Liquid Architecture

Investigations: Eavesdropping Machine Listening Polythinking Ritual Community Music Why Listen?

Active since 2000, Liquid Architecture is a Naarm (Melbourne) based organisation supporting experimental, interdisciplinary and critical work addressing sound and listening in context.

Our program stages encounters and creates spaces for sonic experience, and critical reflection on sonority and systems of sonic affect. To do this, we host experiences at the intersection of contemporary art and experimental music, supporting artists to produce performances and concerts, exhibitions, talks, reading groups, workshops and recordings in art spaces, music venues and other sites.

Liquid Architecture is curatorially driven and our methodology embraces research, collaborations and imaginations. We want to echo beyond local conversations, problems, debates and questions, to reverberate across media and disciplines, and so to sound out new discourses about the audible world, and beyond.

We acknowledge the traditional owners and sovereign custodians of the land on which we are situated, the peoples of the Woiwurrung and Boonwurrung language groups. We extend our respect to their Ancestors and all First Peoples and Elders past, present, and future.



Andy Miller (Interim Chair)
Naomi Velaphi (Vice Chair)
Mark Nolen (Treasurer)
Leana Papaelia (Secretary)
Monica Lim
Jennifer Barry
David Chesworth
Cat Hope
Danny Butt
(recent alumni) Michael Graeve
(recent alumni) Hannah Fox
(recent alumni) Kristen Smith
(recent alumni) Bebe Backhouse


Georgia Hutchison (Executive Direction, CEO)
Joel Stern (Artistic Direction)
Debris Facility (Education)
Alisa Blakeney (Program)
Liang Luscombe (Publishing and Communication)
Rohan Rebeiro (Concerts)


Mathew Spisbah
Autumn Royal
Nathan Gray
Anabelle Lacroix
James Parker
Sean Dockray
Laura McLean
Mehak Sawney
Xen Nhà
Lana Nguyen
Danni Zuvela
Madeleine Collie


Zenobia Ahmed
Atong Atem
Britt d’Argaville
Bridget Chappell
Dennis Grauel
Jacinta Keefe
Audrey Lam
Matt Lenz
Gian Manik
Alex Margetic
Paul Mylecharane
Keelan O’Hehir
Brennan Olver
Mara Schwerdtfeger
Carmen Sibha-Keiso
Jacqui Shelton
Lauren Squire
Jon Tjhia


We welcome conversation, ideas and feedback at any time.
Journal, Podcast

104/35 Johnston Street
Collingwood VIC 3066

ABN 73128090237
ASN A0050679K

Privacy Statement

Privacy Statement

Liquid Architecture (LA) is committed to protecting the privacy and security of personal information obtained and stored about its audience or clientele, including users of this website.

We understand and appreciate that our audience or clientele and users of this website are concerned about their privacy and the confidentiality and security of any information that may be provided to us.

This policy applies when Liquid Architecture determines what information will be collected or disclosed, or how any information will be processed.

We take a broad understanding of what constitutes ‘personal information’. We understand ‘personal information’ to include any information relating to an identified or identifiable natural person. An identifiable natural person is one who can be identified, directly or indirectly, in particular by reference to an identifier such as a name, an identification number, location data, an online identifier or to one or more factors specific to the physical, physiological, genetic, mental, economic, cultural or social identity of that natural person.

Liquid Architecture is bound by the Australian Privacy Principles contained in the Commonwealth Privacy Act and is compliant with the Privacy Amendment (Enhancing Privacy Protection) Act 2012.

We may, from time to time, review and update this Privacy Policy to take account of new laws and technology, changes to Liquid Architecture’s operations and practices and to make sure it remains appropriate to the changing legal environment.


The type of information Liquid Architecture collects and holds includes (but is not limited to) personal information, including sensitive information, about:

  • Contact information including email address, phone number, names, gender, organisation, role.
  • Connection information including linkages and referrals between people.
  • Financial information including amounts paid to LA, donated to LA, or received by LA.
  • When you visit our website, our server maintains an access log that includes the following information: the visitor’s IP address, the date and time of the visit to the site, the pages accessed and documents downloaded, the previous site visited, and the type of browser used.
  • When you visit our website, cookies are stored on your device that provides information to Google Analytics to give us statistical information about our visitors.

LA collects personal information in a variety of different ways depending on the type of contact that is made with the organisation. We collect personal information both from individuals directly and from third parties.

  • Subscribing to LA’s newsletter via the website, in-person or other means
  • Visiting LA’s website
  • Registering for LA’s programs of events (eg. performances, workshops, lectures)
  • Purchasing a ticket for LA’s programs of events via a ticketing system
  • Making an online enquiry
  • Making an individual donation to LA
  • Becoming a sponsor
  • Submitting a proposal to LA
  • Providing written feedback to LA
  • Through agreements with programming partners to add addresses to our mailing lists
  • Images of persons might be collected during documentation of an LA performance
  • If you become a LA Associate, Volunteer or Board Member
    LA may also collect personal information over the phone, in person or by electronic correspondence in order to undertake its regular administrative operations

LA collects personal information in order to service the needs of its staff, audience and partnerships. This information is only used with your consent. Your personal information may be retained and used for the following purposes:

  • To communicate with staff, artists, associates, volunteers, or Board Members
  • For communicating about upcoming programs and services offered by LA and its partners
  • For documenting LA performances and events
  • To communicate to LA audiences on behalf of other arts or government organisations offering information regarding their products
  • For artistic program research and organisational continuous improvement purposes
    All details are kept secure at all times and any individual may request their information is not used for direct marketing, research or any other purpose.

LA will not sell, lend, disclose, or give personal information of its audience or clientele to external individuals or organisations without first obtaining the customer’s consent.
LA may, however, disclose your personal information or financial data (information exchanged in transactions relating to donations, ticket purchasing or any other product sold):

  • To our insurer or legal advisors for the purpose of obtaining insurance coverage, obtaining professional advice, and managing risks.
  • To our payment services providers or financial institutions. LA will share transaction data only to the extent necessary for processing, refunding, or dealing with queries about payments.
  • In a situation where such disclosure is necessary for compliance with a legal obligation that LA is subject to, or in order to protect the vital interests of a person.
    LA will not disclosure personal information to recipients in another jurisdiction unless that jurisdiction has a privacy regime at least as equally protective as Australia. LA will always ask for specific consent before disclosing personal information to a recipient in another jurisdiction.

LA is committed to ensuring all personal information it collects is accurate, complete and up-to-date. However, the accuracy of this personal information to a large extent depends on the information provided by its clients. LA asks that all clients:

  • Advise us if you become aware of any errors in your personal information.
  • Advise of any changes in their personal details, such as address, email address and phone number.

At any time, any person has the right:

  • To know what personal information LA holds about them and how it has been used
  • To correct or alter any personal information LA holds about them
  • To have the personal information about them erased
  • To withdraw consent for the collection, retention, disclosure, use or processing of personal information
  • To make a request or inquiry, write to

The LA website contains links to other sites. LA is not responsible for the privacy practices of other sites. LA encourages users when they leave the site to read the privacy statements of each and every web site that collects personal information. This privacy statement applies solely to the activities of LA.

LA operates occasional European artistic programming and partnerships, and complies with the data protection policies required by the European Union General Data Protection Regulation (the GDPR) since 25 May 2018.

LA takes steps to prevent the personal information it holds from misuse, loss, interference or unauthorised access.
LA will also destroy or de-identify personal information when it is no longer needed, or when requested.

If you would like further information about the way Liquid Architecture manages the personal information it holds, please contact LA via

Feedback & Complaints

Feedback & Complaints

Liquid Architecture (LA) is committed to respecting feedback and complaints and continually improving our processes. This policy is intended to ensure that we handle complaints fairly, efficiently and effectively. We encourage feedback as part of improving our audience experience and artistic programming.

You can provide feedback or make a complaint via email via email to

Upon receiving feedback or a complaint, LA will acknowledge receipt of the feedback or complaint; and request further information if necessary and advise how the issue is likely to be resolved.
LA will not respond to feedback or complaints that violate State or Federal laws, or suggest that others do so; contain profane, violent, abusive, sexually explicit language or hate speech; or are bullying, harassing or disruptive in nature.
Where possible, complaints will be resolved at first contact with us. When appropriate we may offer an explanation or apology to the person making the complaint. Where this is not possible, we may decide to escalate the complaint to LA’s CEOs or Board. Where a person making a complaint is dissatisfied with the outcome of our review of their complaint, they may seek an external review of our decision.
We will take all reasonable steps to ensure that people making complaints are not adversely affected because a complaint has been made by them or on their behalf.
All complaints are confidential. We accept anonymous complaints if there is a compelling reason to do so and will carry out a confidential investigation of the issues raised where there is enough information provided.

The time it takes to resolve a matter depends on the issues raised and any enquiries that need to be made. As a guide, LA aims to acknowledge written feedback and complaints within 1 business day of receipt (if an email address or phone number is provided); respond to all written feedback and complaints within 5 business days of receipt.

LA will consider the matter closed if you indicate that you are satisfied with the response, or LA does not hear from you within 10 business days after sending you its response.

If you are dissatisfied with LA’s response you are encouraged to contact LA to request an internal review. You should outline in writing why you are dissatisfied with the response; and the outcome you are seeking. LA will provide a further response within 10 business days of receiving this information.

If you are dissatisfied with the outcome of our review of their complaint, you may seek an external review of our decision (by the Australian Charities and Not-for-Profits Commission for example).
Australian Charities and
Not-for-Profits Commission
Advice team: 13 22 62
Online Form

LA may provide an exchange or refund of a ticket if problems arise before, during or after an event. LA encourages our audience to try to resolve problems as soon as possible after they arise so that we have the best opportunity to find a solution.


Ruby Solley

Ruby Solly is a Kai Tahu writer, musician and music therapist. She has been published in journals such as Landfall, Oscen, Minarets, and Starling amongst others. She has recently written her first short film, ‘Super Special’ which has been released by Someday Stories. Ruby will be reading and performing at Litcrawl as part of ‘The Savage Eye’ and ‘Purākau’.

Red light
Our class was the safest place in the world. Our class had a person from every iwi. Our class was the United Nations of Aotearoa. Our class was selected to have a visiting masters student from the university of California. She was twentyone, blonde, and the colour of teeth.
When she came in the sun came out. She was warm, she wore Nikes and clothes from shops we had only seen in movies. She gave one of the girls her old target top, she wore it to every mufti day. Pushing her chest out, waiting for the arrow.
One of our friends was going to have a baby, sometimes we would feel it kicking. Swimming like an eel under the skin, a small hand pressing up at the surface, with miniature strength. At the start they were angry, but then they were caring. We were in a nest made from our own feathers. Hidden tree top and safe from all but the wind. She helped us think of names, Rose for her mother maybe, joking to name it after her. But those sounds fell off the tongue, for Mummy’s little tuna. Too strong for a flower that could be crushed in the hand.
She knew about our families, she asked about our mothers, our fathers, painted us a picture of the mid west. How warm she would be in her bed at night. Everyone gathering for Christmas. Thanksgiving as a white circle drawn around a spread that was just for them, to be thankful.
She told us about the convenience of a mega nation. The 24/7 neon mapping, the food that never spoilt. The extravagant parties with red cups in every hand. Driving across the oceanless expanse to hear people scream into microphones and ride across waves of people, with fingers waving like seafoam, breakers brushing jeans and leather.
We showed her how to sing from the ground up. What leaves to boil on the stove for a headache. How to call the fantails to her feet. Taught her the subtext of red. Gave her a mountain, bathed with her in the river. Straight from school in our uniforms, our skirts billowing out like flowers opening into the current. Taught her to swim not sink.
We didn’t want her to go. We wanted her to stay to meet the eel. We wanted her to stay for Christmas. But she had to go, she had work to do. Before she left she stood at the front of the room and told us that she was going to ask us some questions. We didn’t have to answer she said. But she was such a nice girl, such a nice girl. We were told to raise our hands if, we’d ever smoked, hands shot up without shame. Then again, if we’d drunk, hands shot up again. If we’d taken drugs hands up,slower. If we had a parent in prison. If we’d sold drugs. If we’d had sex, At age 16? 15? 14? 13? 12? 11?
Then I saw her phone flashing red, the one subtext I wasn’t aware of. Snuck back into her pocket. Her eyes wide and smiling, but her lip curled and solemn. We did not say goodbye
A month later we received a large box. We circled around it, box cutter out and eager. Shaking it to hear crinkling and soft weights moving. Cutting through we find a box of twinkies. Sickly sweet sponge, light and without substance. There is a note from her saying thank you, telling us that she is off to visit aboriginal teenagers,
then back to American to repeat the pattern with native Americans. There is enough for one Twinkie each. We sit and eat them in silence, the sounds of our recorded laughs ringing in my ears, louder and louder with each bite.
Hunting Season
Where I grew up, we would always be nervous before hunting season. our swampy backyards beginning to grow cold again, falling leaves, falling feathers and the sound of booming.
Once I was hanging clothes on the line, by the edge of a still swamp When I heard a shot I looked at the towel next to me, and saw a whole straight through the centre of its pink cloth.
Once I was alone by the river, When a shot echoed back and forth across its bed. as I looked around me, I had no idea where it was coming from. I had no idea where was safe so I threw my body on the stones and pressed it down and down and down.
Once I was in a paddock full of horses, with big breeding mares enjoying a season of being empty. When the shots came, they were young and frightened again. Rapids of hair and hooves crashing around me. While i stood frozen in place.
My father taught me a call that sounded like no other bird. A high pitched descent that could echo off hills so far away that you couldn’t see them. He said that until June was over, whenever I walked into a wide open space to call so the hunters would know I was there.
The sound clip plays chatter static, then what they call a sound bomb. a bucket of white noise Across shots of surburbia. A noise bomb is usually used to distribute crowds, like a wArning call is used to distribute hunters. Behind the white washing, two teenagers are shot. They were walking, then they were running, then they weren’t at all.
The gun used was commonly used to kill dogs before going in to attack those the dogs were protecting. A silencer attached. But if you tell a child you do not want them to grow, in a small voice it is just as terrifying. Maybe it is more terrifying, because the people around the child cannot hear how the child is being spoken too. They will think the child is crying wolf, The prosecution asks if they are now on trial for animal cruelty. But no animals were harmed in the death of children.
The hunters where I am from don’t use silencers because they have nothing to hide. They want everyone to hear that they are hunters. They want to crack the sound barrier, Fracture it’s crust with their bullets. Let the sound rain down and its streams trickle all the way back to our houses.
Where you’re from, they can decide that a rubber coated bullet break the sound barrier. Where I’m from, to call out to hunters would ensure I wouldn’t be shot Where you’re from, to call out to hunters is to ensure you would be. It all depends on who is being hunted, and who is caught in the cross fire, with their voice cut out.
Otitis Media
The ear is filled with tiny bones. The frame of a hall, waiting for singing, for first dances and rights of passage. The walls are drum skin, stretched soft, painted with ochre veins spreading,roots going down, Branches going up up and away.
The hall has a stream running through its centre, a shiny liquid that sings. Vibrating the walls in a low hum that feeds each need in turn. The crackle of the frying pan, the bubble of the Pot. The hall is hidden in a circle of dark forest. Of snakes and skin, of grasses and white woods bleeding sap. The smell of the lungs clearing, the sound of the cough.
Growth is the movement of small beings. Lying in a dry forest, listening to the songs of the river sing, teaching the tune to each fibre of your body. You call and it responds, Climbing the nerves like electric vines until your whole body is a giant aerial, picking up the sounds of the world, swirling them around in you, and pushing them back out.
The voice of the stream is no longer clear. It pushes a dark yellow song through the hall, the sound of people trying to together from different rooms. Translations lost within a single language. P and B swapping places and T drowning itself in water thicker than syrup. The river is not moving. It is an empty sound of screaming with your mouth closed. It is a smell of burning sugar and red flesh. It is the slow unbecoming of the self.
The critical deficit story is being told to a hall who cannot hear it. The critical deficit story is being poked and prodded. The critical deficit story is telling the singing river that it is disgusting. The critical deficit story is telling the T, P and B that you might as well stop trying. When the bones start to melt, there is no stream to sing for them. When the walls of the hall burst, there is no frame to hold them. If the white coat calls the brown child disgusting, if they don’t hear it did it even happen? if they don’t hear an old language, will they still learn to sing it? Go and ask the hall, go and ask the bones. Go and ask them, before they melt.


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