Bridget has Down Syndrome and is non-verbal, but still expresses herself Vividly
Fitz: Bridget, congratulations on your art. When did you take it up?
BK: I have been drawing since I was little but I started using Posca Pens in Year 12 at St Scholastica's College, Glebe, which I attended with my two sisters. That was when I got really excited about my art.
Fitz: When did you realise you were not just good at it, but seriously talented?
BK: When I finished high school, I kept doing my art because it made me happy. When I was 21, I won the Inner West Blooming Arts prize. I won a mentorship to University of Sydney College of the Arts. I felt happy because people started to call me an artist.
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Fitz: Who are your greatest artistic influences?
BK: I get ideas from the world around me. I like colours and shapes and showing people how I see things.
Fitz: What did your parents and sisters say when you told them your work was to be displayed at Vivid?
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Sydney Morning Herald
7 days ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
Dying For Sex has earned this talented Australian an Emmy nod
Fitz: So what was the 'hinge moment' in your life which veered you towards actively pursuing directing as a career? SM: I was about 13, and my first drama teacher at Caulfield Grammar, Mr Joachim Matschoss – who I'm still in touch with – actually wrote in my drama book, 'you should really consider this as a profession'. I had no idea what that really meant because for me drama was fun, and I enjoyed doing it, but I didn't know how you could make it a life's work. But that put the idea in my head… Fitz: And the influence of attending Sydney's own NIDA in 2007? SM: It was honestly the best year of my life. I loved being surrounded by people who all were as enthusiastic as I was about theatre, and took it as seriously as I did. I was just in awe of that school and the teachers and my classmates. I always loved listening to the directors and the choreographers and the designers and listening to how they did things, how they saw things. Fitz: Go on. SM: At NIDA, it was about the rigour of being an informed artist. There was always so much pressure – and rightly so – to make sure that you're at the forefront of the entire creative industry. And the only way you can do that is if you watch everything, see as much art and theatre and opera and everything else that you can, so that you know who everyone is, and you know what art is in the world right now, so you can be ahead of the zeitgeist. And I really take that so seriously in my daily life now. I'm always at galleries and staying adventurous and creative, and that's what has made me the artist that I am. Fitz: So you are operating by informed instinct, with no rigid playbook? SM: Yes. It is all instinct, from years of being in rehearsal rooms and then NIDA and then AFTRS [the Australian Film Television and Radio School]. Fitz: And so when you moved from theatre to film and television, what would you say were your own hallmarks in approach? SM: I think it's the performance style I create with the actors. I want it be grounded and believable, but I'm not afraid to push extreme performances – because I also think people are extreme. I love colour, which probably comes from growing up and staring out at the Hong Kong harbour and neon lights my whole life. I'd also say I've got a dark and unusual sense of humour, but that would also come from living in so many countries and understanding many different kinds of comedy, right? And music. Nothing captures mood better than the right music. Fitz: So for your debut feature film, Babyteeth, at the Venice Film Festival in 2019, you received a standing ovation for 15 minutes? SM: Yeah, that was crazy. We'd just finished it at the last minute, so we had no idea how they were going to respond. We'd never known where people would laugh, where people would cry. So it was quite overwhelming. We were very stressed to work out whether it was any good or not. Obviously, the standing ovation helped us feel better about it. Fitz: How do you do get the best performances out of your actors? Are you somebody who wants 50 takes? SM: I do like to have a proper relationship with them off-screen, and for them to have that with each other. We must know each other, beyond just being professionals together. No, I don't do a lot of takes, and when I do repeat them, they're always quite different. I'm very confident about when I've got something and I can move on quite quickly. I don't want to over intellectualise it. I want to work out how we're really going to transform this character through their movements, not just being a talking head. Fitz: After you yell 'Cut!' and 'That's a wrap for the day, people,' do they all go home, while you sit there until midnight, going through the rushes? SM: No. I've got a bit of a photographic memory, so when it comes to the content that I've shot, I don't need to rewatch anything afterwards. And to be honest, I don't really like looking at any of it until I've finished because I find it confusing. In this art form, scenes might move into different spots, so you can't overly plan every transition from one scene to another, because that scene might end up at the end of the project instead of at the beginning. Fitz: And when they all finally do go home, are you then buried for six months putting it all together? SM: Yes. And that's the bit I always struggle with because it's a much more lonely process. But at least I have the most amazing editor, an Australian, Steve Evans, and he makes my life really exciting during that period because he's so proficient in music, and a huge reason why my work has so much great music in it. And I come in to the editing booth at the end of a shoot as an exhausted shell of a person, and he revives me creatively again. Fitz: How did Dying For Sex come across your desk, and what is the premise of the story? SM: It was based on a podcast about a woman called Molly and her best friend, Nikki. They're both actors and when Molly finds out she's dying of cancer, she realises she hasn't had enough sexual experience and variety in her life and so starts to explore it in the time she has left. When I read the synopsis, I loved it. I knew it was going to be a really strong tonal challenge. Fitz: What's a tonal challenge? SM: It's when I read it and I love the really interesting tone on the page, but start wondering how do I actually execute that with all the other elements of the visuals and performance and music? And I know that it's going to be hard to get right. Dying For Sex could easily have come across as bad taste, and it had to be handled carefully. And so all of us were on board with that, and the challenge was delicately working out you could have a scene that talks about sexual abuse and then making a fart joke in the same moment. Fitz: When you go to the Emmys will you have a speech prepared in case you win, or would that be bad karma? SM: Yes. I am so nervous about public speaking that there's no way that I wouldn't have something written down, because I just can't get up and wing it. I'm not a performer. Loading Fitz: Well, if it's not bad karma, let's have a little practice. 'Thank you, thank you all! The person I'd like to thank most is …' SM: '… is my daughter, Dylan. She's 10, and she was just six months old when I started doing television, and she has very much been on this journey with me the whole way.' My daughter loves hanging out on set, and we have wonderful, creative people around our house all the time. Life is more rich because of it. Being a single mum is a little bit challenging in this industry, but I also feel like this industry is incredibly supportive of that – particularly in London, where I live now – and it never seems like it's a disadvantage, which is really nice. Fitz: So now you've got an Emmy nomination, and maybe an Emmy itself, we can presume you've nailed the zeitgeist with your work. How do you define that zeitgeist in 2025?
The Age
7 days ago
- The Age
Dying For Sex has earned this talented Australian an Emmy nod
Fitz: So what was the 'hinge moment' in your life which veered you towards actively pursuing directing as a career? SM: I was about 13, and my first drama teacher at Caulfield Grammar, Mr Joachim Matschoss – who I'm still in touch with – actually wrote in my drama book, 'you should really consider this as a profession'. I had no idea what that really meant because for me drama was fun, and I enjoyed doing it, but I didn't know how you could make it a life's work. But that put the idea in my head… Fitz: And the influence of attending Sydney's own NIDA in 2007? SM: It was honestly the best year of my life. I loved being surrounded by people who all were as enthusiastic as I was about theatre, and took it as seriously as I did. I was just in awe of that school and the teachers and my classmates. I always loved listening to the directors and the choreographers and the designers and listening to how they did things, how they saw things. Fitz: Go on. SM: At NIDA, it was about the rigour of being an informed artist. There was always so much pressure – and rightly so – to make sure that you're at the forefront of the entire creative industry. And the only way you can do that is if you watch everything, see as much art and theatre and opera and everything else that you can, so that you know who everyone is, and you know what art is in the world right now, so you can be ahead of the zeitgeist. And I really take that so seriously in my daily life now. I'm always at galleries and staying adventurous and creative, and that's what has made me the artist that I am. Fitz: So you are operating by informed instinct, with no rigid playbook? SM: Yes. It is all instinct, from years of being in rehearsal rooms and then NIDA and then AFTRS [the Australian Film Television and Radio School]. Fitz: And so when you moved from theatre to film and television, what would you say were your own hallmarks in approach? SM: I think it's the performance style I create with the actors. I want it be grounded and believable, but I'm not afraid to push extreme performances – because I also think people are extreme. I love colour, which probably comes from growing up and staring out at the Hong Kong harbour and neon lights my whole life. I'd also say I've got a dark and unusual sense of humour, but that would also come from living in so many countries and understanding many different kinds of comedy, right? And music. Nothing captures mood better than the right music. Fitz: So for your debut feature film, Babyteeth, at the Venice Film Festival in 2019, you received a standing ovation for 15 minutes? SM: Yeah, that was crazy. We'd just finished it at the last minute, so we had no idea how they were going to respond. We'd never known where people would laugh, where people would cry. So it was quite overwhelming. We were very stressed to work out whether it was any good or not. Obviously, the standing ovation helped us feel better about it. Fitz: How do you do get the best performances out of your actors? Are you somebody who wants 50 takes? SM: I do like to have a proper relationship with them off-screen, and for them to have that with each other. We must know each other, beyond just being professionals together. No, I don't do a lot of takes, and when I do repeat them, they're always quite different. I'm very confident about when I've got something and I can move on quite quickly. I don't want to over intellectualise it. I want to work out how we're really going to transform this character through their movements, not just being a talking head. Fitz: After you yell 'Cut!' and 'That's a wrap for the day, people,' do they all go home, while you sit there until midnight, going through the rushes? SM: No. I've got a bit of a photographic memory, so when it comes to the content that I've shot, I don't need to rewatch anything afterwards. And to be honest, I don't really like looking at any of it until I've finished because I find it confusing. In this art form, scenes might move into different spots, so you can't overly plan every transition from one scene to another, because that scene might end up at the end of the project instead of at the beginning. Fitz: And when they all finally do go home, are you then buried for six months putting it all together? SM: Yes. And that's the bit I always struggle with because it's a much more lonely process. But at least I have the most amazing editor, an Australian, Steve Evans, and he makes my life really exciting during that period because he's so proficient in music, and a huge reason why my work has so much great music in it. And I come in to the editing booth at the end of a shoot as an exhausted shell of a person, and he revives me creatively again. Fitz: How did Dying For Sex come across your desk, and what is the premise of the story? SM: It was based on a podcast about a woman called Molly and her best friend, Nikki. They're both actors and when Molly finds out she's dying of cancer, she realises she hasn't had enough sexual experience and variety in her life and so starts to explore it in the time she has left. When I read the synopsis, I loved it. I knew it was going to be a really strong tonal challenge. Fitz: What's a tonal challenge? SM: It's when I read it and I love the really interesting tone on the page, but start wondering how do I actually execute that with all the other elements of the visuals and performance and music? And I know that it's going to be hard to get right. Dying For Sex could easily have come across as bad taste, and it had to be handled carefully. And so all of us were on board with that, and the challenge was delicately working out you could have a scene that talks about sexual abuse and then making a fart joke in the same moment. Fitz: When you go to the Emmys will you have a speech prepared in case you win, or would that be bad karma? SM: Yes. I am so nervous about public speaking that there's no way that I wouldn't have something written down, because I just can't get up and wing it. I'm not a performer. Loading Fitz: Well, if it's not bad karma, let's have a little practice. 'Thank you, thank you all! The person I'd like to thank most is …' SM: '… is my daughter, Dylan. She's 10, and she was just six months old when I started doing television, and she has very much been on this journey with me the whole way.' My daughter loves hanging out on set, and we have wonderful, creative people around our house all the time. Life is more rich because of it. Being a single mum is a little bit challenging in this industry, but I also feel like this industry is incredibly supportive of that – particularly in London, where I live now – and it never seems like it's a disadvantage, which is really nice. Fitz: So now you've got an Emmy nomination, and maybe an Emmy itself, we can presume you've nailed the zeitgeist with your work. How do you define that zeitgeist in 2025?
The Age
11-07-2025
- The Age
OK Zoomers, it's time to quit the cringe. Let's dance
We all need to dance, at all stages and ages of life. But particularly in our 20s. A Sydney University Study published last year found having a groove is not just physically good for you but also reduces anxiety, distress and depression while improving motivation. It's also spiritual. I am not a person of faith but the times I've felt transcendence have been on the dance floor at Mardi Gras, Sleaze Ball, warehouse parties or Big Day Outs. I still have a chat group 'meet you under the mirror ball' with friends forever connected through nights of musical worship where we danced until dawn. A certain strobe light at Vivid can take me back to that communal bliss. The Faithless song God Is a DJ is a cultural anthem that celebrates a dance floor's connection to a transformative power. As Maxi Jazz rapped, 'This is my church. This is where I heal my hurt'. Loading Far from being faithless, this Buddhist from Brixton understood that the dance floor was a place where 'young lives take shape', where they can be 'content in the hum'. He told me he relished the power that dance had to raise consciousness. And when he stood on stage, spread his arms out wide and sang to the heavenly heaving mass, he was a high priest of house. Dance grounds you; it pulls you into your body, but it also allows your brain to let go and lose your body to the beat. Dance is healing. It's a mutual high and a communal hug. It's a blessing with a dose of devilishly sexy delight. It's where drums match heartbeats and bodies move together, apart. And in that universal devotion to dance there's a synchronicity of hearts and minds. A dance floor can be a place of love, compassion, kindness, respect. And it's a rite-of-passage for a young generation to feel that connection. While Generation Z avoid the dance floor, people of my age are returning. Ministry of Sound is a nightclub and record label based in London reviving its original anthems in day parties. Last year it hosted DJs and laser lights over three nights at Sydney's coolest heritage venue – the remodelled White Bay Power Station. Thousands danced on the tar-blackened concrete floors where we had danced at illegal raves in the '90s. Back in their church of beats, bellied and balding Generation X-ers regained their communal connection in comfortable shoes. Loading Due to a (dance floor) injury, I have not danced for years. But my physio has just cleared me for action. In fact, he has prescribed it. I'm feeling the nerves of the young – contained, constricted and cringed. Perhaps I'll begin with 'No L' – a dance floor in darkness, liberated from the judgment of others. I'd like to suggest these as a gateway dance drug for the generation who don't dance enough. So come on kids, you can't afford housing, your future is uncertain and old, rich, angry men are ruining your world. Take to the dance floor and let it all lift for a few hours. I wish you communal joy and the therapy of the throng. Warm up on TikTok where everybody dances. There's talk there about 'cringe mountain'. The idea that everyone who is cool started as cringe. Every good dancer started as bad. Nudge nonchalance away, climb cringe mountain, throw the phone away and dance like nobody's watching.
