofAustralian Dreams , a teleological recasting of the Circa multimedia theatre(criticized for presenting too episodic a view of Australian history) and the Horizons gallery (allegedly too limited in its presentation of the stories of migrants), commends the Eternity gallery, despite its depictions of gays and lesbians, those who have taken on the courts and won and other transgressors. The private sphere of individual lives seems too unimportant to take on? And if so, is this a strength of eternity at NMA or a weakness? Eternity slips under the radar as only such a slippery word can. And the review makes no mention of the writing on the outside of the building. How could you miss a word so big, so utterly big? Did the review panel confuse BIG with BenIGn? This word eternity, this script eternity. Inside the museum in the eternity gallery it is the street tattoo, the written surface of the traditional museum which reflects, mirror-like, what the visitor wishes to feel. There, it is Aussie icon-become-cliché. Attached firmly to the maker of the original marks, Arthur Stace, footpath font designer and illiterate messenger of God, it carries the trace of the God on whose behalf he wrote. And who in the current world political climate would dare to take on God’s messenger, no matter whose God. In that gallery it is spirited/stolen and, tattoo-like, it represses the uninhibited shout of difference through imposition of an order; the somewhat transgressive stories of individuals such as Lindy Chamberlain (Azaria’s mother, who was first convicted of her murder and then pardoned) and indeed, Arthur Stace, are rendered “safer” by the direct reproduction of Stace’s script. Originally, in Walter Benjamin’s terms, Stace’s eternity assumed auratic qualities that ironically it acquired, rather than lost, through repetition and reproduction on Sydney’s footpaths. However it’s use more recently– remember it was emblazoned on both the Sydney Harbour Bridge for the Millenium celebrations and in the2000 Sydney Olympic opening ceremony for its ability to call up a trace of the sublime – have turned it into an Australian brand name, designed to re/produce thoughts of a grand and glorious Australia, an Australia which neither Lindy Chamberlain nor Arthur Stace might have experienced. (The City of Sydney has gone so far as to copyright the Stace eternity script). But outside, scarred into the skin, too big to read, too black to ignore, eternity operates paradoxically at a more subtle level. Appearing as if pure ornament, black squiggles on a blatantly referential structure, with this use of Stace’s eternity ARM have tackled the issue of timelessness and architecture through invoking time in its entirety. They have invoked the quasi-religious contemplative response that the Stace rendering of the word engenders when it takes us by surprise. Eternity written on the surface of the NMA is stigmata, Stace’s eternity spirited/inspired rather than spirited/stolen. It is a flow of meaning that invokes the evangelistic incantations of Stace at a size which multiplies the possible meanings through its appeal to illiteracy and illegibility, and with a resilience which refuses to be washed away by reviews and revisions of the Museum. Derrida says that “to overthrow the power of the literal work is not to erase the letter, but only to subordinate it to the incidence of illegibility or at least of illiteracy” (225). Eternity. Legend has it that for a while some larrikin followed in Stace's footsteps changing eternity to maternity. Perhaps in the fullness of eternity a Government-appointed review panel can retrospectively declare the stigmata a harmless word better suited to a bland Australia. Like tomato or cricket or captain cook. For the foreseeable past and future, it remains eternity. Works Cited Benjamin, Walter. The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1993.Deleuze, Gilles and Guattari, Felix. Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. New York: Viking, 1972Derrida, Jacques. Writing and Difference. Trans. Alan Bass. London:Routledge, 2001. Raggatt, Howard. "Rabbits, Dogs and Butterflies." National Museum of Australia: Tangled Destinies. Melbourne: Images, 2002. 44-47. Stell, Marion, ed. Eternity: Stories from the Emotional Heart of Australia. Canberra: National Museum of Australia,2001.Tschumi, Bernard. Architecture and Disjunction. Cambridge: MIT P,1994. Links http://www.a-r-m.com.au/ http://www.daniel-libeskind.com/projects/pro.html?ID=2 http://www.nma.gov.au/ http://www.nma.gov.au/aboutus/council_and_committees/review http://www.room413.com.au/Museum/Museum.html http://www.skewarch.com/architects/gerhy/gerhy-gug.htm Citation reference for this article MLA Style Williams, Jordan. "The Stigmata or the Tattoo" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0401/06-williams.php>. APA Style Williams, J. (2004, Jan 12). The Stigmata or the Tattoo. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 7, <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0401/06-williams.php>

Previously limited and somewhat neglected as a focus of academic scrutiny, interest in home and domesticity is now growing apace across the humanities and social sciences (Mallett; Blunt, “Cultural Geographies of Home”; Blunt and Dowling). This is evidenced in the recent publication of a range of books on home from various disciplines (Chapman and Hockey; Cieraad; Miller; Chapman; Pink; Blunt and Dowling), the advent in 2004 of a new journal, Home Cultures, focused specifically on the subject of home and domesticity, as well as similar recent special issues in several other journals, including Antipode, Cultural Geographies, Signs and Housing, Theory and Society. This increased interest in the home as a site of social and cultural inquiry reflects a renewed fascination with home and domesticity in the media, popular culture and everyday life. Domestic life is explicitly central to the plot and setting of many popular and/or critically-acclaimed television programs, especially suburban dramas like Neighbours [Australia], Coronation Street [UK], Desperate Housewives [US] and The Secret Life of Us [Australia]. The deeply-held value of home – as a place that must be saved or found – is also keenly represented in films such as The Castle [Australia], Floating Life [Australia], Rabbit-Proof Fence [Australia], House of Sand and Fog [US], My Life as a House [US] and Under the Tuscan Sun [US]. But the prominence of home in popular media imaginaries of Australia and other Western societies runs deeper than as a mere backdrop for entertainment. Perhaps most telling of all is the rise and ratings success of a range of reality and/or lifestyle television programs which provide their audiences with key information on buying, building, renovating, designing and decorating home. In Australia, these include Backyard Blitz , Renovation Rescue, The Block, Changing Rooms, DIY Rescue, Location, Location and Our House. Likewise, popular magazines like Better Homes and Gardens and Australian Vogue Living tell us how to make our homes more beautiful and functional. Other reality programs, meanwhile, focus on how we might secure the borders of our suburban homes (Crimewatch [UK]) and our homeland (Border Security [Australia]). Home is also a strong theme in other media forms and debates, including life writing, novels, art and public dialogue about immigration and national values (see Blunt and Dowling). Indeed, notions of home increasingly frame ‘real world’ experiences, “especially for the historically unprecedented number of people migrating across countries”, where movement and resettlement are often configured through processes of leaving and establishing home (Blunt and Dowling 2). In this issue of M/C Journal we contribute to these critical voices and popular debates, seeking to further untangle the intricate and multi-layered connections between home and everyday life in the contemporary world. Before introducing the articles comprising this issue, we want to extend some of the key themes that weave through academic and popular discussions of home and domesticity, and which are taken up and extended here by the subsequent articles. Home is powerful, emotive and multi-faceted. As a basic desire for many, home is saturated with the meanings, memories, emotions, experiences and relationships of everyday life. The idea and place of home is perhaps typically configured through a positive sense of attachment, as a place of belonging, intimacy, security, relationship and selfhood. Indeed, many reinforce their sense of self, their identity, through an investment in their home, whether as house, hometown or homeland. But at the same time, home is not always a well-spring of succour and goodness; others experience alienation, rejection, hostility, danger and fear ‘at home’. Home can be a site of domestic violence or ‘house arrest’; young gay men and lesbians may feel alienated in the family home; asylum seekers are banished from their homelands; indigenous peoples are often dispossessed of their homelands; refugees might be isolated from a sense of belonging in their new home(land)s. But while this may seriously mitigate the affirmative experience of home, many still yearn for places, both figurative and material, to call ‘home’ – places of support, nourishment and belonging. The experience of violence, loss, marginalisation or dispossession can trigger, in Michael Brown’s words, “the search for a new place to call home”: “it means having to relocate oneself, to leave home and reconfigure it elsewhere” (50). Home, in this sense, understood as an ambiguous site of both belonging and alienation, is not a fixed and static location which ‘grounds’ an essential and unchanging sense of self. Rather, home is a process. If home enfolds and carries some sense of desire for positive feelings of attachment – and the papers in this special issue certainly suggest so, most quite explicitly – then equally this is a relationship that requires ongoing maintenance. Blunt and Dowling call these processes ‘homemaking practices’, and point to how home must be understood as a lived space which is “continually created and recreated through everyday practices” (23). In this way, home is posited as relational – the ever-changing outcome of the ongoing and mediated interaction between self, others and place. What stands out in much of the above discussion is the deep inter-connection between home, identity and self. Across the humanities and social sciences, home has been keenly explored as a crucial site “for the construction and reconstruction of one’s self” (Young 153). Indeed, Blunt and Dowling contend that “home as a place and an imaginary constitutes identities – people’s sense of themselves are related to and produced through lived and imaginative experiences of home” (24). Thus, through various homemaking practices, individuals generate a sense of self (and social groups produce a sense of collective identity) while they create a place called home. Moreover, as a relational entity, neither home nor identity are fixed, but mutually and ongoingly co-constituted. Homemaking enables changing and cumulative identities to be materialised in and supported by the home (Blunt and Dowling). Unfolding identities are progressively embedded and reflected in the home through both everyday practices and routines (Wise; Young), and accumulating and arranging personally meaningful objects (Marcoux; Noble, “Accumulating Being”). Consequently, as one ‘makes home’, one accumulates a sense of self. Given these intimate material and affective links between home, self and identity, it is perhaps not surprising that writing about a place called home has often been approached autobiographically (Blunt and Dowling). Emphasising the importance of autobiographical accounts for understanding home, Blunt argues that “through their accounts of personal memories and everyday experiences, life stories provide a particularly rich source for studying home and identity” (“Home and Identity”, 73). We draw attention to the importance of autobiographical accounts of home because this approach is prominent across the papers comprising this issue of M/C Journal. The authors have used autobiographical reflections to consider the meanings of home and processes of homemaking operating at various scales. Three papers – by Brett Mills, Lisa Slater and Nahid Kabir – are explicitly autobiographical, weaving scholarly arguments through deeply personal experiences, and thus providing evocative first-hand accounts of the power of home in the contemporary world. At the same time, several other authors – including Melissa Gregg, Gilbert Caluya and Jennifer Gamble – use personal experiences about home, belonging and exclusion to introduce or illustrate their scholarly contentions about home, self and identity. As this discussion suggests, home is relational in another way, too: it is the outcome of a relationship between material and imaginative qualities. Home is somewhere – it is situated, located, emplaced. But it is also much more than a location – as suggested by the saying, ‘A house is not a home’. Rather, a house becomes a home when it is imbued with a range of meanings, feelings and experiences by its occupants. Home, thus, is a fusion of the imaginative and affective – what we envision and desire home to be – intertwined with the material and physical – an actual location which can embody and realise our need for belonging, affirmation and sustenance. Blunt and Dowling capture this relationship between emplacement and emotion – the material and the imaginative – with their powerful assertion of home as a spatial imaginary, where “home is neither the dwelling nor the feeling, but the relation between the two” (22). Moreover, they demonstrate that this conceptualisation also detaches ‘home’ from ‘dwelling’ per se, and invokes the creation of home – as a space and feeling of belonging – at sites and scales beyond the domestic house. Instead, as a spatial imaginary, home takes form as “a set of intersecting and variable ideas and feelings, which are related to context, and which construct places, extend across spaces and scales, and connects places” (Blunt and Dowling 2). The concept of home, then, entails complex scalarity: indeed, it is a multi-scalar spatial imaginary. Put quite simply, scale is a geographical concept which draws attention to the layered arenas of everyday life – body, house, neighbourhood, city, region, nation and globe, for instance – and this terminology can help extend our understanding of home. Certainly, for many, house and home are conflated, so that a sense of home is coterminous with a physical dwelling structure (e.g. Dupuis and Thorns). For others, however, home is signified by intimate familial or community relationships which extend beyond the residence and stretch across a neighbourhood (e.g. Moss). And moreover, without contradiction, we can speak of hometowns and homelands, so that home can be felt at the scale of the town, city, region or nation (e.g. Blunt, Domicile and Diaspora). For others – international migrants and refugees, global workers, communities of mixed descent – home can be stretched into transnational belongings (e.g. Blunt, “Cultural Geographies of Home”). But this notion of home as a multi-scalar spatial imaginary is yet more complicated. While the above arenas (house, neighbourhood, nation, globe, etc.) are often simply posited as discrete territories, they also intersect and interact in complex ways (Massey; Marston). Extending this perspective, we can grasp the possibility of personal and collective homemaking processes operating across multiple scales simultaneously. For instance, making a house into a home invariably involves generating a sense of home and familiarity in a wider neighbourhood or nation-state. Indeed, Greg Noble points out that homemaking at the scale of the dwelling can be inflected by broader social and national values which are reflected materially in the house, in “the furniture of everyday life” (“Comfortable and Relaxed”, 55) – landscape paintings and national flags and ornaments, for example. He demonstrates that “homes articulate domestic spaces to national experience” (54). For others – those moving internationally between nation-states – domestic practices in dwelling structures are informed by cultural values and social ideals which extend well beyond the nation of settlement. Everyday domestic practices from one’s ‘land of origin’ are integral for ‘making home’ in a new house, neighbourhood and country at the same time (Hage). Many of the papers in this issue reflect upon the multi-scalarity of homemaking processes, showing how home must be generated across the multiple intersecting arenas of everyday life simultaneously. Indeed, given this prominence across the papers, we have chosen to use the scale of home as our organising principle for this issue. We begin with the links between the body – the geography closest to our skin (McDowell) – the home, and other scales, and then wind our way out through evocations of home at the intersecting scales of the house, the neighbourhood, the city, the nation and the diasporic. The rhetoric of home and belonging not only suggests which types of places can be posited as home (e.g. houses, neighbourhoods, nations), but also valorises some social relations and embodied identities as homely and others as unhomely (Blunt and Dowling; Gorman-Murray). The dominant ideology of home in the Anglophonic West revolves around the imaginary ‘ideal’ of white, middle-class, heterosexual nuclear family households in suburban dwellings (Blunt and Dowling). In our lead paper, Melissa Gregg explores how the ongoing normalisation of this particular conception of home in Australian politico-cultural discourse affects two marginalised social groups – sexual minorities and indigenous Australians. Her analysis is timely, responding to recent political attention to the domestic lives of both groups. Scrutinising the disciplinary power of ‘normal homes’, Gregg explores how unhomely (queer and indigenous) subjects and relationships unsettle the links between homely bodies, ideal household forms and national belonging in politico-cultural rhetoric. Importantly, she draws attention to the common experiences of these marginalised groups, urging “queer and black activists to join forces against wider tendencies that affect both communities”. Our first few papers then continue to investigate intersections between bodies, houses and neighbourhoods. Moving to the American context – but quite recognisable in Australia – Lisa Roney examines the connection between bodies and houses on the US lifestyle program, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, in which families with disabled members are over-represented as subjects in need of home renovations. Like Gregg, Roney demonstrates that the rhetoric of home is haunted by the issue of ‘normalisation’ – in this case, EMHE ‘corrects’ and normalises disabled bodies through providing ‘ideal’ houses. In doing so, there is often a disjuncture between the homely ideal and what would be most helpful for the everyday domestic lives of these subjects. From an architectural perspective, Marian Macken also considers the disjuncture between bodily practices, inhabitation and ideal houses. While traditional documentation of house designs in working drawings capture “the house at an ideal moment in time”, Macken argues for post factum documentation of the house, a more dynamic form of architectural recording produced ‘after-the-event’ which interprets ‘the existing’ rather than the ideal. This type of documentation responds to the needs of the body in the inhabited space of domestic architecture, representing the flurry of occupancy, “the changes and traces the inhabitants make upon” the space of the house. Gilbert Caluya also explores the links between bodies and ideal houses, but from a different viewpoint – that of the perceived need for heightened home security in contemporary suburban Australia. With the rise of electronic home security systems, our houses have become extensions of our bodies – ‘architectural nervous systems’ which extend our eyes, ears and senses through modern security technologies. The desire for home security is predicated on controlling the interplay between the house and wider scales – the need to create a private and secure defensible space in hostile suburbia. But at the same time, heightened home security measures ironically connect the mediated home into a global network of electronic grids and military technologies. Thus, new forms of electronic home security stretch home from the body to the globe. Irmi Karl also considers the connections between technologies and subjectivities in domestic space. Her UK-based ethnographic analysis of lesbians’ techo-practices at home also considers, like Gregg, tactics of resistance to the normalisation of the heterosexual nuclear family home. Karl focuses on the TV set as a ‘straightening device’ – both through its presence as a key marker of ‘family homes’ and through the heteronormative content of programming – while at the same time investigating how her lesbian respondents renegotiated the domestic through practices which resisted the hetero-regulation of the TV – through watching certain videos, for instance, or even hiding the TV set away. Susan Thompson employs a similar ethnographic approach to understanding domestic practices which challenge normative meanings of home, but her subject is quite different. In an Australian-based study, Thompson explores meanings of home in the wake of relationship breakdown of heterosexual couples. For her respondents, their houses embodied their relationships in profoundly symbolic and physical ways. The deterioration and end of their relationships was mirrored in the material state of the house. The end of a relationship also affected homely, familiar connections to the wider neighbourhood. But there was also hope: new houses became sources of empowerment for former partners, and new meanings of home were created in the transition to a new life. Brett Mills also explores meanings of home at different scales – the house, neighbourhood and city – but returns to the focus on television and media technologies. His is a personal, but scholarly, response to seeing his own home on the television program Torchwood, filmed in Cardiff, UK. Mills thus puts a new twist on autobiographical narratives of home and identity: he uses this approach to examine the link between home and media portrayals, and how personal reactions to “seeing your home on television” change everyday perceptions of home at the scales of the house, neighbourhood and city. His reflection on “what happens when your home is on television” is solidly but unobtrusively interwoven with scholarly work on home and media, and speaks to the productive tension of home as material and imaginative. As the above suggests, especially with Mills’s paper, we have begun to move from the homely connections between bodies and houses to focus on those between houses, neighbourhoods and beyond. The next few papers extend these wider connections. Peter Pugsley provides a critical analysis of the meaning of domestic settings in three highly-successful Singaporean sitcoms. He argues that the domestic setting in these sitcoms has a crucial function in the Singaporean nation-state, linking the domestic home and national homeland: it is “a valuable site for national identities to be played out” in terms of the dominant modes of culture and language. Thus, in these domestic spaces, national values are normalised and disseminated – including the valorisation of multiculturalism, the dominance of Chinese cultural norms, benign patriarchy, and ‘proper’ educated English. Donna Lee Brien, Leonie Rutherford and Rosemary Williamson also demonstrate the interplay between ‘private’ and ‘public’ spaces and values in their case studies of the domestic sphere in cyberspace, examining three online communities which revolve around normatively domestic activities – pet-keeping, crafting and cooking. Their compelling case studies provide new ways to understand the space of the home. Home can be ‘stretched’ across public and private, virtual and physical spaces, so that “online communities can be seen to be domesticated, but, equally … the activities and relationships that have traditionally defined the home are not limited to the physical space of the house”. Furthermore, as they contend in their conclusion, these extra-domestic networks “can significantly modify practices and routines in the physical home”. Jennifer Gamble also considers the interplay of the virtual and the physical, and how home is not confined to the physical house. Indeed, the domestic is almost completely absent from the new configurations of home she offers: she conceptualises home as a ‘holding environment’ which services our needs and provides care, support and ontological security. Gamble speculates on the possibility of a holding environment which spans the real and virtual worlds, encompassing email, chatrooms and digital social networks. Importantly, she also considers what happens when there are ruptures and breaks in the holding environment, and how physical or virtual dimensions can compensate for these instances. Also rescaling home beyond the domestic, Alexandra Ludewig investigates concepts of home at the scale of the nation-state or ‘homeland’. She focuses on the example of Germany since World War II, and especially since re-unification, and provides an engaging discussion of the articulation between home and the German concept of ‘Heimat’. She shows how Heimat is ambivalent – it is hard to grasp the sense of longing for homeland until it is gone. Thus, Heimat is something that must be constantly reconfigured and maintained. Taken up in a critical manner, it also attains positive values, and Ludewig suggests how Heimat can be employed to address the Australian context of homeland (in)security and questions of indigenous belonging in the contemporary nation-state. Indeed, the next couple of papers focus on the vexed issue of building a sense home and belonging at the scale of the nation-state for non-indigenous Australians. Lisa Slater’s powerful autobiographical reflection considers how non-indigenous Australians might find a sense of home and belonging while recognising prior indigenous ownership of the land. She critically reflects upon “how non-indigenous subjects are positioned in relation to the original owners not through migrancy but through possession”. Slater urges us to “know our place” – we need not despair, but use such remorse in a productive manner to remake our sense of home in Australia – a sense of home sensitive to and respectful of indigenous rights. Nahid Kabir also provides an evocative and powerful autobiographical narrative about finding a sense of home and belonging in Australia for another group ‘beyond the pale’ – Muslim Australians. Hers is a first-hand account of learning to ‘feel at home’ in Australia. She asks some tough questions of both Muslim and non-Muslim Australians about how to accommodate difference in this country. Moreover, her account shows the homing processes of diasporic subjects – transnational homemaking practices which span several countries, and which enable individuals and social groups to generate senses of belonging which cross multiple borders simultaneously. Our final paper also contemplates the homing desires of diasporic subjects and the call of homelands – at the same time bringing our attention back to home at the scales of the house, neighbourhood, city and nation. As such, Wendy Varney’s paper brings us full circle, lucidly invoking home as a multi-scalar spatial imaginary by exploring the diverse and complex themes of home in popular music. Given the prevalence of yearnings about home in music, it is surprising so little work has explored the powerful conceptions of home disseminated in and through this widespread and highly mobile media form. Varney’s analysis thus makes an important contribution to our understandings of home presented in media discourses in the contemporary world, and its multi-scalar range is a fitting way to bring this issue to a close. Finally, we want to draw attention to the cover art by Rohan Tate that opens our issue. A Sydney-based photographer, Tate is interested in the design of house, home and the domestic form, both in terms of exteriors and interiors. This image from suburban Sydney captures the shifting styles of home in suburban Australia, giving us a crisp juxtaposition between modern and (re-valued) traditional housing forms. Bringing this issue together has been quite a task. We received 60 high quality submissions, and selecting the final 14 papers was a difficult process. Due to limits on the size of the issue, several good papers were left out. We thank the reviewers for taking the time to provide such thorough and useful reports, and encourage those authors who did not make it into this issue to keep seeking outlets for their work. The number of excellent submissions shows that home continues to be a growing and engaging theme in social and cultural inquiry. As editors, we hope that this issue of M/C Journal will make a vital contribution to this important range of scholarship, bringing together 14 new and innovative perspectives on the experience, location, creation and meaning of home in the contemporary world. References Blunt, Alison. “Home and Identity: Life Stories in Text and in Person.” Cultural Geography in Practice. Eds. Alison Blunt, Pyrs Gruffudd, Jon May, Miles Ogborn, and David Pinder. London: Arnold, 2003. 71-87. ———. Domicile and Diaspora: Anglo-Indian Women and the Spatial Politics of Home. Malden: Blackwell, 2005. ———. “Cultural Geographies of Home.” Progress in Human Geography 29.4 (2005): 505-515. ———, and Robyn Dowling. Home. London: Routledge, 2006. Brown, Michael. Closet Space: Geographies of Metaphor from the Body to the Globe. London: Routledge, 2000. Chapman, Tony. Gender and Domestic Life: Changing Practices in Families and Households. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. ———, and Jenny Hockey, eds. Ideal Homes? Social Change and Domestic Life. London: Routledge, 1999. Cieraad, Irene, ed. At Home: An Anthropology of Domestic Space. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1999. Dupuis, Ann, and David Thorns. “Home, Home Ownership and the Search for Ontological Security.” The Sociological Review 46.1 (1998): 24-47. Gorman-Murray, Andrew. “Homeboys: Uses of Home by Gay Australian Men.” Social and Cultural Geography 7.1 (2006): 53-69. Hage, Ghassan. “At Home in the Entrails of the West: Multiculturalism, Ethnic Food and Migrant Home-Building.” Home/world: Space, Community and Marginality in Sydney’s West. Eds. Helen Grace, Ghassan Hage, Lesley Johnson, Julie Langsworth and Michael Symonds. Annandale: Pluto, 1997. 99-153. Mallett, Shelley. “Understanding Home: A Critical Review of the Literature.” The Sociological Review 52.1 (2004): 62-88. Marcoux, Jean-Sébastien. “The Refurbishment of Memory.” Home Possessions: Material Culture Behind Closed Doors. Ed. Daniel Miller. Oxford: Berg, 2001. 69-86. Marston, Sally. “A Long Way From Home: Domesticating the Social Production of Scale.” Scale and Geographic Inquiry: Nature, Society and Method. Eds. Eric Sheppard and Robert McMaster. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004. 170-191. Massey, Doreen. “A Place Called Home.” New Formations 17 (1992): 3-15. McDowell, Linda. Gender, Identity and Place: Understanding Feminist Geographies. Cambridge: Polity, 1999. Miller, Daniel, ed. Home Possessions: Material Culture Behind Closed Doors. Oxford: Berg, 2001. Moss, Pamela. “Negotiating Space in Home Environments: Older Women Living with Arthritis.” Social Science and Medicine 45.1 (1997): 23-33. Noble, Greg. “Comfortable and Relaxed: Furnishing the Home and Nation.” Continuum: Journal of Media and Cultural Studies 16.1 (2002): 53-66. ———. “Accumulating Being.” International Journal of Cultural Studies 7.2 (2004): 233-256. Pink, Sarah. Home Truths: Gender, Domestic Objects and Everyday Life. Oxford: Berg, 2004. Wise, J. Macgregor. “Home: Territory and Identity.” Cultural Studies 14.2 (2000): 295-310. Young, Iris Marion. “House and Home: Feminist Variations on a Theme.” On Female Body Experience: ‘Throwing Like a Girl’ and Other Essays. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. 123-154. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Gorman-Murray, Andrew, and Robyn Dowling. "Home." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/01-editorial.php>. APA Style Gorman-Murray, A., and R. Dowling. (Aug. 2007) "Home," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/01-editorial.php>.

IntroductionMusicians and critics regard Australian jazz as vibrant and creative (Shand; Chessher; Rechniewski). From its tentative beginnings in the early twentieth century (Whiteoak), jazz has become a major aspect of Australia’s music and performance. Due to the large distances separating cities and towns, its development has been influenced by geographical isolation (Nikolsky; Chessher; Clare; Johnson; Stevens; McGuiness). While major cities have been the central hubs, it is increasingly acknowledged that regional centres also provide avenues for jazz performance (Curtis).This article discusses findings relating to transient musical populations shaped by geographical conditions, venue issues that are peculiar to the Northern region, and finally the challenges of cultural and parochial mindsets that North Queensland jazz musicians encounter in performance.Cairns and MackayCairns and Mackay are regional centres on the coast of Queensland, Australia. Cairns – population 156,901 in 2016 (ABS) – is a world famous tourist destination situated on the doorstep of the Great Barrier Reef (Thorp). Mackay – population 114,969 in 2016 (ABS) – is a lesser-known community with an economy largely underpinned by the sugar cane and coal mining industries (Rolfe et al. 138). Both communities lie North of the capital city Brisbane – Mackay in the heart of Central Queensland, and Cairns as the unofficial capital of Far North Queensland. Mackay and Cairns were selected for this study, not on representational grounds, but because they provide an opportunity to learn through case studies. Stake notes that “potential for learning is a different and sometimes superior criterion to representativeness,” adding, “that may mean taking the one most accessible or the one we can spend the most time with (451).”Musically, both regional centres have a number of venues that promote live music, however, only Cairns has a dedicated jazz club, the Cairns Jazz Club (CJC). Each has a community convention centre that brings high-calibre touring musicians to the region, including jazz musicians.Mackay is home to the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music (CQCM) a part of the Central Queensland University that has offered conservatoire-style degree programs in jazz, contemporary music and theatre for over twenty-five years. Cairns does not have any providers of tertiary jazz qualifications.MethodologySemi-structured in-depth interviews were conducted with twenty-two significant individuals associated with the jazz communities in Mackay and Cairns over a twelve-month period from 2015 to 2016. Twelve of the interviewees were living in Cairns at the time, and ten were living in Mackay. The selection of interviewees was influenced by personal knowledge of key individuals, historical records located at the CQCM, and from a study by (Mitchell), who identified important figures in the Cairns jazz scene. The study participants included members of professional jazz ensembles, dedicated jazz audience members and jazz educators. None of the participants who were interviewed relied solely on the performance of jazz as their main occupation. All of the musicians combined teaching duties with music-making in several genres including rock, jazz, Latin and funk, as well as work in the recording and producing of recorded music. Combining the performance of jazz and commercial musical styles is a common and often crucial part of being a musician in a regional centre due to the low demand for any one specific genre (Luckman et al. 630). The interview data that was gathered during the study’s data collection phase was analysed for themes using the grounded theory research method (Charmaz). The following sections will discuss three areas of findings relating to some of the unique North Queensland influences that have impacted the development and sustainability of the two regional jazz communities.Transient Musical PopulationsThe prospect of living in North Queensland is an alluring proposition for many people. According to the participants in this study, the combination of work and a tropical lifestyle attracts people from all over the country to Cairns and Mackay, but this influx is matched by a high population turnover. Many musicians who move into the region soon move away again. High population turnover is a characteristic of several Northern regional centres such as the city of Darwin (Luckman, Gibson and Lea 12). The high growth and high population turnover in Cairns, in particular, was one of the highest in the country between 2006 and 2011 (ABS). The study participants in both regions believed that the transient nature of the local population is detrimental to the development and sustainability of the jazz communities. One participant described the situation in Cairns this way: “The tropics sort of lure them up there, tease them with all of the beauty and nature, and then spit them out when they realise it’s not what they imagined (interviewee 1, 24 Aug. 2016).” Looking more broadly to other coastal regional areas of Australia, there is evidence of the counter-urban flow of professionals and artists seeking out a region’s “natural and cultural environment” (Gibson 339). On the far North coast of New South Wales, Gibson examined how the climate, natural surroundings and cultural charms attracted city dwellers to that region (337). Similarly, most of the participants in this study mentioned lifestyle choices such as raising a family and living in the tropics as reasons to move to Cairns or Mackay. The prospect of working in the tourism and hospitality industry was found to be another common reason for musicians to move to Cairns in particular. In contrast to some studies (Salazar; Conradson and Latham) where it was found that the middle- to upper-classes formed the majority of lifestyle migrants, the migrating musicians identified by this study were mostly low-income earners seeking a combination of music work and other types of employment outside the music industry. There have been studies that have explored and critically reviewed the theoretical frameworks behind lifestyle migration (Benson and Osbaldiston) including the examination of issues and the motivation to ‘lifestyle migrate’. What is interesting in this current study is the focus of discussion on the post-migration effects. Study participants believe that most of the musicians who move into their region leave soon afterwards because of their disillusionment with the local music industry. Despite the lure of musical jobs through the tourism and hospitality industry, local musicians in Cairns tend to believe there is less work than imagined. Pub rock duos and DJs have taken most of the performance opportunities, which makes it hard for new musicians to compete.The study also reveals that Cairns jazz musicians consider it more difficult to find and collaborate with quality newcomers. This may be attributed to the smaller jazz communities’ demand for players of specific instruments. One participant explained, “There’s another bass player that just moved here, but he only plays by ear, so when people want to play charts and new songs, he can’t do it so it's hard finding the right guys up here at times (interviewee 2, 23 Aug. 2016).” Cairns and Mackay participants agreed that the difficulty of finding and retaining quality musicians in the region impacted on the ability of certain groups to be sustainable. One participant added, “It’s such a small pool of musicians, at the moment, I've got a new project ready to go and I've got two percussionists, but I need a bass player, but there is no bass player that I'm willing to work with (interviewee 3, 24 Aug. 2016).” The same participant has been fortunate over the years, performing with a different local group whose members have permanently stayed in the Cairns region, however, forging new musical pathways and new groups seemed challenging due to the lack of musical skills in some of the potential musicians.In Mackay, the study revealed a smaller influx of new musicians to the region, and study participants experienced the same difficulties forming groups and retaining members as their Cairns counterparts. One participant, who found it difficult to run a Big Band as well as a smaller jazz ensemble because of the transient population, claimed that many local musicians were lured to metropolitan centres for university or work.Study participants in both Northern centres appeared to have developed a tolerance and adaptability for their regional challenges. While this article does not aim to suggest a solution to the issues they described, one interesting finding that emerged in both Cairns and Mackay was the musicians’ ability to minimise some of the effects of the transient population. Some musicians found that it was more manageable to sustain a band by forming smaller groups such as duos, trios and quartets. An example was observed in Mackay, where one participant’s Big Band was a standard seventeen-piece group. The loss of players was a constant source of anxiety for the performers. Changing to a smaller ensemble produced a sense of sustainability that satisfied the group. In Cairns, one participant found that if the core musicians in the group (bass, drums and vocals) were permanent local residents, they could manage to use musicians passing through the region, which had minimal impact on the running of the group. For example, the Latin band will have different horn players sit in from time to time. When those performers leave, the impact on the group is minimal because the rhythm section is comprised of long-term Cairns residents.Venue Conditions Heat UpAt the Cape York Hotel in Cairns, musicians and audience members claimed that it was uncomfortable to perform or attend Sunday afternoon jazz gigs during the Cairns summer due to the high temperatures and non air-conditioned venues. This impact of the physical environment on the service process in a venue was first modelled and coined the ‘Servicescape’ by Bitner (57). The framework, which includes physical dimensions like temperature, noise, space/function and signage, has also been further investigated in other literature (Minor et al.; Kubacki; Turley and Fugate). This model is relevant to this study because it clearly affects the musician’s ability to perform music in the Northern climate and attract audiences. One of the regular musicians at the Cape York Hotel commented: So you’re thinking, ‘Well, I’m starting to create something here, people are starting to show up’, but then you see it just dwindling away and then you get two or three weeks of hideously hot weather, and then like last Sunday, by the time I went on in the first set, my shirt was sticking to me like tissue paper… I set up a gig, a three-hour gig with my trio, and if it’s air conditioned you’re likely to get people but if it’s like the Cape York, which is not air conditioned, and you’re out in the beer garden with a tin roof over the top with big fans, it’s hideous‘. (Interviewee 4, 24 Aug. 2016)The availability of venues that offer live jazz is limited in both regions. The issue was twofold: firstly, the limited availability of a larger venue to cater for the ensembles was deemed problematic; and secondly, the venue manager needed to pay for the services of the club, which contributed to its running costs. In Cairns, the Cape York Hotel has provided the local CJC with an outdoor beer garden as a venue for their regular Sunday performances since 2015. The president of the CJC commented on the struggle for the club to find a suitable venue for their musicians and patrons. The club has had residencies in multiple venues over the last thirty years with varying success. It appears that the club has had to endure these conditions in order to provide their musicians and audiences an outlet for jazz performance. This dedication to their art form and sense of resilience appears to be a regular theme for these Northern jazz musicians.Minor et al. (7) recommended that live music organisers needed to consider offering different physical environments for different events (7). For example, a venue that caters for a swing band might include a dance floor for potential dancers or if a venue catered for a sit down jazz show, the venue might like to choose the best acoustic environment to best support the sound of the ensemble. The research showed that customers have different reasons for attending events, and in relation to the Cape York Hotel, the majority of the customers were the CJC members who simply wanted to enjoy their jazz club performances in an air conditioned environment with optimal acoustics as the priority. Although not ideal, the majority of the CJC members still attended during the summer months and endured the high temperatures due to a lack of venue suitability.Parochial MindsetsOne of the challenging issues faced by many of the participants in both regions was the perceived cultural divide between jazz aficionados and general patrons at many venues. While larger centres in Australia have enjoyed an international reputation as creative hubs for jazz such as Melbourne and Sydney (Shand), the majority of participants in this study believed that a significant portion of the general public is quite parochial in their views on various musical styles including jazz. Coined the ‘bogan factor’, one participant explained, “I call it the bogan factor. Do you think that's an academic term? It is now” (interviewee 5, 17 Feb. 2016). They also commented on dominant cultural choices of residents in these regions: “It's North Queensland, it's a sport orientated, 4WD dominated place. Culturally they are the main things that people are attracted to” (interviewee 5, 17 Feb. 2016). These cultural preferences appear to affect the performance opportunities for the participants in Cairns and Mackay.Waitt and Gibson explored how the Wollongong region was chosen as an area for investigation to see if city size mattered for creativity and creativity-led regeneration (1224). With the ‘Creative Class’ framework in mind (Florida), the researchers found that Wollongong’s primarily blue-collar industrial identity was a complex mixture of cultural pursuits including the arts, sport and working class ideals (Waitt and Gibson 1241). This finding is consistent with the comments of study participants from Cairns and Mackay who believed that the identities of their regions were strongly influenced by sport and industries like mining and farming. One Mackay participant added, “I think our culture, in itself, would need to change to turn more people to jazz. I can’t see that happening. That’s Australia. You’re fighting against 200 years of sport” (interviewee 6, 12 Feb. 2016). Performing in Mackay or Cairns in venues that attract various demographics can make it difficult for musicians playing jazz. A Cairns participant added, “As Ingrid James once told me, ‘It's North Queensland, you’ve got an audience of tradesman, they don't get it’. It's silly to think it's going to ever change” (interviewee 7, 26 Aug. 2016). One Mackay participant believed that the lack of appreciation for jazz in regional areas was largely due to a lack of exposure to the art form. Most people grow up listening to other styles of music in their households.Another participant made the point that regardless of the region’s cultural and leisure-time preferences, if a jazz band is playing in a football club, you must expect it to be unpopular. Many of the research participants emphasised that playing in a suitable venue is paramount for developing a consistent and attentive audience. Choosing a venue that values and promotes the style of jazz music that the musicians are performing could help to attract more jazz fans and therefore build a sustainable jazz community.Refreshingly, this study revealed that musicians in both regions showed considerable resilience in dealing with the issue of parochial mindsets, and they have implemented methods to help educate their audiences. The audience plays a significant part in the development and future of a jazz community (Becker; Martin). For the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music in Mackay, part of the ethos of the institution is to provide music performance and educational opportunities to the region. One of the lecturers who made a significant contribution to the design of the ensemble program had a clear vision to combine jazz and popular music styles in order to connect with a regional audience. He explained, “The popular music strand of the jazz program and what we called the commercial ensembles was very much birthed out of that concept of creating a connection with the community and making us more accessible in the shortest amount of time, which then enabled us to expose people to jazz” (interviewee 8, 20 Mar. 2016).In a similar vein, several Cairns musicians commented on how they engaged with their audiences through education. Some musicians attempted to converse with the patrons on the comparative elements of jazz and non-jazz styles, which helped to instil some appreciation in patrons with little jazz knowledge. One participant cited that although not all patrons were interested in an education at a pub, some became regular attendees and showed greater appreciation for the different jazz styles. These findings align with other studies (Radbourne and Arthurs; Kubacki; Kubacki et al.), who found that audiences tend to return to arts organizations or events more regularly if they feel connected to the experience (Kubacki et al. 409).ConclusionThe Cairns and Mackay jazz musicians who were interviewed in this study revealed some innovative approaches for sustaining their art form in North Queensland. The participants discussed creative solutions for minimising the influence of a transient musician population as well as overcoming some of the parochial mindsets in the community through education. The North Queensland summer months proved to be a struggle for musicians and audience members alike in Cairns in particular, but resilience and commitment to the music and the social network of jazz performers seemed to override this obstacle. 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