Australia is in its busiest month for short-term overseas travel. And there are so many things to consider when planning your trip. Unfortunately, it’s easy to overlook the importance of pre-travel vaccinations.

That’s particularly the case for those visiting friends and relatives, who are less likely to get vaccinated before leaving the country. Unfortunately, this is also the group at greater risk compared to other travellers.

That’s because they generally stay longer, are more likely to travel to rural areas, eat or drink local or untreated food and water, and have closer contact with the local population.

Why are travel vaccines important?

Although infectious diseases exist everywhere, in some destinations there is a higher risk of becoming sick.

This can be due to tropical climates, the quality of water and sanitation, and insects or animals that carry diseases. This is alongside declining vaccination rates in children and low vaccine uptake in adults (for instance, for the flu vaccine) globally.

Getting sick overseas can at best, interrupt your holiday plans, or at worst, lead to serious illness and having to navigate foreign health systems.

Which vaccines should I think about?

The first group of vaccines are routine ones, not specific to travel (for example, the measles or flu vaccine).

The next group are specific to the risk of infectious disease where you’re travelling (for example, typhoid vaccine) or related to a person’s health or planned activities.

Finally, some vaccines might be required by law (for example, a yellow fever vaccine, or vaccines for travellers to Mecca). These will require evidence you’ve had them for entry to some countries.

Measles

Measles is a highly infectious virus that can cause severe illness. It can transmit easily in public spaces such as shopping centres or on aeroplanes.

There are outbreaks globally. This includes in Australia, where cases are mainly linked to people returning from overseas, including from popular holiday destinations in Southeast Asia.

So ensure you’re vaccinated with two doses of the measles vaccine. You may not know if you had two doses as a child. So you should check your vaccine records or with your GP. If you’re still unsure, it’s safe to have another dose, particularly if you’re planning to travel overseas.

Measles vaccines are given to children in Australia at one year of age, but young infants are at highest risk of severe disease and death. That is why Australia currently provides an extra, free measles vaccine for infants from six months of age if they are going overseas.

The flu

Flu remains one of the most common causes of infection in travellers. Most people know they should get a flu vaccine during autumn or winter.

However, the vaccine best protects against disease for about three to four months. So another dose is recommended for people heading into the Northern Hemisphere winter.

Hepatitis A

Hepatitis A is a viral infection of the liver. It spreads through contaminated food or water, or through contact with an infected person. It’s common in many parts of the world.

A vaccine is available that can be given from one year of age. Two doses, given at least six months apart, provides lifetime protection against disease.

Typhoid

Typhoid is a bacterial disease that can cause high fevers and abdominal pain. Complications such as brain inflammation occur in 10-15% of people.

It is most commonly acquired in people travelling to Asia and sub-Saharan Africa. Typhoid, like hepatitis A, is spread through contaminated food and water.

There are two types of typhoid vaccines: an injection (which can be given from two years of age and is safe in people who are immunocompromised) and an oral vaccine (for people over six years of age).

Rabies

Rabies is caused by a virus that spreads when an infected animal bites or scratches. Dogs are the main carrier of the virus, but any mammal can be infected, including bats, monkeys and cats. Rabies is almost always fatal.

People who are bitten or scratched by a land mammal overseas or bat anywhere need urgent treatment (called “post-exposure prophylaxis”) to prevent getting rabies.

This treatment needs to given as soon as possible after the bite or scratch. But access overseas can be difficult, particularly in remote areas.

Rabies vaccination before you travel can reduce the need for this post-exposure prophylaxis or can simplify your treatment if you’re bitten or scratched by an infected animal.

So a two- or three-visit vaccination course is recommended before travel.

Other vaccines

Other vaccines include those against:

• mosquito-borne diseases yellow fever and Japanese encephalitis.

• cholera, a cause of severe diarrhoea

• mpox, which is recommended for sexually active gay, bisexual or other men who have sex with men. It is also recommended for anyone (regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity) who is planning overseas travel with the intention of having sex with sex workers or in a country where a type of the virus known as clade I is circulating.

How do I find out more?

See your GP or a travel doctor to find out how to stay healthy on your trip, including which vaccines are recommended for you. This will be based on your travel destinations, planned activities, and baseline health. Many vaccines are also available at pharmacies.

You might have to pay for some pre-travel vaccines. But this is usually a relatively small cost on top of what you’ve already spent on flights, accommodation and activities, and will mean less chance of disrupting your trip.

Archana Koirala, Paediatrician and Infectious Diseases Specialist; Clinical Researcher, University of Sydney; Anthea Katelaris, Public Health Physician and Conjoint Senior Lecturer in the School of Population Health, UNSW Sydney, and Phoebe Williams, Paediatrician & Infectious Diseases Physician; Senior Lecturer & NHMRC Fellow, Faculty of Medicine, University of Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

For the class of 2025, the next week may be particularly nerve wracking, as ATAR or Australian Tertiary Admission Rank results are released online. Victoria is the first state to release results on Thursday.

Some students will be overjoyed with their ATARs and will be happy to share them publicly. Newspapers will inevitably feature stories of students who have achieved the best outcomes in each state.

This can be a tough time for students who are disappointed in their rank, or who simply see this as private information and don’t want to share. How can you think about and approach this time?

What an ATAR can and can’t show

The ATAR gives Year 12 students a rank between 0.00 and 99.95. In simple terms, the ATAR shows students where they sit compared to others in their cohort.

Importantly, the ATAR is not a mark or score. Think of it like a running race. Your initial subject scores are similar to the time you ran – they reflect your own performance and not anyone else’s. Your ATAR, on the other hand, is your place in the race (first, 20th, 100th). The rank is relative to others.

Universities use the ATAR to rank applicants for entry into courses. The higher the ATAR, the more doors (or courses) it can open. But ultimately, you only need to focus on the course you want.

And if you don’t quite get there, there are other options.

The end of school is way more than a number

Keep in mind finishing high school is a time of major change. This can see several transitions happening at once, including:

• starting work, an apprenticeship or university

• increasing personal independence, from changing friendships to travel and moving away from home

• the end of a major chapter of academic learning.

The ATAR result reflects only one of these domains, yet it can come to represent all “achievement” for students and their families. To protect young people’s wellbeing, it’s important to place the ATAR in context and see what’s happening around it.

You don’t have to talk about what you got

For students who would rather not share their ATAR with friends or family, there are plenty of ways to deflect. Consider planning a few lines in advance.

Some might find it easiest to discuss their ATAR in more general terms, without comparing ranks. This may mean sharing an overall sense of satisfaction (“I’m happy enough!”) or disappointment (“it wasn’t as high as I wanted, but I’ll spend some time weighing up different options”).

Or you could say something like – “I’m in a good mood, let’s not talk about that now!”. Give yourself permission to be assertive about what kind of conversation you’d like to have.

Broaden the scope of conversation

If you are chatting with close friends about the end of the school years, it can be helpful to reframe discussions.

Instead of the number, reflect on what you’ve learned most about or enjoyed the most. What new knowledge and skills have been gained across the year? Where can these take you?

Are you a curious relative?

For friends and family who are curious, or simply making small talk, remember there are multiple things which may be important to a young person at the moment. This could include a growing savings account and part-time job, progress in music performance, artistic creativity, or a strong and healthy friendship group.

Helpful end-of-school discussions could also include talking about what the young person is most proud of or excited about.

Disappointment is normal

If your ATAR is less than you hoped, remember disappointment is a normal part of life. Importantly, reflecting on the source of disappointment, stress, or negativity can also be a driver of growth.

For students who received a lower rank because they didn’t work as hard as they could have, what lessons can be taken to support future study or career plans? For those who had a rough year, what personal insights or stories of resilience emerge?

Even if you worked really hard, it’s important not to let a single result define you. Take some time to grieve, then reflect on your positive values (for example, “I never give up” or “I am resourceful”) and next steps.

Much of this reflection and insight is internal, but close friends and family can provide valuable social support. Consider whether there is someone suitable to talk through these reflections with.

There is more than one way forward

Remember there are multiple pathways into universities. You don’t have to rely on your ATAR.

For example, bridging courses offer the opportunity to develop aligned knowledge and skills, while degrees with lower entry requirements may offer the opportunity to study similar subjects and transfer later.

Although you might not want to talk to curious friends and family, do make time to talk to a teacher, a careers advisor, a trusted relative, or a university admissions team. There are lots of people ready to help.

Penny Van Bergen, Associate Professor in the Psychology of Education, Macquarie University; Amy Bird, Senior Lecturer in Clinical Psychology, University of Waikato, and Kellie Buckley-Walker, Senior Lecturer, School of Education, University of Wollongong

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

“We must have a drink before the end of the year!”

December is a perfect storm for anyone trying to cut back on drinking. Between end-of-year deadlines, work parties, family gatherings and school events, alcohol is suddenly everywhere.

It can make drinking feel not just normal, but expected.

But if you want to drink less (or not at all) this silly season, you don’t have to rely on willpower alone. Having a plan can help.

Some evidence suggests when goals are focused on how you’ll approach something – such as a not-drinking strategy – rather than what you’ll avoid (alcohol), it’s easier to follow through.

So here are some simple strategies, backed by evidence.

1. Make a plan

When making decisions, our brains tend to prioritise immediate goals over long-term ones. Scientists call this “present bias”. This means it’s harder to keep your long-term goal (cutting back on alcohol) in mind when confronted by the chance for immediate gratification (having a drink).

But if you plan when you will and won’t drink in advance, you reduce the need to make this decision in real time – when alcohol is in front of you and your willpower may be lower and you’re more driven by emotion.

Look ahead at your calendar and choose your drinking and non-drinking days deliberately. Committing to the plan ahead of time reduces the chances of opportunistic drinking when social pressure is high.

2. Track your drinks

Tracking when and how much you drink is one of the most effective and well-supported strategies for reducing alcohol use and staying motivated.

You may be surprised how much tracking alone can change your drinking, simply by being more mindful and helping you understand your patterns.

It doesn’t matter how you do it – in an app, a notebook or even on your phone calendar. Writing it down is better than trying to remember. And doing it consistently works best. Aim to record drinks in real time if you can.

There are lots of free, evidence based apps, such Drink Tracker, that can help you track your drinking and drink-free days.

3. Try zero alcohol drinks

For many people, the rise of alcohol-free beer, wine and spirits has made it much easier to enjoy the ritual of drinking at social events, without the intoxication.

But they’re not for everyone – particularly those who find the look, smell and taste of alcohol triggering. Know yourself, see what works, and don’t force it if it’s not helping reach your goals.

4. Slow the pace

If your aim is to cut back, try alternating each alcoholic drink with something non-alcoholic.

Water is best, but zero, low or non-alcoholic drinks can still reduce how much you drink overall – and as a bonus they can also help you stay hydrated, which may reduce the chance of a hangover.

Eating something healthy and filling before and during drinking is also a good idea. It prevents rapid spikes in blood alcohol levels, as well as slowing the absorption of alcohol into your system. This means your body has a better chance of metabolising the alcohol.

Eating well can also help calm the cravings for sugary, fried and salty foods that are often triggered by alcohol.

5. Beware of an all-or-nothing approach

Don’t fall into the “goal violation” trap (sometimes called the abstinence violation effect). That’s when slipping up makes you abandon your plan altogether.

Maybe someone talks you into “just a splash” – or one drink somehow becomes five – and you tell yourself: “Oh well, I’ve blown it now.”

But a slip is just a slip – it doesn’t mean you have to give up on your goals. You can reset straight away, at the next drink or the next day.

6. Set up accountability

Letting a friend or partner know that you are trying to drink less helps you stay accountable and provides support – even better if they join you.

7. Have responses ready

People may notice you’re not drinking or are drinking less. They may offer you a drink. Try a simple “I’m good” or “I’m pacing myself tonight”. Work out what feels OK to you – you don’t need to give long explanations.

8. Be kind to yourself

When you’re making a big change, it won’t always go smoothly. What matters is how you respond if you slip up. Shame and guilt often lead to more drinking, while self-compassion supports longer-term behaviour change.

Instead of seeing a slip as failure, treat it as information: What made it hard to stick to your goals? What could help next time?

December doesn’t have to derail your goals

Change comes from consistent small steps, even during the busiest month of the year. Focus on developing a relationship with alcohol that you are in control of, not the other way around.

If you are trying to make changes to your drinking, talk to your GP or check out free evidence-based resources such as Hello Sunday Morning, SMART Recovery and the Alcohol and Other Drug Hotline.

Katinka van de Ven, Alcohol and other drug specialist, UNSW Sydney and Nicole Lee, Adjunct Professor at the National Drug Research Institute (Melbourne based), Curtin University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

At the end of the year, many families reunite to enjoy time together. These times can be happy, yet sometimes they reveal tensions, unsatisfied needs and difficult relationships. The reality is that being together does not necessarily mean you are connected. Families can be both joyful and anguished or distressed at the same time.

These contradictions are brought into focus during festive periods. They show just how strong the ties of a family are, and remind us that family life is not just a social structure but a continuous practice of connecting and caring.

In our work at the Centre of Interdisciplinary Studies of Children, Families and Society at the University of the Western Cape in South Africa, we pose what seems on the surface a very simple question: what do families do to not only survive, but thrive together?

We find repeated themes in our research: families thrive (or do well) when trust is fostered, when care is given and when all members feel they belong.

Family cohesion enables individuals to feel safe and connected. It is not about being perfect or agreeing always, but being able to trust and get along with each other.

We’ve found that more unified families can:

• communicate openly

• adapt to change

• support each other in the trials of life.

These virtues are not something to be assumed. An example is trust, which is not automatic. It is constructed gradually, by respecting each other, the consistency of a present caregiver, the fairness of shared tasks, the assurance that a person’s voice is heard.

In cases where trust breaks down, families tend to say that they feel uncertain, or even unsafe, in their own homes. Yet when trust is strong, it creates the invisible thread which helps families to survive change.

Our studies show that disagreement can coexist with closeness, provided families have ways to repair relationships after tension. One parent in our research said it best:

We fight, we cry, but we still sit together for supper.

That small act of sitting together is part of the work of care that holds families intact.

South African families

South African families and households are diverse in their structures: nuclear, single-parent, multigenerational, child-headed or based on emotional connection and choice. That’s the result of cultural richness as well as the heritage of apartheid, which disturbed traditional family life through forced migration, labour relations and systemic marginalisation.

In our qualitative research in urban communities, families mixed both traditional values and contemporary realities. Grandmothers are usually key figures in caregiving and young people contribute meaningfully to family and household life. But families face significant pressures. Many struggle to meet basic needs, like shelter and food, as well as intangible needs like love, respect and understanding. Family cohesion may be eroded when these needs are not met.

Unmet needs also reflect what we call “bad care”. By that we mean not getting care, or getting inadequate care.

The impact of bad care on people is among the most interesting things that we discovered during our research. It occurs when care-giving responsibilities are not shared equally, when intangible needs are not met or when family members can’t talk to each other. The consequences of unmet intangible needs are usually quite powerful.

For example, a grandmother may make sure her grandchildren are fed, dressed and safe every day. But if her desire for love, connection, or relaxation is not met, she may feel like no one cares about her or that she is being taken for granted. As one grandmother described it, being “the glue” that kept the family together meant her personal needs for rest, emotional support, or simply being cared for were overlooked.

Some families expect their younger members (daughters in particular) to take care of other people, even if they are not prepared or haven’t consented. In our study, one interviewee said that since the death of her grandmother, she was supposed to be the one who would keep the family together though she did not consider herself ready. Her personal needs such as being heard, respected and given space to grieve were placed on hold.

A care-giver who feels as though no one is noticing or supporting them might end up feeling depressed, angry, or burned out. They might not ask for help, for fear of being judged or rejected. One woman said she never talked to her family about her concerns since they “have their own problems” and “don’t want to listen”. This silence, which can be caused by pride, fear, or a lack of trust, can hurt relationships and make people feel even more alone.

Bad care also refers to being given care that is not responsive to all the needs of a family member. Families who only consider aspects like food, shelter and money might lose sight of emotional and spiritual needs. And as those are not fulfilled, the emotional fabric of the family starts to fall apart.

During the holidays, these family behaviours tend to get worse. Being back under one roof brings out disparities in money, values, or hopes. Adult children come home with fresh experiences, parents remember the sacrifices they made, and grandparents hope their traditions will live on.

Care becomes the language that connects people of all ages in this mix. It can be said in words, like when people talk, laugh, or say they’re sorry. It often happens softly, like when people share a meal made with love, offer to help, or take a moment to listen.

Care is not seasonal. It is every day and intentional. The family is not a luxury; it is the pillar of wellbeing. Once the decorations are packed away and the noise fades, what remains are the relationships we have tended.

Nicolette V Roman, SARChI: Human Capabilities, Social Cohesion and the Family, University of the Western Cape

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

On the first Sunday after being named leader of the Catholic Church in May 2025, Pope Leo XIV stood on the balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome and addressed the tens of thousands of people gathered. Invoking tradition, he led the people in noontime prayer. But rather than reciting it, as his predecessors generally did, he sang.

In chanting the traditional Regina Caeli, the pope inspired what some have called a rebirth of Gregorian chant, a type of monophonic and unaccompanied singing done in Latin that dates back more than a thousand years.

The Vatican has been at the forefront of that push, launching an online initiative to teach Gregorian chant through short educational tutorials called “Let’s Sing with the Pope.” The stated goals of the initiative are to give Catholics worldwide an opportunity to “participate actively in the liturgy” and to “make the rich heritage of Gregorian chant accessible to all.”

These goals resonated with me. As a performing artist and scientist of human movement, I spent the past decade developing therapeutic techniques involving singing and dancing to help people with neurological disorders. Much like the pope’s initiative, these arts-based therapies require active participation, promote connection, and are accessible to anyone. Indeed, not only is singing a deeply ingrained human cultural activity, research increasingly shows how good it is for us.

The same old song and dance

For 15 years, I worked as a professional dancer and singer. In the course of that career, I became convinced that creating art through movement and song was integral to my well-being. Eventually, I decided to shift gears and study the science underpinning my longtime passion by looking at the benefits of dance for people with Parkinson’s disease.

The neurological condition, which affects over 10 million people worldwide, is caused by neuron loss in an area of the brain that is involved in movement and rhythmic processing – the basal ganglia. The disease causes a range of debilitating motor impairments, including walking instability.

Early on in my training, I suggested that people with Parkinson’s could improve the rhythm of their steps if they sang while they walked. Even as we began publishing our initial feasibility studies, people remained skeptical. Wouldn’t it be too hard for people with motor impairment to do two things at once?

But my own experience of singing and dancing simultaneously since I was a child suggested it could be innate. While Broadway performers do this at an extremely high level of artistry, singing and dancing are not limited to professionals. We teach children nursery rhymes with gestures; we spontaneously nod our heads to a favorite song; we sway to the beat while singing at a baseball game. Although people with Parkinson’s typically struggle to do two tasks at once, perhaps singing and moving were such natural activities that they could reinforce each other rather than distract.

A scientific case for song

Humans are, in effect, hardwired to sing and dance, and we likely evolved to do so. In every known culture, evidence exists of music, singing or chanting. The oldest discovered musical instruments are ivory and bone flutes dating back over 40,000 years. Before people played music, they likely sang. The discovery of a 60,000-year-old hyoid bone shaped like a modern human’s suggests our Neanderthal ancestors could sing.

In “The Descent of Man,” Charles Darwin speculated that a musical protolanguage, analogous to birdsong, was driven by sexual selection. Whatever the reason, singing and chanting have been integral parts of spiritual, cultural and healing practices around the world for thousands of years. Chanting practices, in which repetitive sounds are used to induce altered states of consciousness and connect with the spiritual realm, are ancient and diverse in their roots.

Though the evolutionary reasons remain disputed, modern science is increasingly validating what many traditions have long held: Singing and chanting can have profound benefits to physical, mental and social health, with both immediate and long-term effects.

Physically, the act of producing sound can strengthen the lungs and diaphragm and increase the amount of oxygen in the blood. Singing can also lower heart rate and blood pressure, reducing the risk of cardiovascular diseases.

Vocalizing can even improve your immune system, as active music participation can increase levels of immunoglobulin A, one of the body’s key antibodies to stave off illness.

Singing also improves mood and reduces stress.

Studies have shown that singing lowers cortisol levels, the primary stress hormone, in healthy adults and people with cancer or neurologic disorders. Singing may also rebalance autonomic nervous system activity by stimulating the vagus nerve and improving the body’s ability to respond to environmental stresses. Perhaps this is why singing has been called “the world’s most accessible stress reliever.”

Moreover, chanting may make you aware of your inner states while connecting to something larger. Repetitive chanting, as is common in rosary recitation and yogic mantras, can induce a meditative state, inducing mindfulness and altered states of consciousness. Neuroimaging studies show that chanting activates brainwaves associated with suspension of self-oriented and stress-related thoughts.

Singing as community

Singing alone is one thing, but singing with others brings about a host of other benefits, as anyone who has sung in a choir can likely attest.

Group singing provides a mood boost and improves overall well-being. Increased levels of neurotransmitters such as dopamine, serotonin and oxytocin during singing may promote feelings of social connection and bonding.

When people sing in unison, they synchronize not just their breath but also their heart rates. Heart rate variability, a measure of the body’s adaptability to stress, also improves during group singing, whether you’re an expert or a novice.

In my own research, singing has proven useful in yet another way: as a cue for movement. Matching footfalls to one’s own singing is an effective tool for improving walking that is better than passive listening. Seemingly, active vocalization requires a level of engagement, attention and effort that can translate into improved motor patterns. For people with Parkinson’s, for example, this simple activity can help them avoid a fall. We have shown that people with the disease, in spite of neural degeneration, activate similar brain regions as healthy controls. And it works even when you sing in your head.

Whether you choose to sing with the pope or not, you don’t need a mellifluous voice like his to raise your voice in song. You can sing in the shower. Join a choir. Chant that “om” at the end of yoga class. Releasing your voice might be easier than you think.

And, besides, it’s good for you.

Elinor Harrison, Lecturer, Performing Arts Department, Faculty Affiliate, Philosophy-Neuroscience-Psychology, Washington University in St. Louis

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

In a world that can seem increasingly digitised and isolating, board games offer a unique chance to connect with others. And over the holiday period, the right game can make all the difference while spending time with friends and family.

But board games are part of a multi-billion dollar industry, so it can be hard to decide which games to try out – or which ones to gift. Luckily I have some recommendations.

4,000 years of arguing over a die

Board games have been part of societies for at least 4,000 years. The Royal Game of Ur, which scholars discovered in the tombs of ancient Sumer (now modern-day Iraq), can be dated back to around 2500 BCE.

This not only showed board games as an integral part of ancient homelife, but something people held dear. From what archaeologists can glean from the re-discovered rules, the game involved moving pieces around a board (and probably inspired later games such as backgammon).

Meanwhile, in Mediterranean cultures such as Athens and Rome, dice games were often played at taverns, with people gambling on the results. Indeed, according to historian Karl Galinsky, the Roman Emperor Augustus “loved gaming, literally rolling the dice for hours”.

Today, tabletop games are a massive industry. Some games, such as Kingdom Death: Monster and Frosthaven, were boosted by millions of dollars raised through online crowdfunding campaigns

Modern board games can range from party games that can take about half an hour, to epic war games that can take a whole day. Australia has contributed significantly; one of the most critically-acclaimed board games of the 21st century, Blood on the Clocktower, was designed by Sydney-based Steven Medway.

The gift of gaming

For those prone to decision paralysis, there are a number of resource devoted to covering the vast range of board games available. These include critic channels such as Shut Up and Sit Down, as well as YouTube channels such as No Rolls Barred, where you can see various board games being played.

There are even online digital libraries such as Board Game Arena, where you can try games (including some of the list below) before you buy them.

With that said, here are my seven recommendations for anyone wanting to try out a new board game these holidays.

1. Sushi Go Party

This colourful, fast-paced game] has great art, and a “menu” that can be changed depending on the number of players (up to eight) and their familiarity with the game. Players win the game by creating the best combination of cards, depending on what’s available, by rotating the cards from player to player like a sushi train. It’s easy to learn, and relatively cheap.

2. Wavelength

In this party game, teams have to try and guess the location of a hidden target on a spectrum, using a clue from one “psychic” team member. The ends of the spectrum reflect two binaries, such as hot–cold or optional–mandatory, and the target falls somewhere in between.

The closer the team gets to where the psychic thinks the target should go, the more points they score. Wavelength is one of those games where no matter if your team gets it right or wrong, you can expect people to give their two cents.

3. Mysterium and Mysterium Park

In these team games, players play mediums seeking the counsel of another player – a ghost – who gives them clues to important information about murders in the house, including the ghost’s own murder.

The ghost offers the other players tarot cards with abstract artwork with which they must attempt to discern the murder weapon, location and culprit.

4. The Quacks of Quedlinburg

This game sees players take the role of potion makers at the local fair, who must push their luck by drawing ingredients out of a bag to make the best potions without them blowing up in their face. It’s simple to teach and hilarious when someone else blows up their cauldron (although arguably less when it’s you).

5. Modern Art

This is is one of the most celebrated games from board game designer luminary Reiner Knizia. Players are art dealers auctioning off beautiful paintings done by five professional artists. Players might even forget to play as they get caught up in simply admiring the pieces they are auctioning off.

Modern Art remains a fiendishly clever game that is easy to learn but hard to master.

6. Heat: Pedal to the Metal

This strategic racing game is based on 1960s Formula 1 racing. The base game boasts four tracks on two gorgeous boards, and lovely little cars that pass each other and risk spinning out around corners.

7. Nemesis

By far the most expensive (and complicated) game on this list, Nemesis can best be described as Alien: the board game.

Players have to move through a spaceship, discovering rooms and items as they go, taking care not to alert the horrific extraterrestrials that have managed to get onto the ship – represented by amazingly designed pieces. It’s a truly tense and fun experience for a full afternoon.

Matthew Thompson, Lecturer in History and Communications, University of Southern Queensland

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Imagine this: a band removes its entire music catalogue off Spotify in protest, only to discover an AI-generated impersonator has replaced it. The impersonator offers songs that sound much like the band’s originals.

The imposter tops Spotify search results for the band’s music – attracting significant streams – and goes undetected for months.

As incredible as it sounds, this is what has happened to Australian prog-rock band King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard

In July, the band publicly withdrew its music from Spotify in protest at chief executive Daniel Ek’s investments in an AI weapons company.

Within months, outraged fans drew attention to a new account called “King Lizard Wizard”.

It hosted AI-generated songs with identical titles and lyrics, and similar-sounding music, to the original band. (And it isn’t the first case of a fake Spotify account impersonating the band).

The fake account was recommended by Spotify’s algorithms and was reportedly removed after exposure by the media.

This incident raises crucial questions: what happens when artists leave a platform, only to be replaced by AI knockoffs? Is this copyright infringement? And what might it mean for Spotify?

As an Australian band, King Gizzard’s music is automatically protected by Australian copyright law. However, any practical enforcement against Spotify would use US law, so that’s what we’ll focus on here.

Is this copyright infringement?

King Gizzard has a track called Rattlesnake, and there was an AI-generated track with the same title and lyrics.

This constitutes copyright infringement of both title and lyrics. And since the AI-generated music sounds similar, there is also potential infringement of Gizzard’s original sound recording.

A court would question whether the AI track is copyright infringement, or a “sound-alike”. A sound-alike work work may evoke the style, arrangement or “feel” of the original, but the recording is technically new.

Legally, sound-alikes sit in a grey area because the musical expression is new, but the aesthetic impression is copied.

To determine whether there is infringement, a court would examine the alleged copying of the protected musical elements in each recording.

It would then identify whether there is “substantial similarity” between the original and AI-generated tracks. Is the listener hearing a copy of the original Gizzard song, or a copy of the band’s musical style? Style itself can’t be infringed (although it does become relevant when paying damages).

Some might wonder whether the AI-generated tracks could fall under “fair use” as a form of parody. Genuine parody would not constitute infringement. But this seems unlikely in the King Gizzard situation.

A parody must comment on or critique an original work, must be transformative in nature, and only copy what is necessary. Based on the available facts, these criteria have not been met.

False association under trademark law?

Using a near-identical band name creates a likelihood of consumers being confused regarding the source of the AI-generated music. And this confusion would be made worse by Spotify reportedly recommending the AI tracks on its “release radar”.

The US Lanham Act has a section on unfair competition which distils two types of liability. One of these is false association. This might be applicable here; there is a plausible claim if listeners could reasonably be confused into thinking the AI-generated tracks were from King Gizzard.

To establish such a claim, the plaintiff would need to demonstrate prior protectable trademark rights, and then show the use of a similar mark is likely to cause consumer confusion.

The defendant in such a claim would likely be the creator/uploader of the AI tracks (perhaps jointly with Spotify).

What about Spotify?

Copyright actions are enforced by rights-holders, rather than regulators, so the onus would be on King Gizzard to sue. But infringement litigation is expensive and time-consuming – often for little damages.

As Spotify has now taken down the AI-generated account, copyright litigation is unlikely. The streaming platform said no royalties were paid to the fake account creator.

Even if this case was successfully litigated against the creator of the fake account, Spotify is unlikely to face penalties. That’s because it is protected by US “safe harbour” laws, which limit liability in cases where content is removed after a platform is notified.

This example demonstrates the legal and policy tensions between platforms actively promoting AI-generated content through algorithms and being “passive hosts”.

Speaking on the King Lizard incident, a Spotify representative told The Music:

Spotify strictly prohibits any form of artist impersonation. The content in question was removed for violating our policies, and no royalties were paid out for any streams generated.

In September, the platform said it had changed its policy about spam, impersonation and deception to address such issues. However, this recent incident raises questions regarding how these policy amendments have translated into changes to the platform and/or procedures.

This is a cautionary tale for artists – many of whom face the threat of their music being used in training and output of AI models without their consent.

For concerned fans, it’s a reminder to always support your favourite artists through official channels – and ideally direct channels.

Wellett Potter, Lecturer in Law, University of New England

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Smart gadgets collect vast amounts of our personal data through their apps. It’s usually unclear why the manufacturers need this information or what they do with it. And I don’t just mean smartphones. All kinds of devices are quietly mining us, and few people have any idea it’s happening.

Some brands of air fryers, for instance, request permission to listen in on conversations. Smart toys can also listen to and record conversations, not to mention the child’s name, age and birthday. Meanwhile, certain TVs insist on seeing all the apps on your phone.

It’s a bit of a barcode lottery: data collection varies from brand to brand and from one operating system to another, making it even harder for consumers to get on top of this situation. For instance, Android phone users who have smart speakers like Amazon Echo or Google Nest have to share much more personal data than those with Apple iOS devices.

If you think this all sounds worrying, you’re not alone. A 2024 study by the UK Information Commissioner’s Office (ICO) found that participants were concerned about the excessive and unnecessary amount of personal information being collected by devices.

Unlike with those air fryers, much data gathering takes place without the user even having to give explicit permission. If you’re wondering how this is legal given the explicit consent requirements of general data protection regulation (GDPR), the answer lies in the lengthy technical policies buried in the fine print of privacy notices. Most consumers skim-read these or find them difficult to understand, leaving them with little sense of the choices they are making.

Privacy nutrition labels

It seems to boil down to two options. We share our personal data with the apps of smart devices and hope they will only collect routine information, or we opt out and usually have to live with limited functionality or none at all.

However, there is a middle ground that most people are unaware of: privacy nutrition labels. These allow you to take some control by understanding what personal data your gadgets are collecting, without struggling through the privacy blurb.

The trouble is they are difficult to find. They are not mentioned by consumer magazine Which? or the ICO, perhaps because they are only “recommended” by the UK government and the Federal Communications Commission in the US. Yet despite not being legally binding on manufacturers, these privacy labels have become the norm when it comes to smartphone apps, while other smart devices are gradually catching up.

Ironically, this solution came from the pioneers of smart gadgets, Apple and Google. They voluntarily adopted the idea after it was proposed by researchers in 2009 as a way of informing users that their data was being collected.

Experts at Rephrain, the UK’s National Research Centre on Privacy, Harm Reduction and Adversarial Influence Online, have developed the following step-by-step guide to help consumers find their privacy labels on iPhones and Android phones (click or zoom to make the image bigger):

Once you find the relevant privacy label for the device in question, you’ll see practical, concise information about what data the app collects and why. Two sections list the types of data collected: “Data Used to Track You” and “Data Linked to You” for iPhones, and “Data Shared” and “Data Collected” for Android.

By reading the privacy label before making a purchase, consumers can decide if they are comfortable with the data collected and the way it is handled.

For example, I checked the privacy label of the app for the smart toothbrush I planned to get my husband this Christmas. I found out it collects the device ID to track users across apps and websites owned by other companies, and data linked to identity such as location and contact information.

So before purchasing smart devices for your loved ones this Christmas, check the privacy labels of their apps on your smartphone. You may be surprised by what you find. This holiday season, don’t just give someone a lovely present – give them the gift of data control at the same time.

Dana Lungu, Research Associate Research Institute for Sociotechnical Cyber Security, University of Bristol

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Winston Churchill has just arrived in New York City. It is October 6 1929. Travelling with several members of his family, the British statesman checks into the Plaza Hotel, synonymous with wealth and celebrity – and certainly not cheap. But that’s no concern for Churchill: the cost of his stay – along with his cigars and brandy – are being covered by his old friend, financier Bernard Baruch.

After eight weeks of crisscrossing North America, after being wined and dined by his affluent contacts and business acquaintances, it’s no wonder Churchill became “swept up in stock market fever”, writes journalist Andrew Ross Sorkin in his riveting new book, 1929: The Inside Story of the Greatest Crash in Wall Street History.

The anecdote is an insight into conditions in the US in the weeks leading up to the October 1929 Wall Street Crash. The first day of real panic, October 24 – known as Black Thursday – came just a few weeks after Churchill’s visit. A record 12.9 million shares were traded on the exchange that day, marking the beginning of the Wall Street Crash. Over two trading days, US$30 billion of the market’s US$80 billion value disappeared.

Review: 1929: The Inside Story of the Greatest Crash in Wall Street History – Andrew Ross Sorkin (Allen Lane)

The release of this book seems timely: many are making parallels between 1929 and now. “The 1920s economy boomed while America recovered from a deadly pandemic, the flu of 1918,” wrote William A. Birdthistle, a former director of Investment Management at the US Securities and Exchange Commission, in the New York Times last month. “Automobile and telephone stocks were the high-flying tech investments of their day; Tesla and Apple are two of ours.”

And consider the breathless hype surrounding artificial intelligence. Michael Burry, made famous by The Big Short for making money on the 2008 financial crisis, “announced he was shorting Nvidia and Palantir stock – and warned of an AI bubble – before abruptly winding down his investment company, Scion Asset Management”, the Guardian reported last week.

Jamie Dimon, chair and chief executive of giant Wall Street bank JPMorgan Chase, has recently predicted a serious market correction in the next six months to two years. In the meantime, those at the top continue to fill their coffers and carry on as if nothing is amiss.

Prosperity to poverty

Back in October 1929, “Churchill saw moneymaking opportunities in Canada and the United States seemingly everywhere he turned,” writes Sorkin. A cable Churchill sent to his wife bears this out. His message home describes “a stock exchange in every big hotel. You go and sit and watch the figures being marked up on the slates every few minutes.”

Stock market speculation had wormed its way into everyday life. Finance was no longer the fiercely guarded preserve of bankers and brokers; it had become something close to a national pastime.

Ticker tapes clattered away in hotel lobbies and kitchens. Easy, fast and seemingly endless credit was available at the stroke of the pen. Buying and selling stock had become almost routine – a cheeky flutter here, a hopeful punt there – as ordinary Americans bought into the idea that the market’s dizzying ascent would continue forever; that the good times of the Roaring Twenties would roll effortlessly over into an equally dazzling thirties. Onward and upward.

But within weeks of Churchill’s visit, the collective fantasy of what we would now characterise as irrational exuberance would collapse like a house of cards. The bright and buoyant world that so enamoured him would give way to years of mass unemployment, snaking breadlines and tinpot shantytowns known as Hoovervilles.

Churchill, a dabbler in the market, lost a small fortune. Born into wealth and privilege, he was able to weather the subsequent storm. But countless ordinary Americans, who had basically been tricked into believing the boom could only continue, weren’t so fortunate. Swathes of the population were left totally destitute.

America went from a nation drunk on the dream of perpetual prosperity to one struggling through the nightmare of the worst economic crisis in history, its ramifications felt across the globe.

It is impossible to engage with Sorkin’s painstaking reconstruction of those final, feverish weeks without thinking of our own times.

How did the stock market crash play out?

1929 brings to life the furious disputes between brokers and policymakers, the frantic attempts to keep the economic ship on an even keel and the blunders that helped tip the entire financial system into freefall.

“Gradually and then suddenly.” That is how Ernest Hemingway famously described the process of going broke. This line can easily be repurposed to speak to the events of 1929.

Stock prices had been driven to ludicrous heights by unchecked speculation, mountains of borrowed money and underhand banking practices that actively encouraged people to overextend on credit. Once confidence faltered, margin loans (loans that allow investors to buy shares with borrowed money, using the shares themselves as collateral) were called in, precipitating even more selling and triggering a vicious downward spiral – one that could not be stopped.

What emerges is a picture that feels uncannily familiar: a financial and political elite convinced the Federal Reserve was being too cautious, too meddlesome and far too willing to spoil the party.

The Federal Reserve plays a crucial role in Sorkin’s narrative, much as it does today. In 1929, its leaders were caught between competing pressures: on the one side, financiers urging them to loosen control over credit and keep speculation humming along; on the other, mounting signs the market was dangerously overheated.

Sorkin points to the warning delivered on September 2 1929 by economist Roger Babson, who argued several key indicators were suggesting the American economy was beginning to soften, even as share prices hit new heights. He noted that production and freight figures had started to dip and the numbers of declining stocks were quietly rising – a sure sign the market’s apparent strength masked growing fragility.

That tension, it seems, has never really been resolved.

Reading this, I immediately thought about the pressure being placed on the Federal Reserve by Donald Trump. He has repeatedly urged the Fed to slash interest rates, accused its leadership of deliberately stymieing growth and expressed a desire to bring the system more directly under his control.

And it was hard not to notice the symbolism when, mere hours before millions of Americans in need had their food benefits stripped away from them, Trump hosted a Great Gatsby-themed Halloween party at Mar-a-Lago. It was a lavish tribute to the very era of excess, delusion and speculative mania that contributed to the catastrophe of October 1929.

Records public for the first time

In 2009, Sorkin published Too Big to Fail, a book built on first-hand testimony from key figures inside the major banking institutions and the regulatory authorities at the heart of the 2008 financial crisis.

In Sorkin’s own words, that study was “a chronicle of failure – a failure that brought the world to its knees and raised questions about the very nature of capitalism.”

Similar questions animate 1929, though this time, the story is based on extensive archival research. During a visit to Harvard’s Baker Library, Sorkin discovered a trove of papers belonging to Thomas Lamont, a leading partner at J.P. Morgan. That afternoon in the archive, he says, convinced him he might write for 1929 what he had for 2008: “a fly-on-the-wall narrative that immerses readers in the moment”.

The project well and truly took off when Sorkin secured unprecedented access to the minutes of the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. One of 12 regional banks established under the Federal Reserve Act of 1913, the New York Fed originally served as a sort of nationwide operational hub, executing monetary policy through open market operations and acting as a key conduit between Wall Street and Washington.

In 1929, its influence was even greater than it is today. This means its minutes hold an outsized significance in helping us understand how the crisis unfolded.

These records, covering the most critical months of 1929, had never before been made public. After providing a set of redacted versions, the Fed – prompted by Sorkin’s request – ultimately chose to release the full documents.

The insights they offered proved invaluable, confirming “the internal tempo of the moment” and becoming “one of the clearest anchors for telling this story”. They “added time stamps to key decisions, and provided a grounding that helped verify or challenge the public record”.

If this all sounds a bit dry and dense, rest assured: it is anything but.

This storm is ‘progress’

Much like the financiers of 1929, today’s tech barons and cheerleaders insist the AI boom represents a once-in-a-lifetime leap forward: an innovation so important and transformative it simply must be classed as (again) too big to fail.

These hucksters and hustlers, blowhards and boosters, are always on hand and quick to reassure. Don’t worry, they say. And don’t ask too many questions. This storm is what we call progress.

All this brings to mind the old Marx adage about history repeating itself: tragedy, then farce. However, when I stop to think, it doesn’t feel quite right, given how often these cycles recur. Instead, 1929’s epigraph seems much closer to the mark:

The ordinary human being does not live long enough to draw any substantial benefit from his own experience. And no one, it seems, can benefit by the experiences of others. Being both a father and teacher, I know we can teach our children nothing. We can transmit to them neither our knowledge of life nor mathematics. Each must learn its lesson anew.

Those words belong to Albert Einstein, taken from an interview he gave to The Saturday Evening Post. Einstein was talking about parenthood and mathematics, not financial markets.

Yet the interview appeared in print on October 26 1929, just two days after Black Thursday. Read today, his words carry an unmistakable air of prophecy.

He is right. As a species, we seem wholly unable to learn from our mistakes, let alone the mistakes of others. And it is hard to escape the feeling that we may be reminded of this again before long.

Alexander Howard, Senior Lecturer, Discipline of English and Writing, University of Sydney

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The 2025 Turner prize has been won by Nnena Kalu. It’s a historic win and a groundbreaking moment in the prestigious prize’s history.

Kalu is the first learning-disabled artist, the first artist with limited verbal communication, and the first artist whose practice is facilitated through a specialised studio (ActionSpace, established to support artists with learning disabilities) to win the prize. Her win is both extraordinary and overdue – a pivotal moment for inclusivity in British art and for the visibility of learning-disabled artists.

Kalu’s practice is defined by repetition, rhythm, and layering. She builds sculptural forms by tightly wrapping materials into pulsing, tactile structures, and her drawings accumulate depth through swirling, vortex-like motions.

After more than two decades of working, her recognition has accelerated. There have been acquisitions by Tate and the Arts Council Collection. She secured representation with gallerist Arcadia Missa.

She also presented to wide acclaim at Barcelona’s Manifesta 15 gallery in 2024 and Liverpool’s Walker Art Gallery in 2024 to 2025. These accomplishments have all contributed towards her Turner prize win.

I first met Kalu in 2018 when I curated her work in a group exhibition in North London. I worked with her longtime ActionSpace facilitator, Charlotte Hollinshead who helped Kalu to develop her individual arts practice and deliver an extensive range of commissions, projects, events and exhibitions.

Learning of Kalu’s interest in responding to existing architecture, we set aside a structural pillar in the gallery. When they arrived on site, Kalu began wrapping it with tape, film and string. I watched as the form accumulated colour, tension and movement. I was completely hooked.

Over the years, I continued to curate her work – including her first American exhibition in 2020 – and wrote about her practice in my book Nonconformers: A New History of Self-Taught Artists. As I spent more time with her, one question began to preoccupy me: how should curators address Kalu’s position as a learning-disabled artist when she cannot narrate her practice or its relationship to her identity in conventional communication terms?

This question has since become the centre of my PhD research at Kingston University. I now work closely with Kalu and ActionSpace to explore new, more expansive forms of curatorial and interpretive practice – including approaches that acknowledge facilitation, and support structures without diminishing artistic agency.

Kalu’s nomination in April unexpectedly became a critical case study for my research. Watching how the prize, its partners, and the media represented her offered a rare and highly visible window into how institutions handle practices that do not fit standard models of authorship or communication.

Some of the most promising work came from Tate’s Body in Rhythm, Line in Motion film – a short artist video that accompanies each Turner nominee. What stood out was how clearly and transparently it acknowledged the supportive ecosystem around Kalu.

Named contributors spoke from their specific positions – facilitators, curators, and long-time supporters – describing what they observe in her process rather than speculating about intention. The video foregrounded the sounds of her making, the rhythm of her gestures, and the material build-up of the work as legitimate ways of understanding her practice.

If the Tate film offered examples of progress, excerpts of wider media responses revealed how much work remains. Some commentary simply misunderstood the context. A high-profile columnist dismissed the shortlist as “the soppiest ever” and described Kalu’s work as “academic” – an odd accusation for an artist who works entirely through processes developed instinctively at ActionSpace, which were not informed by an art historical discourse.

More troubling were moments when journalists framed Kalu’s disability as a reason to lower artistic expectations. One critic, speaking on BBC Front Row, remarked: “As an art critic, I found it very disappointing; as a human being, I feel I have to support it.”

This kind of response strips learning-disabled artists of agency. It assumes they cannot be both disabled and ambitious, disabled and professional, disabled and excellent. It conflates access with charity, facilitation with compromise, and disability with lack.

Kalu’s career, and now her Turner Prize success, demonstrate precisely the opposite.

Her win is an extraordinary milestone, but it is not an endpoint. The structures surrounding learning-disabled artists remain precarious. Supported studios like ActionSpace are essential cultural infrastructures, yet they operate with limited resources. Curators and institutions are still learning how to communicate about practices that do not fit familiar narratives of artistic intention or authorship.

The Turner Prize has cracked something open. It has made visible what many of us working in this field have long argued: that excellence emerges in many forms, that facilitation can be a creative engine rather than an obstacle, and that disabled artists are central, not peripheral, to contemporary art.

What comes next, how we talk about this win, how institutions respond, and which structures are resourced, will determine whether this moment becomes symbolic or genuinely transformative.

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Lisa Slominski, PhD with the Department of Historical and Critical Studies, Kingston University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Roman concrete is pretty amazing stuff. It’s among the main reasons we know so much about Roman architecture today. So many structures built by the Romans still survive, in some form, thanks to their ingenious concrete and construction techniques.

However, there’s a lot we still don’t understand about exactly how the Romans made such strong concrete or built all those impressive buildings, houses, public baths, bridges and roads.

Scholars have long yearned for more physical evidence from Roman worksites to provide clues.

Now, a new study – led by researchers from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and published in the journal Nature Communications – sheds new light on Roman concrete and construction techniques.

That’s thanks to details sifted from partially constructed rooms in Pompeii – a worksite abandoned by workers as Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 CE.

New clues about concrete making

The discovery of this particular building site hit the news early last year.

The builders were quite literally repairing a house in the middle of the city, when Mount Vesuvius blew up in the first century CE.

This unique find included tiles sorted for recycling and wine containers known as amphorae that had been re-used for transporting building materials.

Most importantly, though, it also included evidence of dry material being prepared ahead of mixing to produce concrete.

It is this dry material that is the focus of the new study. Having access to the actual materials ahead of mixing represents a unique opportunity to understand the process of concrete making and how these materials reacted when water was added.

This has re-written our understanding of Roman concrete manufacture.

Self-healing concrete

The researchers behind this new paper studied the chemical composition of materials found at the site and defined some key elements: incredibly tiny pieces of quicklime that change our understanding of how the concrete was made.

Quicklime is calcium oxide, which is created by heating high-purity limestone (calcium carbonate).

The process of mixing concrete, the authors of this study explain, took place in the atrium of this house. The workers mixed dry lime (ground up lime) with pozzolana (a volcanic ash).

When water was added, the chemical reaction produced heat. In other words, it was an exothermic reaction. This is known as “hot-mixing” and results in a very different type of concrete than what you get from a hardware store.

Adding water to the quicklime forms something called slaked lime, along with generating heat. Within the slaked lime, the researchers identified tiny undissolved “lime clasts” that retained the reactive properties of quicklime. If this concrete forms cracks, the lime clasts react with water to heal the crack.

In other words, this form of Roman concrete can quite literally heal itself.

Techniques old and new

However, it is hard to tell how widespread this method was in ancient Rome.

Much of our understanding of Roman concrete is based on the writings of the ancient Roman architect Vitruvius.

He had advised to use pozzolana mixed with lime, but it had been assumed that this text did not refer to hot-mixing.

Yet, if we look at another Roman author, Pliny the Elder, we find a clear account of the reaction of quicklime with water that is the basis for the exothermic reaction involved in hot-mixing concrete.

So the ancients had knowledge of hot-mixing but we know less about how widespread the technique was.

Maybe more important is the detail in the texts of experimentation with different blends of sand, pozzolana and lime, leading to the mix used by the builders in Pompeii.

The MIT research team had previously found lime clasts (those tiny little bits of quicklime) in Roman remains at Privernum, about 43 kilometres north of Pompeii.

It’s also worth noting the healing of cracks has been observed in the concrete of the tomb of noblewoman Caecilia Metella outside Rome on the Via Appia (a famous Roman road).

Now this new Pompeii study has established hot-mixing happened and how it helped improve Roman concrete, scholars can look for instances in which concrete cracks have been healed this way.

Questions remain

All in all, this new study is exciting – but we must resist the assumption all Roman construction was made to a high standard.

The ancient Romans could make exceptional concrete mortars but as Pliny the Elder notes, poor mortar was the cause of the collapse of buildings in Rome. So just because they could make good mortar, doesn’t mean they always did.

Questions, of course, remain.

Can we generalise from this new study’s single example from 79 CE Pompeii to interpret all forms of Roman concrete?

Does it show progression from Vitruvius, who wrote some time earlier?

Was the use of quicklime to make a stronger concrete in this 79 CE Pompeii house a reaction to the presence of earthquakes in the region and an expectation cracking would occur in the future?

To answer any of these questions, further research is needed to see how prevalent lime clasts are in Roman concrete more generally, and to identify where Roman concrete has healed itself.

Ray Laurence, Professor of Ancient History, Macquarie University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Vivienne Westwood and Rei Kawakubo are two fashion designers who redefined “the look” of fashion on the street from the 1970s onwards.

They were born a year apart in the early 1940s, one in Derbyshire in England, the other in Tokyo in Japan. They were both largely self-taught, self-made mavericks who contributed to, and redefined, the punk scene in the 60s and 70s. Their use of unconventional materials and designs shocked the fashion establishment and helped to establish alternative realities of accepted dress codes.

The great achievement of many revolutionary National Gallery of Victoria exhibitions is the strategy of juxtaposing two vibrant artistic personalities, whereby a new and unexpected reality is created that allows us to establish a fresh perspective.

Westwood and Kawakubo are household names in the fashion industry. But by bringing them together and clustering their works under five thematic categories, new insights appear.

It is a spectacular selection of over 140 key and signature pieces drawn from the growing holdings of the NGV supplemented with strategic loans from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; The Victoria & Albert Museum, London; Palais Galliera, Paris; the Vivienne Westwood archive; and the National Gallery of Australia, among others.

Punk and provocation

Westwood, subsequently Dame Vivienne Isabel Westwood, initially in collaboration with Malcolm McLaren of Sex Pistols fame, helped to mould and dress the London punk scene.

For her, dress was never ideologically neutral but a lightning rod for social change.

Pornographic slogans, emblems anchored in fetish practices and sadomasochism, and dresses made of plastics and supplemented with safety pins and chains subverted the comfortable status quo and allowed her fashion sense to penetrate into the middle classes.

What was once outrageous became something daringly respectable.

Kawakubo was born into an academic family and came to fashion design when making her own clothing in the 1960s under the label Comme des Garçons (“like the boys”) in Tokyo.

Conceived as anti-fashion, sober and severe, she made largely monochrome garments – black, dark grey and white – for women, with frayed, unfinished edges, holes and asymmetric shapes.

A men’s line was added in 1978. The number of outlets in Japan grew into the hundreds. Later, her designs established a strong presence in Paris.

The themes that bring the two fashion designers together in this exhibition include the opening section, Punk and Provocation. Both designers drew on the ethos of punk with its desire for change and the rejection of old ways.

Breaking orthodoxies

A second section is termed Rupture for the conscious desire to break with convention, whether it be Westwood’s Nostalgia of Mud collection of 1983 or Kawakubo’s Not Making Clothes collection of 2014.

There is a strongly expressed desire to break with the prevailing orthodoxies.

A third section, Reinvention, hints at a postmodernist predilection of both artists to delve into traditions of art history and from unexpected sources, such as Rococo paintings, revive elements from tailoring traditions, ruffles and frills.

Although both artists are rule breakers, they do not act from a position of ignorance. It is from a detailed, and at times pedantic, knowledge of garments from the past.

In the late 1980s, Westwood revived English tweeds and Scottish tartans. Kawakubo drew on the basics of traditional tailoring in menswear and applied it to unorthodox patterns and materials in her garments for women.

The ‘ideal’ body

A fourth section, The Body: Freedom and Restraints, perhaps most problematically challenges the conventions of idealised female beauty and the objectification of the female body.

It is argued in the exhibition that Westwood’s Erotic Zones collection (1995), and Kawakubo’s The Future of Silhouette (2017–18), may be viewed as attempts to redefine the female body.

Kawakubo’s Body meets dress-Dress meets body collection, presented in 1996, systematically interrogates boundaries between bodies and garments. Westwood, at a similar time, played with padding and compression in her designs to question the ideals of a sexual, “ideal” body.

The final section of the exhibition is appropriately termed The Power of Clothes. This returns us to the recurring theme of employing fashion to make a statement concerning social change, whether this be the punk revolution or protests connected with climate change.

Through their work, both Westwood and Kawakubo argue fashion is a political act and make broader social statements through their garments, particularly women’s wear.

Both fashion designers were prominent polemicists. As quoted in the exhibition, Westwood in 2011 declared,

I can use fashion as a medium to express my ideas to fight for a better world.

Kawakubo is quoted as saying in 2016,

Society needs something new, something with the power to provide stimulus and the drive to move us forward […] Maybe fashion alone is not enough to change our world, but I consider it my mission to keep pushing and to continue to propose new ideas.

This exhibition will be seen as historically significant and it is accompanied with a weighty catalogue. The NGV has established major collections of over 400 pieces of Westwood’s and Kawakubo’s work that lays the foundation for any further serious exploration of fashion from this period anywhere in the world.

Westwood | Kawakubo is at the National Gallery of Victoria until April 19.

Sasha Grishin, Adjunct Professor of Art History, Australian National University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.