Debate 2025 #11: Hanga / Craft

Knitting in the middle of a burning building

If I may pull back the curtains on Debate a bit, we’ve had the Craft issue as the penultimate theme of 2025 while we argued about the theme of our final issue. I spent most of the year rooting for us to finish off with a death issue while everyone, understandably, thought it might be a wee bit too sad. I’ve lost the argument now that the year has nearly passed with inarguably worse vibes than we entered it with, so it won’t be a summer bummer; however, this Craft issue has felt like the lifeblood keeping us going to the end of the year.

The current Debate team largely comes from arts backgrounds that lead to us intertwining last year, allowing a disproportionate amount of staff trying to squeeze our own shows into the gig guide and a lot of stress festering within our team as arts funding has been drained, physical media has been devalued, and a host of other neofascist bullshit that we really didn’t need on top of all the other stress this year.

This is to say, as we’ve been trying to explain that simple cartoon art isn’t automatically AI generated and that ChatGPT is quite bad at writing articles for student magazines, we’ve been turning to this issue as our wee love letter to print media, physical music, analogue film, handmade sweatshirts, and any other piece of art that is thoroughly, unapologetically human.

It’s slightly ironic, given the fact that we’re all supposedly progressive lefties with pronouns and nothing but disrespect and contempt for traditions. Despite the global right trying to take us back to the 1940s, long before trans people and pronouns were invented by Lady Gaga, conservative governments here and abroad have welcomed artificial intelligence with open arms. Despite half of the generated slop being a bigger affront to god than literal Satanists, Tories love making AI art. You can take a look at National having to AI generate a “discouraged couple doing their taxes at a table in New Zealand. Maori couple.” because they couldn’t find any Māori models willing to support their propaganda, or that time the US President posted an AI video making it utterly clear that the support of the Gaza genocide is solely to turn a profit. It’s a lot for the strongest people to deal with.

Despite the fact that we’re a bunch of phone addicted zoomers, I don’t think anyone reading this is content with the world in this form. If nothing else, returning to physical media you remember from your childhood feels incredibly healing and reassuring. It’s far easier to process your emotions through a journal or scrapbook than it is to keep them in your head, where your anxiety is well-fed by the horrors of your devices. Even just making physical art for yourself, that never leaves your bedroom, is a con-

structive way to feel safer and stronger in the moment.

However, if you do decide to share your craft with the wider world, you are, fundamentally, pissing these conservatives the HELL off. Every time you make a street poster, tapestry, or mixtape, you are rebelling against and rejecting the system being forced down our throats. It might take you four hours to make an animation that the right claims they could have made hundreds of with AI - but if you use basic critical thinking skills and have a bare minimum taste in anything creative, you’ll find the impact of your handmade projects will last for generations beyond any computer-generated waste. Particularly within younger, more frustrated sectors of society, a well-made album or film will have an exponentially bigger social impact, documented by the things I’ve seen people most excited about. Chappel Roan isn’t necessarily on the meteoric rise she had last year, but the longevity of her art has led to her booking at the top of the Laneway lineup for 2026. Even though tickets are more expensive due to the insane acts they’ve booked, I feel like the cultural excitement in Auckland for Laneway - a single day explosion of art, music, love, and food - has never been bigger. As much as mainstream media wants to pretend that teenagers and young adults have mindlessly accepted AI slop as another way to make their privileged lives easier, we’ve never cared more about real art and music than we have now. Apologies to the AI industry and neoconservatives - but your attempts to fuck us over have forced young people to cling on to art for dear life. We aren’t letting go any time soon.

Stella note

Last Sunday I went to the Auckland Art Gallery, on the closing day of their exhibit A Century of Modern Art. Yes, I attended an art exhibit that was open for around four months, on its closing day for the first time. Yes, I am a bad BVA graduate… please don’t tell my old lecturers. Despite the well overdue walk-through – or snakethrough – the masses of rushed visitors, who had also realised that it was the final day to view the exhibit, I happened to find the whole experience quite enjoyable. After I managed to get a good look or two at all of the displayed art, I found that looking at the people who were looking at the art to be a better spent afternoon activity. As the clusters of attendees, likely familiar with eachother, dart around the space, they plow through capturing the works of Monet, Picasso and of course, Van Gogh. With often humorous and – albeit confusing at times – stances, that really make you question whether you’re the one doing it wrong, an entirely new avenue of experiencing the exhibition opened up to me. Occasionally, I’d observe a sort of choreography in the strategy of some individuals; as a scrunched brow and eagle-eyed focus is paired alongside a “two steps back, half a step forward” motion. With all this said, I’m by no means exempt from this attempted camera

coordination, and infact, it was the recognition of the strong efforts made by my fellow gallery goers’, armed with their chosen device, which made me feel less awkward when I took a pic or two myself. With the familiar memes and jokes regarding the way different generations interact with devices, particularly with taking photos, this moment showed me that this act is not to be trivialised. As cold, uncompromising expressions befall the faces of those moments away from photographing the painting in front of them, I recognised that these amateur photographers are not to be shrugged off as unserious.

Art; displayed and archived, from one gallery to another. Anyone can create, recreate and hone a craft, even if that “craft” is capturing the work of others, you’ll be doing that in your own personalised (and perhaps a bit quirky) kind of way.

If there’s anything I’d like readers to take from this issue, it’s that there is an irreplaceable value and joy to be found in tactile creation, so go forth and pursue it, with whatever tools, mediums and subjects you happen to gravitate toward.

Editorial

By

Liam Hansen (they/them)

@liamhanse.n

EDITOR

With Notes Written By Stella Roper (they/she) @stellyvision ARTS

EDITOR

From Wrapped to Unwrapped: Musicians Ditching Spotify

Music is a craft. A proper one. Not just strumming your flatmate’s out-of-tune guitar or humming into your phone at 2am, though that counts too. Musicians sculpt sound into emotion, crafting lyrics, melody, and production until something sticks. The work that goes into a song takes hours of dedication, but in the age of streaming, that art all too frequently reduces to a string of numbers on a dashboard and royalties that don't buy a coffee. The increasing number of users who departed Spotify in 2025 is the embodiment of that friction, and it makes artists and listeners realise what actually being worth listening to means. More and more people are finally starting to question it, and many are deciding they have had enough.

Spotify used to feel like the untouchable king. Affordable, easy, and perfect for students, commuters, or anyone who wanted to skip the headache of sketchy 2009 file downloads. It gave us Spotify Wrapped, It made playlists a form of identity and gave people bragging rights when they were in the top 0.01 percent of Phoebe Bridgers listeners. But right now the platform is under fire, and for good reason. People are calling it out for what it has become: a service that pays artists next to nothing, invests in shady ventures, and fills playlists with AI-generated filler music.

Money is the first issue. Spotify brags about paying out over US$10 billion to rights holders in 2024 (MarketWatch, 2024). That number sounds massive until you realise it gets sliced up between labels, publishers, distributors, and managers. The artist at the end of the chain might end up with enough to buy a small flat white, if they are lucky. Reports show Spotify pays about $3 per 1,000 streams, while Apple Music and Amazon pay closer to $6 to $9 (TechCrunch, 2025). A European survey found that seven out of ten musicians are unhappy with streaming payouts (Music Business Worldwide, 2025). Imagine putting months into an album only to make less than what you spend on Uber Eats during exam season. It is no wonder so many artists are pulling their tracks.

But the outrage is not just about money. The bigger story is about ethics. Spotify’s CEO, Daniel Ek, has invested millions into Helsing, a company making AI technology for military surveillance and combat systems. Yes, the guy making money off your sad-girl autumn playlist is also investing in warfare tech. For artists who see their songs as tools for connection, healing, or resistance, that feels like a betrayal. Australian composer David Bridie, who pulled his catalogue, said it bluntly: “I do not want my songs … to enrich people who fund weapons” (The Guardian, 2025). He is not alone. King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, Massive Attack, and many others have taken the same stand. Several top New Zealand musicians have removed their music from Spotify, citing ethical concerns and anger over the company's model. Specifically, Tiki Taane said he was removing his

music from Spotify, labeling the website "a business that is in opposition to everything that I sing." He wrote a song titled "Bye Bye Spotify" to drive the point home (RNZ, 2025). Additionally, several Aotearoa musicians united to establish the organization Boycott Spotify NZ as a means to take part in the global boycott of Spotify, calling on other artists and fans to reconsider supporting the platform (NZ Musician.)

These moves are part of a larger trend where artists globally are reconsidering their engagement with streaming services, pushing for more equitable pay and moral business conduct. It is like finding out your favourite vegan café secretly invests in a steakhouse. It makes you question what you are supporting every time you press play.

Then there is AI. Spotify has been caught filling playlists with tracks made by “ghost artists” fake names or algorithm-assisted music that can be produced quickly and cheaply. These tracks are designed to pad out playlists without costing much in royalties (Harpers Magazine, 2025). For real musicians, it is like being shoved off stage by a robot with GarageBand. On top of that, Spotify introduced a rule that songs with fewer than 1,000 annual streams will not get paid at all (Disc Makers, 2025). Smaller artists not only earn crumbs, but sometimes they do not even get a plate. The messagV is clear: Spotify is more interested in infinite content than in music as craft.

Leaving Spotify, though, is not as easy as cancelling an app. For students, it has become part of daily life. Our playlists are basically diaries. We have songs attached to first-year flat parties, library all-nighters, breakups, and road trips. We send links in group chats, stalk each other’s Wrapped, and low-key judge people for what they listen to. Quitting feels like breaking up with a long-term partner. But staying means cosigning a system that underpays artists, funnels money into military tech, and replaces human creativity with AI soundscapes.

So what are the alternatives? Luckily, there are plenty. Bandcamp is a favourite among indie musicians because it lets fans pay them directly, and on its monthly Bandcamp Fridays the platform does not even take a cut. Apple Music and Tidal offer higher payouts per stream. Vinyl, Cassettes and CD’s are booming, which proves people are craving something more tangible and human. And of course, nothing beats going to gigs, buying a t-shirt at the merch desk, and actually showing up for the artists you love.

The bigger question is not just about where you stream, but about what music means to you. Campaigns like Broken Record have been pushing for years for fairer streaming models. They have suggested “user-centric payouts,” which would mean your

subscription goes only to the artists you actually listen to, instead of being dumped into a giant pool dominated by megastars like Drake. It is a simple change that could completely shift the relationship between artists and listeners.

Music has always been more than background noise. Long before pottery wheels or printing presses, humans were banging rocks together and calling it rhythm. It is raw, emotional, and deeply human. Treating it as disposable filler undermines everything that makes it powerful. When artists and listeners leave Spotify, it is not just a boycott. It is a reminder that music deserves respect and that musicians deserve to live off the craft they spend their lives honing.

For students, the choice feels small but it is not meaningless. Every stream, every subscription, every ticket, every piece of merch is a vote for the kind of world you want music to exist in. Do you want it cheap, endless, and soulless? Or do you want it made by humans who care, who stay up too late writing lyrics, and who create songs that feel like they were written just for you?

So maybe the next time you open Spotify and scroll past another AI-generated “study vibes” playlist, you will think about where your money is going. Do you want your heartbreak playlist helping bankroll drone surveillance, or do you want to back the humans who pour their hearts into their craft? The answer might be as simple as where you decide to click play.

Written By Mila Van Der Plas (she/her)

EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT MAKING YOUR OWN ZINE

1. What The Hell is a Zine?!!

Zine (pronounced "zeen") is a small self-published DIY magazine. Most zines look like a tiny book with any kind of art, pictures, text or collages in it, but I'd say a zine is whatever you want it to be.

The simplest tiny 8-page zine can be made out of a single sheet of A4 paper, and you can find tons of tutorials online on how to make one; however, I want to focus on making something a bit more complex than that! Today we'll be making an A6-size zine with a whole 24 pages in it! It won't be all that hard – I swear.

You will need…

Materials & Tools:

- 3 sheets of A4 paper

- stapler (small preferred)

- cheap paper trimmer

- an unloved eraser

- ruler

Digital software (suggestions):

- Art software: Clip Studio Paint / PaintTool SAI / Photoshop / Krita / Canva / Microsoft Paint

- Layout software: Adobe Acrobat / Google Slides / Canva / PowerPoint

2. What to make your zine about?

Now, whatever that inner perfectionist of yours is telling you - *grabs you by the shoulders* don't listen to them. Absolutely anything you care about, no matter how big or small it is, is a good topic for a zine. My favourite kind of zines are always ones about weird, personal topics and interests. Zines are a great field to share your creative work, personal experiences, political opinions and literally anything you can come up with! Some real examples are: "Top 10 of My Favourite Socks", "About Migraines", "Potty Stories", and personal favourite, "Screenshots of every time there's the word "whooshing" in the subtitles for the last episode of Twin Peaks". Why would someone make a zine about something like that? I don't know, but I'm really happy they did.

Dare to share something you're passionate about – and don't think too much about it! A rough, scrappy DIY aesthetic is a big part of zinemaking!

3. Making a rough A6 zine model

1. Get a single sheet of A4 paper and draw vertical and horizontal lines on the front in the middle using a ruler.

2. Gently align 2 more sheets of paper underneath it and cut along the vertical line using a paper trimmer (no worries if it looks kinda rough, it's only a layout model!).

3. Fold all three pages together in the middle aaand Wow! You kinda have a zine already! If you're making your zine traditionally, you can already draw it on this model and scan it later. If your final zine will be drawn digitally, you can use it for a rough layout sketch! But most importantly - mark the pages, and don't staple it yet!

4. Now, after roughly sketching your zine on the model, unfold it back and put each sheet of paper into pairs - now you have a double-sided A4 printing layout for your zines! Swag!

4. Making Da Zine. Digitally and traditionally I'll say it again: Rough, scrappy and DIY is the way you should go about creating your zines.

"Oh, but what if it makes no sense?! What if it's weird?! What if it looks like it was made by a child?!" Great! These aren't the kind of things you should worry about in the process. Be your true self, unapologetically. If you're making your zine traditionally, use any materials you like: Pencils, pens, markers, paints, paper, stickers, pictures of your dog, peanut butter, ANYTHING!! The same goes for creating your zine digitally. Use Microsoft Paint. Use Canva. Use PowerPoint. Okay, if we're being fancy - I really love Clip Studio Paint EX for its zinemaking functions and 3D preview of your

zine. It's quite costly though, so… Do your research… If you know what I mean *comically expressive winking*.

5. Printing Layout

For this part, if you’ve made your zine traditionally, scan each page of the zine to get it ready for digital assembling. When it comes to assembling your pages for printing, you don't actually put them in the order they show in your zine. That is because we're printing A4 sheets of paper, and then cutting and folding them into A6 pages using both sides. Remember that paper zine model we made earlier? Using Google Slides, Canva or PowerPoint, assemble your pages digitally exactly in the same order they appear on unfolded pairs of paper! Always do a black and white test printing before ordering the full batch - just to make sure everything looks right and is in the right order.

Also, if you have Adobe Acrobat, it does the layout part for you! Convenient! But costly.

6. Printing Process

At this point, you have everything ready for printing! But what is the cheapest way to go about it, if you don't have a printer at home? Two words: Warehouse Stationery. Or any local print shop. I also like PrintOnline.co.nz (your ad could be here ahh). Cheapest 80GSM paper is perfectly fine for zines, but you can choose any paper type you want if you're feeling fancy! We're not doing it for financial gain anyway.

Very important printing settings - print double-sided, flip on the short side, otherwise your pages will be upside down on one side!

7. Stapling, White border on print

Once you receive your printed sheets of paper, assemble them in the same way we did for the zine model earlier, up to step 3. Open the zine to page spread 12-13, and to avoid ruining your table with staple holes - put the zine in the centre of an eraser that isn't too dear to you. Put two staples closer to the edges of the paper - and your zine is ready!

One important thing to mention is that when printing, your paper sheets will always come out with a thin white border around the edges. You can choose to ignore it, and it won't be noticeable if your zine has a white background, but I choose to carefully cut it with a paper trimmer.

8. Sharing your zines

Finally, you have your very own zine. Admire it. Be proud of it. Tell your zine you're proud of it. But most importantly, show it to other people! Share it online on social media or zine exhibitions! Give it away to random strangers on the bus! Yes, I actually did that and it worked out great!

Personally, my zinemaking journey would never start without Auckland Zinefest. Zinefests are zine markets that happen every half a year or so, and are a great opportunity to share your zines and socialise with other zinemakers. Participation is free of charge, and they're eager to accept everyone! No fancy set-up or a crazy collection of zines needed! An unexpected way to share your zines is at the Auckland Central Library. Bring your zines to the counter, and you can add them to their huge zine collection from all around Aotearoa and become a certified literature figure.

Hell, if you're feeling shy, just send them to me (@kurilyaak on Instagram)!

I hope this tutorial has been of great help to you, and I wish you lots of fun on your zinemaking journey!

Written By Ilya Kurilyak (He/Him) @kurilyaak CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Written By Julianna Extross

AUT has a Craft Club?! (You're soo welcome)

Guys, I love craft.

Craft encapsulates everything that I’m fascinated with and inspired by. When I was younger and trying to pursue the arts, it always felt like what I made was never good enough, that I was not creating anything that wowed people. But, years later, I’m still here, and I’m still making. I think when you create anything, there's a sense of pride in saying, “You like it? I made it!” With all of the millions of mass-produced, machine-made products out there, when you find something beautiful and come to realise that it is handmade, it makes the object much more special. To acknowledge that someone was involved in all parts of its creation, and every feature is intentional and unique. It’s like nothing else out there – and it's mine.

Like many people, I left high school feeling lost and unsure about my future. Most of my friends seemed so far ahead of me, advancing in their lives while they studied at university, while I worked a job in retail, which was slowly draining me of my life force. It didn’t feel like my life was my own. Time was passing, but I didn't feel present through any of it. Soon enough, the algorithm dug its claws all the way in me, and I let it; it was so easy. At the same time, I had collected so many pretty sketchbooks over the years, but was too scared to touch them, because I felt that breaking into them meant having to create the best thing ever made. I remember the day I bought something big with money I had earned for the first time, and I wanted a way to celebrate and remember that moment. I pasted the receipt into my journal, along with the tags, its packaging and a bunch of stickers I had been afraid to use until that point, and I wrote that feeling down… it was intentional and liberating. Not only had I found a way to capture this moment, but how it made me feel. Now, when I look back at those pages, the feelings come flooding back again.

I think any junk journaler will tell you that once you start journaling, you begin to hunt for small pieces of every moment and notice things that you never noticed before. Restaurant business cards, pretty packaging, arcade tokens, wine labels, textured wrapping paper, postcards, fabric scraps, magazine cutouts – and the list goes on. I think it also makes you realise just how much waste we consume as a society. While these things are commonly treated as disposable, unimportant “junk”, I’ve found that putting them in my journal memorialises moments and gives them a long-term purpose. In an attempt to find my own purpose, I returned to my studies at AUT, which, after a gap year, felt daunting. In my head, I felt that everyone had clustered into their high school groups, and I made myself feel like an outsider – hence my move towards the AUT Club space, in pursuit of friendship. I scrolled ALL the way to the bottom of the website, only to find nothing piqued my interest, and that if you were to join a club, you’re expected to have some sort of skill or follow a particular religion or degree. Again, I felt disconnected.

After having this conversation with my friend, Alex, we decided that this was our chance to create the space that we wanted. We knew there were so many resources available to us through the university, and that the channel wasn’t available to us… just yet. Queue: the birth of the AUT Craft Collective! I was shocked that there hadn’t been more of an effort to create a space like this at AUT before, because every day I’d see people on campus with such strong self-expression, and I knew they all had at least some affinity with creativity.

For us, a big part of creating the club was its accessibility and sustainability. We live in such a fast-paced world, and especially under the capitalistic rhetoric of individualism and ownership of one's own property, we forget that community and sharing resources are some of the most functional ways of living. I know myself and many other serial

hobbyists have a box under our bed stuffed full of craft materials and unfinished projects – if we all collected those things together, imagine the things we could create. Almost like there’s a need for a craft… collective… You guys see what I’m getting at? Providing a space where anyone can come with no expectations – just create and share ideas with the company and the support of others. The concepts surrounding the Craft Collective were largely inspired by how my architecture classes functioned; the deliberate collaboration and open exchange of ideas within a shared studio space were integral to the growth of my own creativity.

I struggled with the pressures of perfectionism within my projects, which eventually led me into a deep art block, where I had forgotten why I had enjoyed any of this to begin with. I believe that obsession with perfection can often lead to a lot of selfdoubt and the death of individuality, especially within art. Expression must come with all its quirks and imperfections; that's what makes it special and its own. Not to mention, the number of genius creatives I know who pursue other industries, because of the undervaluation of art and its association with financial instability.

You can have both, you know! You are a multifaceted person, and you don’t have to stick to one thing forever. Join Craft Collective and make things with us!

We’ve hosted once, so far, and let’s just say… peo ple turned up. The student response to our first event was overwhelming but surreal. It was obvi ous that people wanted this space badly, and we were excited to see how they would use it.

Right: Sashiko Workshop x fashion collective. Learning the Japanese technique of decora tive mending and extending the lifespan of our clothing!

Once everyone was settled in and making, there were many of us who felt an immediate sense of community and found ourselves in an environment where conversation came with ease. My heart felt so full, and while I knew I had at least a million things to do for coursework, to put it aside, just momentarily, to be amongst fellow creatives, became such a memorable experience. I can’t thank everyone enough for coming and creating this experience with us, because without you, there would be no “collective”. Earlier in the week, Alex and I had helped our close friend, Rasia, host the Crushes x Āhua jewellery workshop on Karangahape Road. Being able to see people’s different interpretations, while they used the same base materials we had provided in our workshop, was the same kind of expression we hoped to evoke within our club events.

We have so many exciting workshops planned for the future, and are always open to hearing new event ideas from our members. As much of a promotion this article may be for our club, I would like it to be just as much a reminder of how much we can be our own worst critics, and just need to make our art exist for the sake of expressing our own vitality. So whether that be within our club or on your own, create art that makes you feel things.

Written By Hirimaia Eketone (they/them)

EDITOR

Kia ora e hoa ma, haere mai ki te tuarua ki muri

Hello friends, welcome to the second-to-last issue of the year!

2025 has thrown a lot at us as a society. I feel like I’m back in lockdown, complaining about the effect of COVID as if no-one else was experiencing the same thing. We’ve just learned that our government is spineless and will not recognise Palestine as a state. Our protests are going unheard, our rights are being stripped, and NZ is in one of the worst economic states we have been in years. However, the theme of this issue, “Craft,” is essential in this current climate, as the ao around us takes hit after hit, our creative hinengaro collectively evolves to find some shred of beauty in the chaos.

From a Te Ao Māori lens, craft is what our culture thrives off. From the ancient techniques of harakeke weaving to the language carved into our marae, Māori live and breathe the freedom that craft brings. Ingenuity is born from it, talents are forged from it, and our loving whenua is consistently providing resources to fuel our ahi, our fire.

When teaching the art of harakeke, there is a major focus on respecting the resources we use to create kakahu, ropes, baskets and more. We take only what we need and avoid cutting harakeke that is essential for growth. In every step of the process, from cleaning the harakeke to skillfully weaving, the art of harakeke is one of the most ataahua skills to learn. Similarly, when fishing for ika, we will always give back our first catch to the sea, as a thanks for what has been provided to us. We bless the land, the ocean and the skies for what they provide us and that sentiment is the one I urge us all to implement in our current climate.

Craft is also important for our survival. Creativity aside, the roots of what we know were sown through the art of making shelter, food and clothing. With such a focus on the sustainability of our existence, I believe it is our job to get creative with the ways we can help. We are seeing instability in power both within the mōtu and overseas. Though I urged all of us to band together and vote in the local elections in the last issue, we have to be prepared to go the extra mile. If you can afford to give, help out a friend in need, support a charity for the monstrosities happening elsewhere, give back to your community. If you are in need, reach out for support, connect with the communities around you. If you’re in the middle, now is the time to innovate a way to help. It can be overwhelming and trapping to process how much is needed to help people in the world, so focus on one goal, one piece that you want to help fix. We have so much power in our mana, in our community, in our kaupapa and our wairua. As long as we can still create from what has been given, we have no excuse.

Look after each other e hoa ma. Research ways you can help, connect and thrive. Use the beautiful pieces throughout this issue as inspiration for new ways to create. I know each and every one of you has it in you.

Nga mihi nui e hoa, ma te wa!!

Plastic Love:

My adoration for making cassettes & CDs ^_^

If you journey far enough down Queen Street and traverse through the twists and turns of the snuggly labyrinth that is the Queen Street Arcade shops, you may find yourself at the bijou, yet comfy, Marbeck’s. While the store entrance view is a little obscured – especially when presented with an imposing escalator in the middle of a narrow aisle, which makes the whole place look like a mid-2010s Bandcamp vapourwave album cover – it almost acts as an intentionally misleading concealment of one of the CBD’s greatest kept secrets.

For melomaniacs, places like Marbeck’s are magical places to indulge yourself (like no way, they made the place from Persona 3 a real thing). I remember the first time I stepped into the store, where I, to my shock and excitement, found a King Krule album on wax – something I had never come across before. Provided with generously varied sections in genre, from both international and local artists, anyone can appreciate the curation of CDs and vinyl records available. I always wrap up my visit by grabbing their catalogue of favourite albums. While I never actually buy any, it keeps me in the loop with what’s new, outside of my usual listens. Record stores always end up becoming a wormhole portal that, unbeknownst to me, drains chunks of hours out of my day, right before the realisation that three Canvas assignments are all simultaneously due at 11:59 pm.

Despite my own and many others' love for in-person browsing, we may be seeing these stores dwindle with the increase in online consumer culture, shifting business owners toward the appeal of a purely digital retail presence. As of when this issue is published, Marbeck’s will be having their closing sale as the storefront transitions into an online model as of October 31st, due to pressures of keeping up with the behaviours of music consumers. As current owner Roger Marbeck put it in a recent Stuff article, the space for a record store in the modern market is “just not feasible in a physical retail setting.” As a long-time regular, it’s a quote that is harsh to hear, and reflects our post-COVID world, which has grown indifferent towards the charm of physical storefronts I have grown to adore.

Sure, it can be frustrating when a random al bum is misplaced underneath another un related artist’s section – but I’m willing to let it slide if it means I can discover a copy of Miles Davis’s ‘Round About Midnight’ on vinyl when looking under the tab divider clearly marked “Earl Sweatshirt”. What I’m trying to say is that if you limit yourself to purely online browsing, you’ll never have the experience of sifting through a bunch

of albums, and before you find the one you’ve been looking for, you accidentally come across a record that catches your eye better instead. It’s also a much warmer experience being greeted and served by passionate locals who love the records on the shelves that surround them every day. It’s because of these experiences that this passion has become an infectious one, as it continues to expand my musical tastes and interests.

A cassette tape of the Macross anime soundtrack is probably the coolest example of physical merchandise from my collection, where in the oddball scenario if I’m asked by a random stranger to name three songs of an anime series from the 1980s nobody cares about (it’ll happen trust me), I can say I own the lyrics to the whole album, on a folded piece of paper smaller than a gameboy pocket.

No matter how it’s played, the music, of course, speaks for itself. However, when I do buy the physical copy, I usually find myself appreciating the additional elements of personalisation artists may incorporate, which only adds to the listening experience. The sentimental value I hold for physical merchandise as a fan meant that, when it came to me as an artist, I felt inclined to give back to the listeners who want to support the musician behind the art they loved, through creating something tangible for them to hold onto and cherish.

And so, my personal experience went beyond just being another busy music nerd frothing over albums, as I would find, record places like Marbeck’s would have an everlasting imprint on my approach to crafting physical goods within my journey as an upcoming musician.

Flashback to July of this year, when I was brainstorming something noteworthy to create for my upcoming headliner gig on the 9th of August, under the name, jackaltheblackal. After some deliberation and inspiration from my personal collection, I decided I was willing to go through the DIY process of making CDs for my newest album, ‘GUNS AKIMBO (0-VII)’, so attendees could take something home with them. I took notes from the same Macross cassette, which also happened to come packaged with bonus prints from the show – including exclusive concept artwork. Indeed, exclusivity is an essential aspect when it comes to physical goods & music, and how a listener feels compelled to support an artist’s work from that personalisation. Of course, I’m not talking about musical exclusivity’s extreme case of a certain rapper selling only 28 copies of his album solely on wax, each for a price upwards of $5,100 NZD. Personally, I have always been charmed by how creative artists can get with how they approach the presentation of their physical media. American musician, Ginger Root, who performed

at the annual Music Awards Japan ceremony in July, went as far as to release a feature-length film on VHS tape to promote his album ‘SHINBAGUMI’. The boundless opportunities within physical merchandise production allow musical artists, such as Ginger Root, to apply their multifaceted creative skillset to unearth otherwise hidden layers of the listening experience for fans.

Now, unfortunately, I do not have the financial backing to make a whole film for my album, let alone have Adult Swim funding for that (they would likely be lending a $25 budget anyway). Nor did I have the time either, because, well… it may have also been a last-minute decision to sell physical goods at my show. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to create something tangible for the listeners of my music, whom I appreciate. With a crate of junk cases, spare blank discs, and my own printed album artwork, it didn’t take long for me to create a stack of my own album on CD, all packaged with a slick artwork & lyric print. And just like that, I was ready to make waves on the night.

As the doors opened to the show, which was supported by two other super-talented artists from Tamaki Makaurau: WAIWHAI. & big al., concertgoers had already crowded around the ticket desk where I had been sitting, asking to purchase a CD. Right before my band’s set, I had already sold more than half of the batch at the venue entrance - almost questioning if I had unconsciously put up an Instagram story one hour before the show, saying, “mandatory CD purchase to gain entry!”. Once the night came to a satisfying end, filled with colourful jazz-rap talent all across the board, it didn’t take long to find the paper bag that held my stack of CDs, which was now empty… all sold out. For fans who requested a CD but weren’t able to attend on the night, I was more than glad to make more for those who wanted to go the extra mile by supporting.

It’s no secret that digital streaming services pay artists very little, which furthers the discussion of alternative methods of supporting creatives in music. Orlando Cooper, bassist of local jazz-pop fusion band ‘Psycho Gab’ and a close friend of mine, who helped tremendously with the gig and making of the album CDs, has been quite vocal about this long-standing issue. Previously, he took to the band’s Instagram, speaking on the tremendous support from fans and the benefit the band gains from CD purchases at gigs. When describing the rough reality of digital streaming income for music artists, he explained that it doesn’t provide much, and that “The way things are shouldn’t be permanent.” One major takeaway I took from him was a simple message directed at artists: “Be creative”. The options of presenting your art are endless, and at the end of the day, there will be listeners who are there for it and are airmailing you strength.

ating the purchase of that one John Coltrane vinyl with the inconspicuous coffee stain on the back (I’m sure that record will be passed down to less safe hands). But I feel more empowered as a musician with everything I’ve learnt from these experiences. Spending hours on end flicking through vinyl, wasting my youth, lost in a record store… it was there that sparked my adoration for physical goods, and to create them within my own art. Get live in the season.

Despite the deeply crushing realisation that I’ll never be able to see my CD on the glorious shelves of Marbeck’s, I will always be grateful for how they introduced me to physical vinyl records – a catalyst to what would end up being the incentive to create CDs for my own music. Of course, I will miss picking up and deliber-

By Jack Lai (he/him)

@jackaltheblackal CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Illustrations By Mikaela Stroud (they/them) @azure.sparks CONTRIBUTING ARTIST

Myths of Fast Fashion: Debunked Untouched World’s NZ Fashion Week Debut

“Inspired by Europe’s design capitals and grounded in a 30-year legacy, Untouched World’s debut at New Zealand Fashion Week explored the enduring dialogue between architectural form and the organic textures of the natural world.” - Untouched World website

I was honoured to be invited by clothing brand, Untouched World, as a guest to their debut show at NZFW 2025, Woven Together By Nature. Untouched World was the first fashion company in the world to be recognised by the United Nations for its commitment to sustainability. With a focus on high-quality fabrics - particularly wool, in true Kiwi fashion - this brand is all about the dualities that exist between comfort and class. Being intertwined with nature, Untouched World’s eco-friendly commitments provide an air of authenticity and intention toward fulfilling brand values.

In conversations with the Untouched World team at their events, it is clear they consistently identify problemsthe fast fashion industry, which encompasses toxin releases, the consequences of microfibres and an industry-wide lack of sustainability, the brand’s birth as “a vehicle for change.” This is achieved through multiple mechanisms within the clothes themselves, such as being microplastic-free and made with organically produced cottons, merino and wool. There are also aspects included for the comfort of the weather, such as temperature regulation and moisture management within the fabrics themselves. All this ensures that the products make both you and the earth feel good.

Situated in the centre of the industrial warehouse space SHED 10, the juxtaposition of nature-inspired textures against exposed beams and concrete floors told its own story of coexistence, contrast, and conscious design. Untouched World’s debut was the epitome of elegance, subdued natural hues and speckles of nature in every look. Models floated down the runway in fluid silhouettes, with billowing sleeves, rimmed hats, long skirts, and scarves draped with intention. There was a grace in the garments and an integrity in their construction, a balance between structure and softness. This collection made the clothes feel like a warm cup of coffee on an autumn morning. A direct solution and clear strategy

to combat the myth that stepping away from fast fashion is too “out of reach.”

Each look incorporated subtle floral elements, flowers tucked into hair, pinned to lapels or woven into accessories, which added an organic punctuation to an otherwise understated palette of powder blues, soft mint greens, oatmeals, and creams. The music was bold yet held poise, a showcase of the collection’s celebration of nature, one that is woven into every thread. The runway itself acted as an echo of nature’s quiet strength. The lighting was soft and minimal, drawing full attention to the clothes and the slow, purposeful steps of the models. The crowd was attentive and clearly moved.

We live in a world that is hungry for changemaking and a generation that draws a particular consciousness towards sustainability. Untouched World’s debut served as a gentle but powerful reminder that the future of fashion can be beautiful and luxurious without being wasteful and damaging to the earth.

Written By Sanskruti Banerjee (she/her)

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Harvesting & Resurrecting

Ricky Lai on NZIFF 2025

‘You need to be bigger, you need to be bolder, and you need to be everywhere’, declared Kaine Thompson, Chair of the 2025 board of the Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival on its opening night in Tāmaki Makaurau. These words were their vision statement as accrued from the previous year’s feedback, and yet I, who couldn’t have been sizzling more with excitement in the Civic’s balcony seats, would never need to be convinced. But how does a film-screening programme – spanning just a week and spare change – truly perform to the rest of our city? Scanning even the half-filled theatres during the week and observing a reassuring amount of young people willing to take a chance on, say, the 4K remaster of Béla Tarr’s ‘Werckmeister Harmonies’, I figure the answer may be: ‘huh – pretty good, for now!’.

As Debate Magazine’s film columnist, it may surprise you to learn that I’ve only been attending the festival for three years and engaging with movies since 2020, so I’m far from familiar with NZIFF in its pre-pandemic heyday. That said, I have a gut instinct that the committee is on the right track. Anyone’s interest can only grow in the presence of a culture that encourages inclusion and engagement, so it made my heart swell to see this year’s programme totally chocker with Cannes titles to curb the average auteur-geek’s hunger pangs, plus an expanded selection of six venues, most notably the SkyCity Theatre, to behold them in. (For a closer review, I defer to Issue #9 of Debate for a fantastic venue guide by fellow contributors Daniel Tang & Caeden Tipler.) During NZIFF’s Auckland run, I saw seventeen films and have since caught up on an extra four – yet I still have FOMO about the stuff I didn’t see! Reflecting on my blind spots, including Lav Diaz (‘Magellan’), Kleber Filho (‘The Secret Agent’), Jean-Pierre & Luc Dardennes (‘Young Mothers’), Sergei Loznitsa (‘Two Prosecutors’), Richard Linklater (‘Nouvelle Vague’), Radu Jude (‘Kontinental ‘25’) and Joachim Trier (‘Sentimental Value’), it’s hilarious that even I, with a few comp tickets (chur team xx) and all the time in the world, have still been spoilt for choice.

The best film I saw at this year’s NZIFF was Bi Gan’s ‘Resurrection’, at once an abstraction of Chinese and filmic histories that reminded me, left with tear-soaked cheeks by the finale, that everything which matters is finite and vice-versa. The 30-minute single-take tracking shot – at this stage one of Bi’s temporal specialties –which lapses through the night and into the crack of dawn, may not even be my favourite thing about it. I covered ‘Resurrection’ for Debate, and I still cringe at my decision to end my review with “A+.” as if it were some esteemed stamp of approval – who does

this guy think he is? Robert Christgau? – but that goes to signify how excited I was in the moment. Despite the crest containing multitudes, I don’t expect every other highlight to be as boundless; often the simplest narratives can return stunning emotional stakes, too – take Christian Petzold’s ghost-story-in-disguise, ‘Miroirs No. 3’, or the endlessly funny and anxious physical comedy from homegrown stoner-horror ‘The Weed Eaters’ (complete with a death-by-line-trimmer that’d make Peter Jackson look back and laugh), or even the patient Bostonian roadie from Kelly Reichardt, ‘The Mastermind’, which is practically one long build-up to a great punchline in which one man refuses to morally stand for anything during the ‘70s, yet still pays the same price as the few who go down fighting.

With that lesson lingering, it’s worth lauding the inclusion of documentaries that appeal to present-day geopolitical concern; namely coverage of the Israeli state’s ongoing genocide in Palestine. Photojournalist Sepideh Farsi’s ‘Put Your Soul on Your Hand and Walk’ centers around the significance of long-distance online communication methods by Gazan citizens, but I’ve also since become acquainted with Göran Olsson’s ‘Israel Palestine on Swedish TV 1958-1989’; a curation of archived reports by SVT’s on-site journalism over three decades. It is, to my lack of expertise, the most valuable historical coverage of this crisis I have seen, especially demonstrating how passive media coverage and its biases can become directly complicit in the perpetuation of human atrocities. A truly useful non-fiction feature enriches your perspective on history and society, and Olsson’s work is a refreshing counterpoint to what seems like the milquetoast, liberal concessions of ‘Prime Minister’, a retrospective on Jacinda Ardern’s dual terms which only seemed to generate controversy for the contentious dialogue outside the film than any of its generically agreeable self-pat-on-the-back content.

As much as I keep my ears keen for Lennon & Ono, Don McGlashan and (sometimes) Warren Ellis, the only music-doc that magnetised this hipster’s attention was, unsurprisingly, Alex Ross Perry’s ‘Pavements’, about Stephen Malkmus’s seminal indie-rock band, and beyond all its formal masturbation, there may be some worthwhile commentary about the ongoing, millennial-borne feud between sincerity and irony. An even more pretentious documentary – but not without hypnotism – is Albert Serra’s ‘Afternoons of Solitude’, a highly controversial aerie on the sportsmanship of 29-year-old star bull-fighter Andrés Roca Rey as he incapacitates a seemingly bottomless cattle of tauri to

the cheers of an unseen stadium crowd, and then the testosterone-boosting praises of his own entourage. (You’ve never heard more heckled compliments about the size of somebody’s balls.) Sneer if you must at my endorsement of this feature, but I made moves far more rogue – for instance, after catching the 30th anniversary restoration of Mamoru Ishii’s ‘Angel’s Egg’, I made a last-minute decision to skip a session at the Civic which I had already paid for, in favour of barely slipping onto a bus barrelling down the length of New North Road towards a different screening at the Hollywood Avondale which I was more interested in. A foolish financial decision, I’m sure you’ll agree, especially for a lad with a student’s tax code, but I assure thee: Athina Rachel Tsangari’s ‘Harvest’ was worth the digression. Assessing the audience’s indifference on the way out, it wasn’t everybody’s tankard of tea, but I was so bewitched by this psychedelic folk-thriller about a superstitious, xenophobic community in rural Scotland. Courtesy of the great Sean Price Williams as DOP, rain in the country has never looked this good on camera.

‘Harvest’ shares a key cast member – the fantastic Frank Dillane, who I’ll assume is already a TikTok-edit heartthrob – with the directorial debut of Harris Dickinson, ‘Urchin’: about a solid-hearted young waif in Britain whose inability to help himself leads to his boomeranging in and out of homelessness. It’s a fine movie with its moments, undermined by indie-drama conventions, though I was uneased by a good early scene where Dillane, unhoused in London city, asks passers-by for money, who all avoid eye contact and walk straight-ahead without a word. A deeply upsetting self-recognition arises watching a scene like that when you live in Auckland; that every person in that theatre, including myself, has been one of those passers-by –let alone on the way to a film that dramatises this very interaction. ‘Urchin’, despite holding up a mirror, doesn’t spurn the audience, nor does it propose answers to our everyday cognitive dissonance, besides at least encouraging you to unearth it. Following NZIFF this year, a single movie might not re-map society, but perhaps the kindling of an inclusive, art-cherishing, sustainably financed culture in even our business-forward city makes me optimistic of what can burgeon from that coterie. We are active participants, if not outright contributors to, the society that we want to see. That Paolo Bertolin, Artistic Director, performed some sort of teleportative magic act between locations in order to introduce nearly every screening in person, impressed me with great faith in how much this matters to the people who keep it breathing.

Ricky’s 10 Highlights from NZIFF 2025

Resurrection (dir. Bi Gan)

Werckmeister Harmonies (dir. Béla Tarr)

Israel Palestine on Swedish TV 1958-1989 (dir. Göran Olsson)

Harvest (dir. Athina Rachel Tsangari)

The Weed Eaters (dir. Callum Devlin)

Afternoons of Solitude (dir. Albert Serra)

Abraham’s Valley (dir. Manoel de Oliveira)

Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell (dir. Phạm Thiên Ân)

Miroirs No. 3 (dir. Christian Petzold)

Written By Ricky Lai (he/him) @rickylaitheokperson

CONTRIBUTING

WRITER

The Mastermind (dir. Kelly Reichardt)

Do it for you

As a child, I spent so much of my spare time creating art. Animation, comics, YouTube videos, video games — if I liked it, I was making it.

With so much passion, it felt like I was destined for a flourishing career in the creative arts. Yet as I became a teenager, then a young adult, I suddenly felt overwhelmed by the goal to be great. If I were to stick with something, it better be worth posting, selling, or becoming a career.

Today it seems self-doubt is the least of your worries; the challenges of unfathomable competition and AI have made establishing a career stupidly impossible.

So I gave up… and I feel so damn relieved.

With my own story and ramblings on the state of the industry, I hope to give those pursuing art a new perspective as to why this was not such a depressing thing for me. Hopefully ,it lets you see the silver lining of the state of the world, and if you realise you’re cooked, hopefully it doesn't leave you in a panic attack.

I first want to talk about the internet. It is what gave me so much inspiration and tools to be creative, but in the end, it’s what ruined me.

Gen Z/Alpha are the generations that have been rug-pulled by the internet. We witnessed it become a gateway to independent professional creation, only to have that gate slowly block up with slop, bad practice, and content farms by the time we got old enough to have anything worth saying.

I made a YouTube channel in 2012. This year was the turning point for YouTube, when it started investing heavily in higher-quality content and its creators. Seeing better quality content was pretty inspiring for me, and I was seemingly in the majority.

A poll in the US found that one in three kids wanted to become YouTubers when they were older.

However, that only means more children with dreams to give up on. According to YouTube, over 20 million videos are uploaded daily to their site. How could anyone plan to stand out?

It would be redundant for me to complain that being a content creator is no longer niche, and therefore it’s more competitive. But it seems that there are two depressing responses from those who still want to give it a go: sell your soul for maximum slop output, or continue screaming into the void without an end in sight, and these sites favour the slop.

There is a clear incentive for these sites to prioritise whatever gets the most interaction, and a clear incentive placed for creators to follow suit. All major content sites are now designed to trap you in a binge of short-form doomscrolling, and they’re proud: YouTube flexes that their Shorts are now averaging over 70 billion daily views. With tu-

torials on making AI slop and Shorts/reels content farms also raking in millions of views, it's obvious the days where actual artists have a chance of finding an independent career are long gone… so where should they turn to?

As a skilled creative, the mature response to the changing face of the internet would be to accept that window of opportunity as a fad, and to look for stable employment in your preferred industry. However, from my experience, I only have more bad news.

Not only is the creative industry one where you now need to pass through Dante’s Inferno to find a job that doesn’t pay in peanuts - or, god forbid, “experience” - but when you get that job, you’ll likely find management assumes that you should be grateful to be there, (as in, happy to take ambiguous forms of exploitation) and is eagerly awaiting an update in AI worthy of replacing you.

There is not a single bone in my body that is content with AI bullshit taking work away from skilled artists. Besides the obvious, being annoyed at smug rich dorks too high on quarterly earnings to remember what being a human is, I find it frustrating because what AI produces is, by definition, NOT ART!

Excuse the cliché, but Oxford Dictionary defines art as:

The expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power. A computer using algorithms to produce something predictable is the exact antonym of art.

Though in finding this definition, I feel I need to ask, is the creative industry about art, either?

When did you last get the sense that a non-independent film or TV production actually cared primarily about beauty or emotional power, and not marketability and safe profits?

I have come to terms with the fact that some people don't care about beauty or emotional power; some really do just like watching whatever new thing The Rock is in. But when coming to terms with that, I have to wonder, is “creative industry” about art at all?

Could I ever get creative fulfilment from crunching on a project that’s only following industry conventions to sell marketable plushies, or to appeal to my dad's Netflix when he’s on his couch five beers deep?

If you are reading this and currently studying in a creative field, I’m sorry. I can only feel bad that you are not as grumpy, old, and bitter about the world as I am. However, here comes the silver lining I promised you.

I’ve been talking so critically about the state of professional creativity, but it’s important to remember that that’s not the point of art at all. You

haven’t lost self-expression, and that’s probably all you really need to be fulfilled.

There is a societal pressure that pushes too many creatives into seeking the wrong forms of validation: whatever craft you begin should be profitable, or whatever art you make needs a ton of views and likes online to be worthwhile.

This lets so many people get sidetracked by the grindset of opening an Etsy, or the impulse to make their creative work their career, and robs them of the simple joy of the process.

This happened to me, and it robbed me of joy for years. As part of my failed journey in the creative industry, I went to film school and made a couple of documentaries. I never showed anyone because I thought they were simply not good enough. But years later/a few months ago, the school asked if they could put my last film on their YouTube channel. I was flattered and said yes, shared the link with my friends, and they loved it.

When they reacted so positively, I felt all the same impulses return: Go back to uni! Start a YouTube channel! Go be a video journalist!

But then those same doubts returned: would I still be as good? Do I really have what it takes? How could I succeed in this economy?

And it was here that I saw things clearly, the enjoyment from my closest friends is ALL I ever needed.

The internet lets the whole world be your audience, the industry lets your skills be legitimised professionally, but do you really need either of those things to express yourself? If you enjoy making something, maybe just enjoy it. If you feel proud, show your friends, or a club, or at most a competition or festival. You’ll find more joy making things for you and your community than you will receiving death threats online or working past midnight because your production team miscalculat ed the delivery date.

`vBecause, sure, with the way things are headed, it may soon be near impossible to profit, as entry opportunities are shrinking by the hour. But that can’t take away your pens, your camera, your voice, it can’t take away your Saturday mornings or Sunday afternoons.

As a child, I spent so much of my spare time creating art.

I’ve been missing the point of why I did this my whole life.

I've "given up on my dreams", but now I can’t wait to enjoy making shitty doodles, films, and art again. What kind of fucked up dream would take that away?

Does ChatGPT Dream of Crochet Sheep?

It's the year 2025. Craft-Tok has been igniting in the people a passion for crochet. AI has spent three years seeping into the online ecosystem. I sit down in front of my ageing laptop. This laptop is older than generative AI, I think to myself as I type into ChatGPT’s text bov:

Write me a crochet pattern for a small amigurumi electric sheep with safety eyes, using 8ply acrylic yarn (in no more than 2 colours) and a 2.5mm hook.

To which ChatGPT graciously responds:

Ooo, I love this idea — a small “electric sheep” amigurumi, kept simple with just 2 colours of 8ply acrylic yarn and a 2.5mm hook. Think of it like a fluffy little sheep with a sci-fi / electric twist (glowy cheeks or lightning bolt tail).

Damn, I think. It didn't even get the reference.*

Image-based open source generative AI has been a hot topic over the last few years, being heavily criticised by the global arts community. In order to train them, these models are fed millions of images without the individual creators' consent. As if artists weren’t being fucked over enough by late-stage capitalism, which doesn’t value anything that doesn’t make a profit, now we have computers shitting out glossy slop and Studio Ghibli filters that could easily put Hayao Miyazaki himself into a rage coma. So why did I ask ChatGPT to write me a crochet pattern?

This is where my sordid story begins. The pure excitement of a new art experiment had launched me toward my crochet tools. I gathered the materials needed for ChatGPT’s Electric Sheep:

• 8ply acrylic yarn in 2 colours:

• Colour A: body (white/cream)

• Colour B: face, legs, ears, tail (black, grey, or bright “electric” colour like neon yellow/blue)

• 2.5 mm crochet hook

• 2 × 7.5 mm safety eyes

• Polyester stuffing

• Yarn needle, scissors, stitch marker

These ingredients for a cursed recipe looked innocent and unsuspecting. I got to work.

In a world that moves too fast, the art of crochet is an antidote. It works by using a single hooked needle to loop yarn or thread together, one stitch at a time, to create fabric. The process is slow; it requires patience and concentration. It’s the perfect activity to spiral into the depths of one's own mind and question every deci-

sion that has led them to this point.

At least that’s what happened to me as I followed the instructions.

While I hooked, pulled and manoeuvred one stitch dutifully over the last, my inner monologue was desperately trying to justify what I was doing. I was asking ChatGPT to write a pattern that, by necessity, was stealing from other creators’ hard work and expertise. Was I outsourcing theft for an art experiment? Could you call it “outsourcing” if I willingly engaged with it? Could I even call this an “art” experiment?

I attempted to reason with myself. Everything in this synthetic pattern I could have written and executed myself. A child could’ve made this. I only asked Chatty P to handle the entire creative process, including writing the pattern. And that’s what art is all about, right, folks? Shortcutting the creative process?

Before me lay the elements needed to assemble the Electric Sheep. I decided ahead of time to go into this pattern blind, meaning I didn’t read it over before I began. This isn’t a good way of approaching crochet, but if I was already wrestling with my ethics, I at least wanted to have a good laugh in the process.

And a good laugh was had. The instructions Mr GPT had given me for assembling this toy were vague and illogical. For the “face plate”, one of nine individual elements to be sewn together to complete the sheep, the instruction was: Flatten slightly and sew to front of body around eyes. The tail instructions ended with: This makes a jagged little zigzag. Which was a generous interpretation of what looked like a shark tail.

Aha! I thought to myself, I was right! AI simply couldn’t compete with humans in the complicated and highly skilled craft of crochet pattern design. I’d proven a point, of sorts. Take that, generative AI.

I started sewing together the pieces according to the instructions. I refused to ask ChatGPT for any further explanation and followed the pattern exactly as written.

All my fears of AI taking over the crochet animal pattern industry melted away. Looking upon my creation, I felt a sense of remorse, like I’d delivered something into the physical realm that should not exist. My poor, cursed child.

ChatGPT’s Electric Sheep stared back at me with lifeless eyes. The crochet equivalent of post-nut-clarity settling in, I grappled with the sobering reality of what I’d just done. The fact that my very human fingers managed to render from this pattern something cute, even endearing, was beside the point.

In a moment of weakness, I had to know what Chatty P’s intention had been when he dreamed up this pattern. I typed into the chat box:

Can you show me an image of what the electric sheep will look like?

The loading ring chased its own tail, and a few moments later, it appeared on the screen:

I felt like I was staring at a sick metaphor for the process of imagination and execution completely out of alignment. The “vision–reality gap”, I like to call it. Any excitement I’d had at the beginning of this process melted away, and I was left with a distinct feeling that nothing really mattered.

AI-generated crochet patterns are already being sold online. Fake, AI-generated images of finished toys are advertising these patterns, and unsuspecting crafters are buying them. I had essentially just assisted in training ChatGPT to generate these kinds of scams, and what for? To prove to myself that slow crafts like crochet were safe from the grips of AI replication? What was it all for?

I wish I hadn’t done it. I don’t recommend trying this yourself, dear reader, even as a joke. What I thought would be a hilarious exposé of AI’s ineptitude was really a sad attempt to make myself feel better in a world that’s increasingly fast-paced and artificial. Like an argument with a bad-faith actor, I’d greedily taken the bait labelled “Trap — ”.

AI may be capable of mimicking the language of a pattern; it can even spit out glossy images of crochet sheep, but it can’t stitch a single loop. It can’t create; it can only copy. Like the slop that AI churns out, the whole experiment felt lifeless, fraudulent, and although admittedly humorous, ultimately lacking in the basic genetic material that makes up the DNA of craft.

Crochet, like many textile crafts, is a skill that requires thou-

Crochet, like many textile crafts, is a skill that requires thousands of hours of practice to master. There is no perfectly acquired set of data that can teach you faster than experience. Crochet requires human imagination, human error, and human patience. I was never going to recognise AI-generated art as legitimate, but this experiment revealed a fundamental element of any arts and crafts: care.

One day, hundreds of thousands of years ago, humans took time out of their terrifying day to make objects for each other. That kind of care cannot be AI-generated.

*Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? is a Novel by Philip K. Dick. I thought it would be funny to ask an AI bot to dream of an “electric sheep”. Stupid clanker didn’t even get the reference.

Written By Tashi Donnelly (she/her)

EDITOR

WEAVING A FUTURE:

How an AUT Student Wove a Future from Strong Wool

When AUT design graduate student Jacob Smith first encountered strong wool in a second-year industrial design paper, he never expected it to lead to his own startup. Strong wool, known for its durability and coarser texture compared to fine wool, is typically used in carpets and upholstery – not fashion. But nearly two years on, what began as a class project has evolved into a product called Woo-Lace: a fully biodegradable wool shoelace made in Aotearoa.

Now a founder of his own venture, Jacob is using design to build something much bigger: a business with purpose, and a future woven from fiber. Jacob has been interested in the world of streetwear since high school. He originally ran a small shoe accessory reselling business, a side hustle that gave him an early taste of entrepreneurship, though not yet in designing something from scratch.

When Jacob enrolled in the Strong Wool Studio paper – taught by Dr Jyoti Kalyanji and Dan Collings at AUT’s School of Art & Design – something clicked. His background in sneaker culture suddenly became an asset, giving him a niche that felt entirely his own. As Dr Kalyanji puts it, “With Woo-Lace, Jacob was able to draw from his experience and passion around sneaker culture to approach a local, industry problem with a fresh perspective.”

After a semester spent developing his prototype, Jacob showcased the concept at AUT’s School of Art & Design end-of-year exhibition. It was there that his promising product caught the attention of Tom Mcleod, our Venture Principal at AUT Ventures. By the following January, while in the final year of his degree, Jacob had officially begun the process of commercialising Woo-Lace.

But as an innovator, he didn’t stop there. Wanting to create a brand that could grow beyond a single product, he launched Steaddi, a business focused on sustainable, streetwear-inspired wool goods. Naturally, turning a student project into a business isn’t easy, especially in a challenging economic climate. For Jacob, commercialising Woo-Lace and Steaddi means wearing multiple hats: designer, founder, content creator, and manufacturer. The process has been equally exciting and exhausting, but he wouldn’t change a thing.

Since graduating with his Bachelor of Design, Jacob has dedicated this year to giving the business his full attention. Still, he credits his ability to stay focused on one thing: passion. “It doesn’t feel like work when it’s something you’re passionate about,” he says. “It blends into your life — and that’s what keeps you going.”

With Woo-Lace officially on sale for $15.99 through the Steaddi website and AUT Shop, Jacob is keeping busy prototyping new wool-based products under the brand. His longterm vision is to build a fully sustainable streetwear label, completely sourced through Aotearoa, that reimagines how wool can be worn.

He’s also considering postgraduate study, possibly a Master of Design, to continue refining his craft while expanding Steaddi’s reach. For other students thinking about turning a small project into something bigger, Jacob’s advice is simple;“If you’re passionate about it, just start. If it’s something you care about, it’ll carry you through.”

The story of Woo-Lace shows how a side hustle can unravel into something much bigger, inspiring a range of strong wool ventures at AUT – from wool cocoons to wool floss. At AUT Ventures, we’re here to help you craft your ideas into the future, whether you’re an undergrad with a spark or a postgrad with a plan. With the right support, a single thread of inspiration can be woven into a fabric that reinvents industries.

Written By Rose Scott (she/her) CONTRIBUTING WRITER

The 25 best albums of 2025 (so far)

Written by Jed Scott (he/him) @Jed Scott

As we enter the final quarter of the year, it feels like the perfect time to reflect on some of the best records 2025 has delivered so far From long-awaited comebacks to stellar debuts from rising up-and-comers, it’s been a phenomenal year for music… ifyou’ve been paying attention. If not, don’t worry: here are 25 of the strongest albums that have dropped so far.

25

Panchiko - Ginko

Once nearly lost to time, British indie rock band Panchiko flourish on Ginko, without abandoning their dreamy, Britpop-adjacent sound. While it was their mythos that initially made me so fascinated with the band, I’m now more captivated by their knack for crafting warm, catchy, and vibrant rock tunes, perfectly showcased on the shimmering title track “Ginko” and the irresistibly endearing “Honeycomb ”

24.

Skrillex - F*CK U SKRILLEX YOU THINK UR ANDY WARHOL BUT UR NOT!! <3

While a Skrillex album making a list like this might leave the ignorant dumbfounded, anyone who s familiar with his skills as a producer knows it makes perfect sense If the obscene title of this 34-track project is any indication, it’s that Skrillex knows exactly who he is and what his audience craves: unabashed bass drops and face-melting intensity It’s brash, self-aware, and some of the best electronic music you’ll hear in 2025, from a man in full control of his craft

23

Tyler, The Creator - DON'T TAP THE GLASS

Tyler, The Creator’s ninth studio album, DON’TTAPTHEGLASS , sees the multifaceted rapper loosening the cuffs with a short, personality-driven project that perfectly captures his eccentric taste as both a producer and songwriter While it was only last year since he dropped his most personal and lyrically dense album to date, CHROMAKOPIA , this new project finds Tyler purposefully regressing, trading the vulnerability for braggadocious bars and cheesy synth-funk bops.

22.

YHWH Nailgun - 45 Pounds

With a sound as evocative and confounding as Black Midi’s debut, New York experimentalists YHWH Nailgun make no effort to compromise on their audacious and brilliant debut, 45Pounds Oppressive drum fills pummel you from start to finish, echoing through the hollowed-out carcass of what might once have been a typical punk song Vocalist Zack Borzone only intensifies the unnerving energy with his gruff, expressive bellowing It’s an album that clings to you, confuses you, but ultimately wins you over through the sheer force of originality

21

Saba & No I.D - From the Private Collection of Saba and No I.D

Conscious rap underdog Saba teams up with legendary producer No I D , resulting in a polished, introspective, and confident record that’s sure to satisfy even the purest of hip-hop heads. The versatility on display from both artists keeps the project engaging, even in its most subtle moments. Saba moves effortlessly between rich storytelling on tracks like “How to Impress God” to head-nodding bangers like “Westside Bound Pt. 4,” all while No I.D. delivers some of his finest beats to date

20.

Marlon Williams - Te Whare Tīwekaweka

Now a household name and critical darling in Aotearoa, singer-songwriter Marlon Williams bounces back from his last studio album with a more focused and riveting project, Te Whare Tīwekaweka His first album that’s written entirely in Te reo Māori, Marlon’s soft baritone voice carries you through a soulful union of folk and country, blended together with traditional Māori waiatas It’s a mix of sound and culture that showcases what makes Marlon such a unique and important figure in Aotearoa’s current musical climate

19

caroline - caroline 2

English post-rock outfit, caroline, follow up their promising debut with a beautifully fragmented and stirring sophomore effort, fittingly titled caroline 2 . Across its 40-minute runtime, the band unearths tenderness and harmony even in its most abrasive and experimental moments, felt in the haunting “Two Riders Down” and the shapeshifting “Song Two.” Emphasising dynamic range, caroline 2 breaks through the stale conventions of post-rock to deliver a record that feels refreshing, challenging, and gut-wrenching all at once

18.

Mei Semones - Animaru

Despite being previously unfamiliar with the work of Mei Semones, I found her indie-jazz fusion to embody a distinct comfort, making her debut, Animaru, effortlessly replayable Singing in both Japanese and English, Mei showcases a level of versatility in her songwriting that’s rare for a debut Each track feels melodically rich and uniquely crafted, even as Mei keeps things vocally understated If anything, Animaru presents an artist quietly redefining what jazz can sound like in 2025

17

Annahstasia - Tether

Another standout debut this year, Annahstasia’s Tether is a meditative, spellbinding singer-songwriter project that invites the listener to bathe in its serenity Annahstasia’s natural, smoky timbre foregrounds the album, as her lyrics weave the acoustic-driven instrumentals into a rich tapestry of romance, emotional turmoil, and longing. If you ’ re a fan of contemporary folk artists like Adrianne Lenker, Laura Marling, or Aldous Harding, this record is well worth your time.

16.

Model/Actriz - Pirouette

Following their amazing debut, Dogsbody, modern dance-punk trailblazers Model/Actriz continue to forge their noisy, industrial sound on Pirouette, a deeply honest record centred on frontman Cole Haden’s coming-out journey Haden’s extravagant, quivery vocals lend the subject matter a sense of gravitas and drama, leaving you in tears on one track and terrified on the next On Pirouette, the band expands their sonic horizons, with tracks like “Acid Rain” revealing a more tender, gracious side, yet they manage to sharpen their already bold and abrasive dance-punk edge with heavy hitters like “Cinderella” – possibly my favourite track they’ve released to date

15.

billy woods - GOLLIWOG

GOLLIWOGis a dense, brooding listen from New York underground rapper Billy Woods that’s certainly not meant for easy listening Discordant pianos, eerie samples, and his signature deadpan delivery feel jagged and raw, yet meticulously constructed On GOLLIWOG , we get surreal imagery of zombies and vampires interwoven with real-world tragedies like the genocide in Gaza Woods unflinchingly holds a mirror to the horrors of the modern day, and rightfully so, never gives us the chance to look away

14.

quickly, quickly - I Heard That Noise

After finding success producing lofi chillhop in the late 2010s, Portland-based musician Graham Jonson (a k a quickly, quickly) has gradually transitioned towards more personal, indie- and folk-adjacent music Now, with the release of IHeardThat Noise, Graham proves himself an exceptional producer and songwriter, and this album shines brightest when he flexes both muscles at once Tracks like the brilliant “Enything” show that quickly, quickly can incorporate harsh sonic textures without compromising emotional resonance, a skill that makes this record a true feast for the ears

13

Kali Uchis - Sincerely,

American singer Kali Uchis returns with her fifth studio album Sincerely, a euphoric listen to anyone with a taste for modern soul and R&B Kali displays remarkable ambition in her vocal performances throughout the record, and I’d argue this is her finest vocal showing to date Her voice elevates the already intoxicating, fantastical beds of instrumentation

At times, Sincerely feels like Amy Winehouse meets Beach House, a sound that only Kali could convincingly pull off

John Michel & Anthony James - Egotrip

Discovered by online hip-hop enthusiasts, relatively unknown Philadelphia rapper John Michel and producer Anthony James strike soul-flipped gold on Egotrip Backed by grandiose and lavish beats, John delivers every braggadocious verse with passion and conviction, an impressive feat for such a young artist Egotrip also features a lineup of incredible underground guests, each adding their own distinctive flair. My personal favourite guest verse comes from Kid Tokio, whose blistering performance on “RUNWAY” could be a contender for rap feature of the year

11

Benjamin Booker - LOWER

After an almost eight-year hiatus, New Orleans singer-songwriter and guitarist Benjamin Booker returns with LOWER , a fantastic, emotionally rich art rock album Departing from his typical blues-adjacent sound, LOWERis a masterclass in genre fusion Aided by producer Kenny Segal, the album’s fuzzed-out, degraded production amplifies Booker’s existential lyrics and gasping vocals Juxtaposition runs throughout LOWER , especially on tracks like “LWA IN THE TRAILER PARK” and “SAME KIND OF LONELY” - the latter’s tender chord progression violently interrupted by an audio sample of a real school shooting It’s provocative, impactful, and one of the most underrated albums of the year 10.

Mac Miller - Balloonerism

Posthumous albums can be fickle A beloved artist’s passing doesn’t justify record labels releasing every last demo or unreleased track for a bit of extra cash It's distasteful Balloonerism, on the other hand, is a project Mac Miller clearly poured his heart and soul into, and you can hear it on every track. The sloshy, drugged-out production is just one way Mac transforms his pain and self-destruction into poignant art, inviting listeners into the darkest corners of his mind

Yet even in the desolation, Mac finds beauty and empathy, leaving behind his most nuanced, fully formed album

9.

Black Country, New Road - Forever Howlong

Black Country, New Road, one of the most exciting bands to emerge from Britain in recent years, return with a dense and sprawling new album, Forever Howlong Now a sextet featuring three vocalists, the band has evolved beyond their post-rock beginnings in favour of baroque-tinged flourishes of strings and mandolin, supported by intricate compositions that demand multiple listens to fully absorb Thankfully, Forever Howlong also packs enough bright, poppy melodies to keep you coming back again and again

8

FKA twigs - EUSEXUA

On EUSEXUA , FKA Twigs continues to be one of the most creative pop artists of the moment The album brings Twigs’ ethereal vocals to a club context, resulting in a stunning blend of intimacy, lust, and human connection Harkening back to the sounds of ’90s trance, techno, and trip-hop, EUSEXUAlures you in with addictive hooks and unique production, yet never undermines the uplifting soul at the album’s core Tracks like the self-titled opener “Eusexua” and the glitched mayhem of “Drums of Death” perfectly exemplify this balance, further proving Twigs’ bold artistry and singular vision

7.

Viagra Boys - viagr aboys

Swedish punk absurdists continue their winning streak with viagr aboys, an endlessly hilarious album packed with chunky bass riffs, burps, and modern-day hysteria The band’s satirical edge is as sharp as ever on tracks like “Pyramid of Health,” where lead singer Sebastian Murphy likens the health-obsessed lifestyle to a goat-sacrificing cult Even more, Murphy’s knack for exposing the idiocy of toxic masculinity remains his ultimate strength as a songwriter, with “Man Made of Meat” featuring some of his most irreverent lyrics to date It’s a must listen from modern punk’s most compelling band

6

Freddie Gibbs & The Alchemist - Alfredo 2

The ever-formidable Freddie Gibbs teams up once again with legendary producer The Alchemist for a second helping of impeccable beats and razor-sharp flows The magic of Alfredo 2lies in how both artists make it look effortless, never breaking a sweat yet always staying consistent. The Alchemist proves once again to be a powerhouse producer, creating space for Freddie to shine whilst always keeping the beats enticing throughout the album. Freddie Gibbs operates similarly, never overstating his presence but always doing enough to draw you in with impressive wordplay and flow. It’s breezy, self-assured gangsta rap that hits all the right notes

5. McKinley Dixon - Magic, Alive!

Jazz rap is alive(!) on Mckinley Dixon’s phenomenal fifth studio album, Magic, Alive! . Filled to the brim with ambition, the album maintains incredible consistency throughout its 35-minute runtime, featuring a larger-than-life sound that’s bolstered by stunning live instrumentation Mckinley once again pours passion into every bar, holding his own alongside stellar guest verses from the likes of Quelle Chris, Pink Siifu, and Blu The storytelling is vibrant, centered around a concept about three kids trying to resurrect their deceased friend, allowing the album to feel grounded even in its most grandiose moments

4

Little Simz - Lotus

Though less extravagant than Sometimes IMight Be Introvert , Little Simz’s latest album Lotus is filled with emotional peaks of betrayal, resilience, and self-empowerment While Simz has already proven her versatility on past projects, she once again finds inventive ways to fuse neo-soul, conscious hip-hop, and even punk to create a sonically nuanced, yet never overindulgent record. She continues to pour her heart out on tracks like “Lonely” and “Blood,” where Simz’s commanding presence as an MC only reaffirms her position as a powerhouse in today’s hip-hop scene.

3.

Kelela - In The Blue Light

One of the most enchanting live albums in recent memory, Kelela’s In The Blue Light delivers an hour of patient, refined, and soulful performances recorded at New York’s iconic Blue Note Jazz Club Drenched in deep, wistful blues, Kelela showcases her incredible vocal range over eloquent blends of jazz and R&B Woven throughout the night are personal anecdotes about her own experiences at the club, along with her calls to “free Palestine” and “reparations now, ” lending a powerful emotional and political weight to every word she sings. It’s a stunning example of what an artist can achieve at the top of their game.

2.

Clipse - Let God Sort Em Out

Returning after a 16-year hiatus, the brother-rap duo shatter all expectations with Let GodSort Em Out , a ferocious beast of an album that excels on every level, from the personal to the menacing Pusha T and Malice bring thoughtful, razor-sharp wordplay to every track What truly seals the deal, however, is Pharrell Williams’ phenomenal production

The pounding bass, the audacious samples - it all adds to the blockbuster scale of the record And that’s not even mentioning the all-star features from Kendrick Lamar, Tyler, The Creator, Nas, and John Legend Simply put, it’s a remarkable hip-hop album

1

Quadeca - Vanisher, Horizon Scraper

Benjamin Lasky, a k a Quadeca, has been dropping some of my favourite records of the decade, thanks to his phenomenal skills as a producer, songwriter, and worldbuilder Yet Vanisher , Horizon Scraper, his latest concept album, might be his most daring, intricate, and brilliant work to date. Here, Quadeca fully leans into his maximalist tendencies - each track on this hour-long project brims with shifting soundscapes, instrumental builds, and bursts of energy. Stranded at sea, he finds odysseys in every style he tackles, whether it’s the R&B-tinged shimmer of “GODSTAINED” or the sludgy, monstrous drone of “THE GREAT BAKUNAWA ” The result is a crushing, all-encompassing project that feels as ethereal as it is cinematic

Rekindling the Love of Filmmaking

I was almost non-verbal for the first four years of my life, shy around others at school, and my dyslexia meant I couldn’t read or write fluently. Not being able to read was a burden for me; I felt like I was missing out on the art form of storytelling. The desire to engage with narratives meant I enjoyed others reading books to me instead, or listening to stories through good banter, and I especially fell in love with film. I would watch anything from the iconic Lion King, which inspired me to bring up the “cycle of life” when others grieved over their lost ones, to a cheeky Tarantino film my dad and I would often quote excerpts (yes, I had a naughty dad who would let me watch R-rated films growing up).

Eventually, I started making stop motion films when I was thirteen. It was at that age that I lost my beloved nan, and I would make films to cope with my grief through comedic skits and fan-made music videos. I would collect dolls, sit myself on my uncomfortable bedroom floor and open up Stop Motion Studios on my phone to start tediously making films. My desire to make films led me to take media studies in high school, a class where I felt I could excel and enjoy making campy B-rated horror films and make mockumentary-type PSAs (public service announcements) for assessments. From making homemade videos and short films at school, I knew I wanted to pursue a Communications Degree at AUT, where I could take my passion for media further.

Being able to do a degree in something I felt passionate about gave me a drive in life that I needed. From dedicating one of my papers to telling the story of my dyslexia, to stuffing film equipment and a crew member's into my Mini (you’d be surprised how much I could fit in that car). After I graduated, I landed a job at AUT making student-facing videos and helping lecturers

troubleshoot video and audio-based platforms. This included some coursework videos for tourism students, podiatry surgeries scenarios videos (I would get funny glances at my screen at work) and even some of the Canvas tutorials that I know you students scrambled to find before hitting the submit button.

As the job market started to shrink, I couldn’t extend my contracted job with AUT. I spent all of 2024 looking for a job. I thought that because I had a degree, worked at a university and had a range of skills that I would be picked for a job despite the steep competition. I found that I would often land job interviews for content creator roles. Because of this, I often made videos as a part of the job interview, but ended up being ghosted or being told “not enough experience” when being declined. I did manage to find the odd content creation job, though often I was underpaid or not paid at all. On top of the constant “no’s”, every month WINZ pestered me to go to their office and prove that I was applying for jobs left, right and centre. I started to find that I was compromising my ethics and well-being in order to get off the benefit. I was applying for 100s of jobs a month, regardless of how much I wanted to do them. I even had the audacity to work for a homophobic client after my lesbian breakup (which I found amusing). But through my fear of being outed during this job, I started to rip off my pride badges from my bag I took with me for filming. Removing my rainbow badges felt like I was removing my pride, making me realise I was stripping my identity as a person for the sake of finding work. I was living in the same grey suit almost every week, being told “no” almost every day by jobs I applied to. Even all the films I was making for job interviews and clients felt like corporate shells or films that didn’t feel a part of me.

I was told that I had a content creation job towards the end of the year and that I was to start within a month, so I referred this to WINZ so they could leave me alone. Almost one month goes by, and I have to chase up the company to be told that my first job “collapsed” and was ghosted after that. I was extremely disheartened. My skills and desire to make content, especially film, felt like a burden. I had the biggest mental breakdown. I didn’t want to go back into the WINZ office or wear that grey suit while receiving the answer to “no” again.

I ended up going on the sickness benefit due to the anxiety that was piled on me. Not long after being on the sickness benefit, I started to entertain the idea of going back to university for a postgraduate degree. Being in awe of engaging with social and media-related topics, hiring cameras and making films. I had the drive to come back to do my Post-Graduate Certificate and Master's in Communication Studies. In one of my papers, I knew I wanted to make a short film, though I ran out of time to make a live-action film, I resorted to using stop motion again, which gave me a healthy dose of nostalgia. I also took part in the 48-hour film festival again this year and reminded myself about the joy of working with a film crew. From there, I have had people reach out to me wanting to help edit their videos, and I have started to rekindle that love and passion for filmmaking. I look to the future, not just making more films again, but telling stories.

Written By Tara Jade Bellairs (They/Them) @tara_bellairs_portfolio CONTRIBUTING WRITER

By Scarlett Kean CONTRIBUTING ILLUSTRATOR

The art of physical media & why it’s not too late for you:

If you thought we were done painting sunsets on our calculators, decorating old CDs in fluorescent pink cowprint and making stickers out of nothing but Scotch tape and paper, think again. From the rise of AI-generated art in social media trends to the fall in popularity of DIY as a recreational activity, right now is the best time to dust off your sketchbook and get your knitting needles out.

Whether you are experienced in the art of physical media or have none whatsoever, there is no shortage of crafty activities to choose from that don’t require professional training or expensive supplies. Getting your hands busy is not only an amazing distraction and stress-relief, but the sense of gratification you get from finally finishing a project is simply unmatched.

My own craft journey began with a pack of hand-me-down colouring pencils and a couple of blank pages, drawing Five Nights at Freddy’s characters that I desperately attempted to copy from a Google image on the back of discarded printing. Yes, it all begins with fan art - and if you struggle with coming up with original ideas for your art, drawing your favourite fictional characters is an amazing place to start (if you are also unhealthily obsessed with your favourite pieces of media). I couldn’t afford fancier art supplies until I began earning my own money, and even then, I quickly realised I had no use for them. Although my skills have drastically improved, all I really needed was a pencil and paper. Using what you already have takes the pressure off you to master your recently purchased art supplies from the get-go, as you’ve just started, so it’s normal to make mistakes.

Without professional training or guidance, knowing how to start or bring ideas to life can be a challenge. In my experience, the best learning tool is emulating what you see. Creating work by looking at existing media or artists is a good way to get into drawing, so try observing objects around you and recreate what you see to the best of your ability. You can use any medium you want – anything from polymer clay to simple pencil and pen drawing. This is the best way to not only grasp perspective, shadows and anatomy of objects, but also establish a “blueprint” to work from when you find yourself struggling with where to begin. A personal favourite of mine is to take a walk down to the beach with my sketchbook and attempt to draw a landscape, which could not be more out of my comfort zone, yet was extremely helpful when it came to figuring out perspectives and backgrounds. Start with simple shapes, like a box or a cylinder, and work your way up in com-

plexity. If you’re crocheting or knitting, use the clothes you already wear as a reference for your outline sketches.

Now that spring is here and the winter blues are finally behind us, this is the best time to take your crafty activities outside. Take your art from your bedroom to your backyard, or, at your local park, on your commute to uni, even just to a different room where you usually spend your downtime. Some of my best work was produced in unconventional settings, and switching up the setting can do amazing things for your productivity. When I first got into crocheting – and could only just about manage single crochet – I would add a row or two to my scarf while on the bus to work and back, until it finally became something. Whether you choose to just take your art down to the kitchen or your outing to a local beach, sometimes it’s easier to feel inspired in unlikely places.

One of the best things about getting into crafty hobbies is the sheer amount of both online and offline communities that you can get involved in, and it is arguably my favourite part about the art of physical media; it is inherently collaborative. It is the best way to hear from those who are more experienced and willing to share advice and offer encouragement along the way. I have had a fair share of art accounts that, while short-lived, were very memorable experiences, and the array of creatives just like me I met online encouraged me to continue even when it felt like I was getting nowhere. Whether you’re interested in making art, bracelets, or clothes, there will always be a community for you. Best place to start? Look into clubs on our very own campus – you don’t have to go far to meet like-minded people looking to get creative.

Learning to accept frustration as an essential part of the creative process. Art takes time and patience, and at the end of the day, there is no shame in seeking help. If you’re finding crocheting the magic ring or drawing a side profile is proving difficult, start with a basic stitch or a bit of anatomy practice beforehand. I have always made the mistake of jumping straight to the difficult projects first without any basic skills, because my ego convinced me that the tutorial videos made it look easy (in short, those projects have never made it out of their beginning stage). Begin with the basics, even when you think it’s not going to look as impressive as a much more elaborate version would do, and stick with it until you feel like you’re ready to move on to the next stage.

This is not meant to be a rigid set of instructions, but rather a flexible and, as the title suggests, encouraging guide for those looking to get involved in creating physical media, because beginning something new is always the hardest part of the process.

A beginner’s guide to arts & crafts

You can start by:

Finding what you like: Take some time to research what it is you are actually interested in in the realm of crafty hobbies, whether it be sketching, clay-making, or embroidery. Note what kind of materials you need, and whether you can source some of these at home to ease yourself into the process.

Beginning with the basics: To reiterate my previous point, jumping straight into the complicated projects will often end in frustration, and ultimately, you may give up before you even begin. Familiarise yourself with the basics of your craft with simple patterns and minimal steps, and as you progress, increase the difficulty and explore personalised experimentation in what interests you.

Get amongst online and offline communities: Crafts are meant to be enjoyed by a collective, and there are an abundance of people with mutual interests who can give you guidance and motivation along the way. It doesn’t hurt to put yourself forward!

There is so much joy in creating things by hand and using your imagination to bring your ideas to life, as opposed to having a machine do it for you. In the age of AI and the question of whether true creativity will prevail, I encourage you to actively engage with physical media, no matter your skillset, because human-made will never be replaced by the artificial.

Written By Vik Sazhina (she/they) @vik.sazhina CONTRIBUTING WRITER

Illustration

By

Ann Mariya Shammy (she/her) CONTRIBUTING ARTIST