The New Vanguard
Photography by Shannan Stewart | Styling by Lynn Mathuthu
Meet the artists shaping Australia’s creative future – across music, painting, ceramics and film – each one pushing the boundaries of their medium with raw emotion, cultural nuance and fearless self-expression. The New Vanguard profiles seven emerging voices whose work reflects a world in flux, offering intimate, urgent and genre-defying responses to the times we live in.
Gigi Malherbe is a Sydney-based painter whose work explores grief and resilience through fragmented bodies and concealed faces. Drawing on her Lithuanian and Mauritian heritage, she incorporates folkloric and mythological imagery into high-contrast, glistening acrylic compositions. Influenced by her experience with permanent vision impairment, Malherbe sources material from personal photography, internet archives and her own medical eye scans. Her practice reflects on strength through adversity, with the resulting works exploring the body’s vulnerability and the complex emotional terrain of memory and cultural identity.
Your archival exploration of themes such as grief and vision impairment is incredibly intimate. How do you navigate translating deeply personal experiences into a recognisable visual language?
Within my current practice, I’ve drawn material from my own retina scans and various visual field maps I’ve acquired from medically documenting vision loss. These images, mixed with fragmented or camouflaged bodies and forms, create a personal rendition of the process of loss and the quiet or frantic moments that accompany it. I don’t know if viewers necessarily understand or relate to the content as it is very layered with personal narratives, but I hope that by showing honest and vulnerable recollections, people find moments to reflect and find aspects of it visually that resonate with them.
How does your exploration of folkloric and mythological images from your Lithuanian and Mauritian heritage intersect with contemporary culture, and in what ways do these narratives evolve within your work?
Myth and folklore shifts and changes as it is passed down from family and friends – it's not a static narrative, and as it's consumed it morphs. Digital media and the vast amounts of information readily available within our contemporary culture allows me to delve and discover further into these stories and images. Learning about these parts of my heritage is a way of cherishing these traditional stories but weaving them with contemporary influences within my practice allows them to adapt into new visual territories.
How does being part of a contemporary art scene in Sydney influence your approach to storytelling in relation to the evolving dialogue around representation in art?
The Sydney art scene includes people from all different facets and walks of life, and I feel privileged to be included within this. Viewing and supporting artists within this community, whether it's going to exhibitions or viewing their work online, allows a view into their world that inspires me to consider how I engage with my own identity and reminds me of the importance of sharing that.
Sydney-based painter Adele Warner overlays a post-internet condition onto the European painterly canon. Inspired by experiences of untethering and dislocation within contemporary metropolitan life, her works speak to a lingering sense of malaise within the everyday. Drawing imagery from the bowels of digital archives, Warner creates a dialogue in oil between the present and a pre-internet past, investigating a disassociation from identity, community and purpose.
How do you navigate the tension between art history and contemporary internet culture, and what do you aim to reveal by merging these visual languages?
I see my work as a synthesis of mass and high [culture], of tradition and contemporaneity. I find forgotten imagery, both online and in the bowels of my own camera roll, and slow it down enormously. Images are often vaguely familiar, presenting motifs of culture and ritual that I feel to have collapsed in contemporary life. I add traces of post-internet culture to these compositions, through digitally distorting and collaging images, to recall the ‘image storm’ and the incoherence of life. This is contrasted with the dense, technique-focused process I use to make them, to speak to an uneasy truce between the role of tradition/history and our current cultural conditions.
Your work reflects an attention to urban pessimism and estrangement – how do your experiences of urban life, particularly as a young artist living in Sydney, shape and influence your art?
Sydney is a wonderful city, and the only one I’ve ever called home. Yet, I find Sydney interesting for its certain flavour of atemporality. Historic sites are few – the truly historic was paved over long before I was born – while tendrils of development sprout from the suburbs daily; the new cannibalises and supplants what came before it. Familiar places become unrecognisable within decades. It’s only natural – Sydney is alive. Its inhalations and exhalations see buildings rise and fall daily. The disjointedness of Sydney’s materiality seems to reflect my own experience of untethering here. It is easy to feel left adrift, without a strong connection to community, culture or place.
Your work seems to fit within a global movement of figurative painters who explore ‘perverted reality’, or the uncanny through fragmented imagery. Which artists are inspiring you right now?
I feel very inspired by currents moving through the art world at the moment – it makes me excited to feel resonance with things that are happening beyond Sydney. There are too many artists to list, but some are: Issy Wood – insanely talented and prolific. I see her as at the forefront of trends in painting right now, particularly through her smaller-scale works; Younguk Yi – super interesting perspective on post-internet painting. I love the sense of play and the bizarreness in his works; Taewon Ahn – I’m endlessly amazed how he can exert his aesthetic vision over multiple mediums; and Arvida Byström – I love her investigation into ‘feminine complexities’.
Sebastian Conti expertly redefines traditional ceramic techniques, emphasising structure, composition, texture and pattern to reveal the complex relationship between the enduring strength and delicate vulnerability of handmade objects. Based in Sydney and holding a Bachelor of Visual Arts from Sydney College of the Arts and Master of Fine Arts from the National Art School, Conti's artistic vision has continued to evolve and explore, with 2024 seeing him embark on a transformative three-month residency at the Cité Internationale des Arts, in Paris.
Ceramics is a medium with deep cultural roots. Do you see your practice contributing to contemporary conversations about identity and materiality in art?
These days, identity is a big focus in contemporary art and culture, and while that can be interesting, I personally find it to be a trap. For me, the most exciting part of making isn’t about reinforcing a set narrative but about engaging directly with the material in front of me. Working with clay is an intuitive process – I’m responding to its weight, texture and movement rather than trying to impose meaning onto it. What I love about clay is how adaptable it is – it holds impressions, shifts and transforms, which feels like a more fluid way of thinking about identity and art. My practice isn’t about pinning things down; it’s about being in conversation with the material and seeing where it takes me.
How does the integration of technology enhance the physicality of your ceramics and deepen the viewer's engagement with your work?
Last year, I was part of an experimental group exhibition at the Australian Design Centre that showcased digital animations of my sculptural practice. It was a collaboration with creative technologist June Kim from UNSW [Art & Design], and it became a playful way to explore how digital media can add new layers to the experience of sculpture. I’ve always thought of my work as capturing a moment, but seeing it translated into animation made me rethink how movement and time exist within my pieces. Clay is such a tactile, physical material, and bringing it into a digital space gave it a different kind of presence.
Where do you gather your source material, and who is inspiring you right now?
I find myself drawn to ritual objects, spirituality and architecture. However, my sources of inspiration are quite broad and sometimes it feels more like a collage of ideas. These different influences can collide in unexpected ways in my work. I’ve always admired 20th-century artists like Alberto Giacometti, Isamu Noguchi and Constantin Brâncuși – their sculptural forms and sensitivity to materials really resonate with me. A more contemporary influence is Francis Upritchard – I find her sculptural process fascinating.
Malaika Mfalme is a Tanzanian/Australian singer, songwriter and guitarist creating soul and folk-infused music on Gadigal Land (Sydney). Their work explores themes of Black love, self-acceptance and grief, offering a healing space through reflective, emotionally rich songs. In 2023, they released their debut album Yasmin to widespread acclaim, following a sold-out launch. Known for powerful live performances, Malaika has supported artists including Ben Lee, Alex the Astronaut and Alter Boy, earning a reputation for connecting deeply with audiences through vulnerability, warmth and storytelling.
Born in London to Tanzanian and Australian heritage, and now creating on Gadigal Land in Sydney, how have your diverse cultural backgrounds shaped your musical style and storytelling approach?
I began my music journey at the age of five through East and South African choral singing. I've always been especially drawn to the tradition of call-and-response in African choral music; the way repetition and the act of being heard can create a powerful sense of belonging, both sonically and energetically. When I started developing my own music practice more seriously about five years ago, I found myself returning to those early influences. I began using a looping pedal, which, for me, mirrors the call-and-response I grew up with. There’s something magical about repetition, how it anchors a message, helps us internalise it, and at the same time gives the mind space to wander. That balance between grounding and freedom is at the heart of both my songwriting and performance.
You engage in event production, podcasting and activism. How do these multifaceted roles inform and enrich your musical career and sense of community building?
Beyond music, I run Queers of Joy, a trans and gender-diverse talent showcase every two months, and Inkloosive Groove, a monthly jam night where all proceeds currently go towards supporting Palestine. These spaces are more than events – they’re opportunities to actively create the kind of community we often talk about but don’t always see in practice. For me, it’s not enough to speak about the importance of community; it’s about showing up and building it, together. As artists, when we find success, I believe it’s essential that we uplift the communities that raised us. That feeling feeds back into my music and reminds me why I do this work in the first place.
Can you speak to alternate modes of music education and how they have transformed your practice?
While western concepts like sheet music can be useful, especially as a shared language, for me, music is something to be felt, not read. Every song I write begins with playing the chords and singing the melodies over and over until they live in my body. I rarely write anything down because the process of constant practice helps me fully embody the music I’m creating, to the point that my music is second nature. This approach to learning and teaching music is rooted in inclusivity.
I believe music, dance and art are essential parts of life, like air, water and food. They nourish us and keep us alive. No-one should ever be told they can’t do it or that they’re not ‘good enough’. This way of making music honours where I come from and creates space for everyone to participate, without gatekeeping or the pressure to fit into colonial structures of what music ‘should’ be.
Max Cattana is an Australian actor, who was trained at the Atlantic Theatre School's Conservatory in New York. Based in his home-town of Sydney, Australia, Cattana is represented by Morrissey Management. Having collaborated with various directors and production companies, Cattana’s work includes performances across film, theatre and television. He is committed to pushing the boundaries of his craft and continually growing as an artist in the entertainment industry.
What inspired you to pursue acting, and who are your biggest influences?
I’m 10 years old and I’m sitting in the audience for the Grade 6 musical of the all-boys school I went to. The curtain raises for the second act and out comes my brother in full drag, and he’s belting out a real seductive number, akin to Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend, and he’s got this pink-sequin dress on. The whole school erupts in applause and laughter, and I just think to myself: ‘Dammit, I’m going to do that’. It would be more than a decade later that I would end up in New York, training and working in the theatre, at the Actors Studio, and legends like Ellen Burstyn, Paul Newman and actors of that era of the Actors Studio would have their biggest influence on my work.
You were born and grew up in Sydney and then moved to New York for a few years to pursue your career. What have been the biggest challenges you have faced in both cities?
I love to work so when I’m not working, I can go a little crazy. The challenge is the same, regardless of the city – how to keep yourself sane, alive and artistically inspired while moving in and out of projects; how to keep the cup full and keep it flowing. New York is such a hub for the arts. You just have to walk outside of your apartment and you're hit with inspiration. Sydney’s equally inspiring but for a different reason – the nature, the air. So, figuring out how to stay inspired in both cities is very different. Working in New York you feel like a cat on acid, and that energy is fun to ride – for a while – whereas in Sydney, after a big day you can shake it all off in the surf.
If you could play any character in a movie, TV show, or stage production, what would it be and why?
A cowboy. That or anything the playwright Simon Stephens is involved in.
A member of the Western Sydney collective Full Circle collective, singer, songwriter, producer and composer Nick Ward is known for his distinctive blend of indie pop, rock, emo, electronic and hip-hop. Emerging through triple j Unearthed, he gained early recognition with his debut EP, Everything I Wish I Told You, followed by the critically acclaimed Brand New You, praised for its emotional depth and sonic sophistication. In 2023, he was named Ticketmaster’s Breakthrough Artist and has since supported major acts, including Troye Sivan. Ward continues to push the boundaries of contemporary pop with his deeply personal and genre-defying sound.
Was there a defining moment that led you to pursue a career in music, or has performing always felt like your calling?
I don't think there was a defining moment, but I always just assumed it was unrealistic, so I never took it seriously. When I finished high school, Covid happened immediately so the gap-year I thought I was going to have turned into working on my first EP.
How do you navigate the tension between confidence and vulnerability in your songwriting, and how do these themes continue to shape your work?
I think they might have to co-exist. I wanted the production to be really brash and colourful and loud. Lyrically, I also wanted to be really honest and direct about my feelings and experiences growing up, so in that way I just see both as confident. When I can properly process something difficult or painful through my work, that's actually when I feel the most confident. I don't think the story of a song only comes from the lyrics – I think half of it is all the individual sound choices that help the words do their job.
As part of a newly growing emerging creative community, how important has it been for you to collaborate and share ideas with other musicians/artists?
Sydney has such an amazing music scene that really feels like it's kicked off in the last year or so. There are so many talented young people from all over the city coming up now who are really going to push things forward here. So many different stories getting told. I just get inspired by seeing it all happen! I work a lot with my homies in Full Circle.
Emerging as a powerful voice in the Australian music scene, Siala creates music that transforms personal pain into artistic expression. Following a difficult childhood marked by domestic violence in Northern New South Wales, they found healing through songwriting, blending diverse influences from The Smashing Pumpkins and PJ Harvey to hip-hop, R&B and jazz. Their debut EP, Drowned Surface, produced by Brisbane-based rapper and engineer Nerve, showcased their distinctive vocal style, effortless raps and emotional songwriting range. With more music slated for release this year, Siala is establishing themself as one of Australia's most compelling musical storytellers.
Your music blends various genres and influences. Can you share which artists or genres have shaped your sound, and how you’ve incorporated those influences into your own unique style?
I feel like growing as a person your sound changes as you do and recently, as I’ve been creating my project, I’ve found artists such as Doechii, The Internet, Smino and Tyler, the Creator, I’ve incorporated for their inspiring flow and strong pen game, and then artists like Justin Bieber, Kehlani and Ambré for their tones and strong hooks and catchy melodies. I feel like every artist I listen to inspires me to be better as an artist and excel in those areas.
You've mentioned that writing music helped you process challenging moments in your life. How has your music evolved as you've developed as an artist, and do you feel that your personal journey continues to influence your work?
Music definitely helps me process hardships and struggles in my life. I feel like music is one of the only things that calms me down or grounds me if I’m ever anxious. I feel like being an artist and writing about your own experiences challenges you to be more self-aware of how you treat yourself and others. I feel like writing about painful experiences is a part of shedding that version of yourself you held onto as a person and as an emotion, and once you release that into the world it’s kind of like this cocoon to butterfly moment of letting go.
How are you pushing the boundaries in your music, and what challenges have you faced in stepping away from traditional music styles in Australia?
I feel like I push boundaries with sound and it’s just me being authentic with how I feel lyrically. I’ve been striving to be as authentic as possible with how I feel, even if it’s a bit raunchy or brutal. My lyrics are versatile, and I feel my flow is just different. I don't feel I’m trying to step away; I’m more trying to step up Australian music, which I feel we all are striving to do, and the sounds I’ve been hearing are showing that!