AusArt Day: Why This Matters for Every Australian Arts Organisation—Including Ours

This month, as Australia celebrates its first-ever AusArt Day, I wanted to share some reflections on what this national movement means for organisations like Mirabilis Collective—and for the future of the arts in Australia.

As Mirabilis Collective prepares to participate in Australia's inaugural AusArts Day on 23 October, I find myself reflecting on a question that has occupied my thoughts since founding this organisation: How do we build and sustain arts organisations in Australia when the structural supports for philanthropy are so fundamentally different from those in countries where arts giving thrives?

The answer, I believe, begins with understanding the challenge—and then taking collective action to address it.

The Crisis We're Not Talking About Loudly Enough

According to Creative Australia, only one in five professional artists in Australia this year will make $48,000—deemed the minimum livable wage—by working in the arts. On average they will earn $23,000 from their artistic work and only $54,000 when all their other non-artistic jobs are added in.

Let that sink in. The professionals creating the culture that defines us are earning, on average, less than half the minimum livable wage from their actual artistic work.

As Belvoir St Theatre's Artistic Director Eamon Flack wrote recently in The Guardian, "Smaller cast sizes, fewer productions, less artistic variety, diminished cultural reach, fewer jobs for artists: that's the business model now." He describes the eternal choice facing every arts organisation: "beef up the artistic task and go broke, or diminish the artistic task and stay solvent."

For Australian arts organisations in 2025, this is daily reality.

The system hasn't been comprehensively rethought since Helen Nugent's Major Performing Arts Inquiry in 1999. That inquiry reviewed 31 major performing arts organisations and arose out of a perceived crisis in the sector—costs were spiralling while revenue was declining due to globalisation, technological change and demographic shifts. Sound familiar?

The report's 95 recommendations were accepted by the Australian government. An extra $70 million was injected into the sector by federal and state governments. The recommendations were designed to create a cohesive structure for the industry, strengthen private sector support, improve accountability, and secure the sector's artistic vitality and financial viability.

Yet despite the introduction of the majority of these changes, the overall wellbeing of major performing arts companies has not markedly improved. The world has changed dramatically, but the performing arts in 2025 are still operating on Windows 99—and facing eerily similar challenges to those the Nugent report tried to address 26 years ago.

What America Gets Right About Arts Giving

While Australia's arts sector struggles with 25-year-old policy settings, let's look at what's happening elsewhere.

The United States is home to over 1.5 million registered charities with giving reaching an estimated $499 billion in 2023, representing about 2.1% of GDP. In contrast, Australia has around 60,000 registered charities with annual giving estimated at $13 billion AUD—less than 1% of GDP.

Scale tells only part of the story. The structural differences run even deeper. As fundraising consultant Stephen Mally observes:

“US donors benefit from a well-known charitable deduction that reduces taxable income, often incentivising major gifts. The process is familiar and built into annual financial planning, especially for high-net-worth individuals.

In Australia, while donations over $2 to deductible gift recipients (DGRs) are tax-deductible, the incentive is less aggressively promoted or integrated into wealth planning. Furthermore, estate and inheritance tax advantages that drive bequests in the US are absent in Australia.”

Tax systems reflect policy priorities, and the American approach—for all its imperfections—has historically embedded arts philanthropy into financial planning in ways that Australia hasn't. This doesn't mean the US model is perfect or that we should simply copy it. But it does suggest there's untapped potential in how we structure incentives for cultural giving in Australia.

The DGR Journey: A Necessary Hurdle
I speak from experience here. Mirabilis Collective is now a registered charity with DGR status—a milestone we achieved thanks to the extraordinary tenacity of Luke Donohoe from Culture Labs, who guided us through the complex process.

Becoming endorsed as a deductible gift recipient can be a long and challenging process. Since December 14, 2021, registration as a charity with the Australian Charities and Not-for-profits Commission has been a precondition for DGR endorsement for all non-government DGRs. Organisations must first establish their charitable status, then meet specific requirements for cultural organisations, including maintaining a gift fund with appropriate clauses.

Having achieved DGR status, we can now offer donors tax deductibility for their contributions. But the journey highlighted a crucial reality: Australian organisations tend to take a more conservative, sometimes risk-averse approach to fundraising. Fundraising teams are often smaller and operate with tighter budgets. For volunteer-run organisations or small collectives, the DGR pathway—while essential—can be prohibitively complex without expert assistance.

For artists and organisations without DGR status, the Australian Cultural Fund provides an alternative pathway. Managed by Creative Australia, it enables artists to raise tax-deductible funds for their projects through a fee-free platform. It's an important resource, particularly for independent artists and small organisations that either don't yet have, or due to their structure don't qualify for, DGR endorsement.

Tax Reform: Necessary But Not Sufficient

Across Australia, conversations are happening about tax reform for the arts. While NSW has recently convened a summit on the topic, these are national issues affecting all of us.

The newly released Bass Line report from Music Australia reveals the median music artist income is just $14,700 per year. Even more stark: approximately 82% of Australian artist income is earned by the top 25% of income earners. For the vast majority of musicians, sustaining a career is financially untenable.

The current system creates perverse outcomes. Artists must pay income tax on prizes and grants—the rare windfalls meant to sustain their practices. While the median music income is $14,700, most artists supplement this with non-arts work to survive. When a $5,000 prize pushes their total income into a higher tax bracket, a significant portion disappears to tax—diminishing the very support mechanism designed to help sustain their artistic practice.

Reform proposals include clearer deductibility arrangements for freelance artists, better rates to encourage donors, fringe benefits tax concessions, and tax exemptions for grants and awards. These could save many organisations from going broke.

But as Eamon Flack pointedly asks: "Is solvency really the best we can hope for when it comes to the artistic and cultural life of the country?"

The real goal of arts policy shouldn't be to keep organisations solvent; it needs to keep each artform alive for the next generation.

Tax reform addresses symptoms. But the disease is deeper: a fundamental undervaluing of artistic work in Australian society.

Why AusArt Day Is a Watershed Moment

AusArt Day, taking place on Thursday 23 October, invites all Australians to show their support for artists and arts organisations by making a donation—big or small, to support the creativity they love. More than 330 artists and arts organisations have signed up to take part in the inaugural celebration.

Creative Australia is supporting AusArt Day, contributing $500,000 in microgrants upfront, alongside resources, workshops, and advertising materials to help participants prepare fundraising campaigns. Mirabilis Collective was privileged to receive a $5,000 grant to enable us to engage a videographer to create our campaign video. We also held an event with some of our wonderful supporters to launch the campaign, which was a beautiful celebration of what we've achieved and where we're heading.

What makes this significant isn't just the coordinated fundraising effort—it's the collective consciousness-raising. For one day, the entire Australian arts sector will speak with one voice about the importance of private support for creativity. Beloved names including singer Kate Miller-Heidke, actor Rob Collins, Collingwood AFL captain Darcy Moore, and actor Angourie Rice are among the heavy hitters lending their voices to the campaign.

This visibility matters enormously. Australian arts organisations operate in a context where most organisations are stuck between the rock of structural deficit and the hard place of artistic purpose, where government funding comes and goes with budget cycles, and where—unlike our American counterparts—we can't easily leverage the sophisticated tax planning mechanisms that drive transformational gifts in the US.

It reminds Australians why they value the arts, as sources of beauty, connection, and meaning in their daily lives. When funding models fail, it's not just organisations that suffer; it's every person who turns to live music for stress relief, for social connection, for the experience of beauty that makes life richer.

AusArt Day creates something we've desperately needed: a cultural moment that normalises arts giving and positions it as a civic responsibility, not an optional luxury.

"Take Enough Pieces Off a Plane and It's Just a Bus with Wings"

Eamon Flack uses a devastating metaphor: "Take enough pieces off a plane and it might still look like a plane, but if it can't fly it's just a bus with wings."

We cannot trade off any more than we already have without risking the basic purpose of the arts. Every dollar not spent on artists making art contributes to the growing loss of knowledge, purpose, virtuosity and livelihood that are the lasting currency of these artforms. If so few dollars continue to flow to the creatives, there will be no artists or art left in the arts.

This reality occupies my thinking constantly as I consider Mirabilis Collective's future.

From Volunteer-Run to Sustainable: The Mirabilis Journey

I founded Mirabilis Collective after serving as national syllabus consultant for the Australian Examinations Music Board, updating the oboe syllabus with a more diverse repertoire. That work opened my eyes to a glaring gap in our sector: the systematic under-representation of works by women composers on Australian stages and in teaching syllabuses. If young musicians never see themselves reflected in the repertoire, how do they imagine their place in the profession?

But there was another gap too. Conversations with my Mirabilis colleague Tresna Stampalia crystallised something we'd both experienced: young women musicians on the cusp of professional careers needed knowledge, support, and affirmation in a safe environment. They needed mentors who could help them navigate a profession that wasn't always designed with them in mind.

As a mother of two professional musician daughters, I've witnessed firsthand the challenges facing emerging artists. I've seen talented young women question whether they can sustain careers in music when the economics are so brutal. The mentoring Tresna and I had provided informally—drawing on our own hard-won experience—needed to become intentional and ongoing. But building a sustainable organisation while remaining true to our mission—addressing both repertoire equity and artist mentorship, and doing so largely through volunteer labour—has required constant innovation and, frankly, sacrifice. That same commitment to mentorship now drives our vision to evolve from a volunteer-run ensemble to a sustainable organisation with the capacity to commission new works, employ musicians fairly, and mentor the next generation.

The journey to DGR status was essential but demanding. Luke Donohoe guided us through the process—navigating the ACNC registration, establishing proper governance structures, creating the gift fund with appropriate clauses, and ensuring we met all the requirements for cultural organisations. Without his expertise, we would have struggled to achieve this crucial milestone.

Now, with DGR status, we can offer donors tax deductibility for contributions over $2. This is significant—but it doesn't change the underlying economics. Chamber music ticket sales rarely cover costs. Government grants are increasingly competitive. And while we can now attract donors who value tax deductibility, we're still operating within a system that provides fewer incentives than comparable countries.

Our campaign for AusArt Day, "Let Her Be Heard," supports our goal to perform 100 works by 100 women at Hear Her Now: A Festival of Women in Chamber Music. This programming actively reshapes the canon, provides role models, and creates opportunities for women composers whose work has been systematically excluded from performance.

But the questions persist: How do we fund this work sustainably? How do we pay the artists who mentor generously with their time and expertise? How do we grow from volunteer-run to professionally staffed without losing our soul? How do we avoid sacrificing artistic ambition just to stay solvent?

As Eamon Flack reminds us: "Artistic talent doesn't spontaneously come to fruition. The knowledge and craft that makes an artist is passed down from the generation before. A good artist needs as much lifelong training and practice as a good sportswoman."

This work—mentoring young women musicians, commissioning and encouraging works by emerging women composers, creating safe spaces for artistic development—requires sustainable funding. The intergenerational transfer of knowledge depends on it.

The Opportunity Before Us

AusArt Day won't solve Australia's structural arts funding crisis overnight. It won't transform our tax system to match America's incentives. It won't make the DGR application process simpler for organisations still navigating it. It won't address the policy settings that haven't been meaningfully updated since 1999.

But it does something arguably more important: it normalises the ask. It creates visibility and builds community.

As Creative Australia Chair and AusArt Day Ambassador Professor Wesley Enoch AM said: "It really makes a difference when your community gets behind you. AusArts Day is a chance for Australians to show their support by getting behind the musicians, painters, dancers, actors, singers, sculptors, writers and all the creative people who make our country so vibrant and fun to be a part of."

For Mirabilis Collective, this day represents validation of what we've always known: the arts matter, not as entertainment luxury but as essential nourishment for civic life. Every young woman we mentor, every work by a woman composer we perform, every barrier we break down—this work has value beyond what can be captured in grant applications or box office receipts.

There is untapped potential to grow the giving economy in Australia. The challenge is to normalise large-scale giving through structured stewardship, major donor programs, and cultural shifts that celebrate philanthropy.

That cultural shift begins with conversations like this one—and with collective action like AusArt Day.

What's at Stake

Eamon Flack uses a sports metaphor that should haunt us all. The West Indies used to be the greatest cricket team in the world, with legendary performances. But years of underfunding and neglect of grassroots development decimated their system. Two months ago, Australia bowled out the entire West Indies team for 27. "If we leave the country's arts policy settings as they are, we'll be bowling ourselves out for 27.”

What's at stake is the survival of artforms that take lifetimes to master and generations to pass on.

In 20 years, will Australians still have access to the live music that offers stress relief after difficult weeks, the beauty that provides respite from digital overload, the shared experience of a concert that counters isolation? Will women composers have their works performed? Will young artists be able to imagine sustainable careers creating what they love and what society needs?

What This Means for You

Whether you're someone who turns to live music when life feels overwhelming, who finds connection in shared cultural experiences, who values beauty in an increasingly utilitarian world—or whether you're an arts organisation wondering if this coordinated effort will make a difference, or a donor considering where to direct your support—AusArt Day matters.

It matters because it says: we're not waiting for tax reform to be enacted (though we desperately need it). We're not waiting for government funding to stabilise (though it must). We're not waiting for the policy settings to be updated from 1999 (though they're catastrophically outdated).

We're building a movement of Australians who understand that supporting the arts is supporting the soul of our nation—and the livelihoods of the artists who create our culture.

For Mirabilis Collective, this day is both practical—we need funds to deliver our 2026 festival and compensate our artists fairly—and symbolic. We're part of something larger than ourselves. We're on Creative Australia's participant gallery standing alongside organisations from every corner of this country, each telling their own story about why creativity matters and why it's worth fighting for.

AusArt Day is our chance to prove that collective action can begin to address a crisis that's been 25 years in the making. It won't solve everything. But it's a start.

And in a sector where musicians are earning $14,700 annually from their creative work, where orchestras are reducing positions, where chamber music groups program only the safe classics, where works by living composers—particularly women—go unperformed—we need to start somewhere.

Will you be part of it?

On Thursday October 23, Mirabilis Collective will join hundreds of organisations for AusArt Day — a nationwide moment of unity and generosity for the arts. If you believe women’s voices deserve to be heard and celebrated, please visit mirabiliscollective.com/support-us to make your tax-deductible donation and help us reach 100 works by women performed at our Hear Her Now Festival.

About the Author
Stephanie Nicholls is the Artistic Director and founder of Mirabilis Collective, an oboist, pianist, and advocate for women in music. She founded the ensemble in 2022 to champion works by women composers and mentor young women musicians entering the profession.

L–R: Julia Nicholls, Stephanie Nicholls, Lucinda Nicholls, Tresna Stampalia, and Elena Wittkuhn of Mirabilis Collective at the AusArt Day Launch Let Her Be Heard — a celebration of women’s voices, creativity, and community in music.

Photo credit – Perth Classical Music Events

In Conversation with Nicola Boud

Guest interview by Elena Wittkuhn — Mirabilis Collective cellist and creative contributor

I meet Nicola, with Mirabilis Collective Artistic Director Stephanie Nicholls, on a blustery Monday at a local coffee joint. Local for me, at least — it’s been years since the globally sought-after clarinettist has lived in Perth, having scored an impressive trail of performing and teaching credits around the world. Nicola’s equally warm and eminent reputation precedes her — I know that she is one of the world’s most in-demand clarinettists to play in the Historically Informed Performance Practice (H.I.P. for short). I also know that she is a Perth native, and is now main subject professor of Historical Clarinet at the prestigious Belgium Conservatory. I had heard some personal accounts of how lovely she is. During our interview, I finally had the chance to witness this for myself, our lively conversation adding some warmth to the gloomy Monday chill. We talked about her musical upbringing and her happy transition from standard to historically informed performance practice, and bonded over a love of Perth, the power of music and mentorship, and the contemporary challenges and joys of playing old music in a modern world. Nicola first encountered the world of Historically Informed Performance through a Musica Viva concert at sixteen, and I can’t help but marvel at how it must feel to be embarking on a national tour with the very same organisation years later. Of course, this is the first thing I ask.

Does it feel a bit like a full-circle moment to be playing H.I.P. on a tour with the same organisation that introduced you to it?

It does, actually! I loved playing modern clarinet already, but hearing people play on historical instruments was totally new to my ears, and instantly just made so much sense. I used to go to quite a few of the Musica Viva concerts when I was younger, and that was a sort of little window into the rest of the [musical] world. Because, you know, working in Australia seems so isolated, but there is so much good stuff that happens here, and I think the isolation serves it well. Because nothing is a given, you have to really create things yourself — it’s a gift actually — along with the big sky! You have the space to create things and come up with ideas — you’re not bound by too many traditions.

It’s interesting you say that actually, because you specialise in historical playing, which I think most people associate with following tradition. Do you think there’s a bit of a paradox in what you do?

I’m not sure. Another interesting thing — perhaps something that can be connected to my love of history — is that my dad’s always been obsessed with antique maps. [We used to have] a copy of an old map of Western Australia from the 1750s that was commissioned by the Court of Versailles. It was from when the French and Dutch were visiting, so this map was in three languages — it was in a bit of English, a bit of French and bit of Dutch. And it’s funny because in the end I grew up in Western Australia, studied in Holland and lived in France, and it was an 18th century map, so my mind was kind of gathering all those elements together. I think it’s a funny coincidence, or perhaps not, that I would end up having a career in this sort of thing — piecing together missing puzzle pieces of what different people have said about a certain thing, in that case of a place, the West Australian coastline – in my case, interpretations of music, signs and sound.

You’re absolutely right — it’s very similar to the way we look at musical scores. Over time, so many eyes, interpretations, and traditions layer themselves onto a single piece of music, just like with your dad’s maps. One score can hold centuries of evolving meaning and influence. It’s such a rich parallel — and it makes us continuously question what’s “true” or “authentic” in a piece. Do you think that’s the central goal of Historically Informed Performance — to recreate, as closely as possible, how a piece would have originally sounded?
I think things have changed a lot over the years. I think H.I.P. has come a long way. Back in the day, in the late ‘60s and ‘70s when the whole [H.I.P.] movement started, even on [the musicians’] music stands they would have their treaties [old instruction manuals of exactly how to interpret certain signs etc.]!  But ultimately, you have to be authentic yourself. You have to feel the music yourself. You can’t just ‘reproduce!’, because that’s boring. If you do it too much by what the sources say, it’s a bit removed, somehow. And even all the players back then had their own personalities as well, so no one sounded like the other. Sure, there are different ‘schools’ of playing — different nationalities of composers imbuing their own style into how exactly things would be played. But I think it’s found a good point now, where we are aware of the different sources of context, both historically and socially.

What are the practical elements of historically informed practise that impact or inform style?

If you respect the instrument, it actually tells you a lot about how it wants to be played and phrased. For example, on historical clarinets we use quite light reeds, as we don’t have to sustain too much. You’ll even observe that different national characters come through the instruments! If you let the instrument tell you [about itself], you can learn a lot.

Do you think there are any risks in learning a historical instrument or how to play in a historically informed style on a modern instrument? Would this confuse the learning process that you have been describing, or is it still a good start?

There can be some disadvantages to fully getting into the style and understanding how the instrument wants to be played in order to play in a certain musical style. Some people can get quite uppity about it – but at the end of the day, I think we have to recognise that music is music! I’m really not too extreme about it. And most people who get into H.I.P. start off on modern instruments anyway — I don’t think I know any historically informed clarinettist colleagues who didn’t start off on modern. And it’s all good practice. Everything you do just teaches you more about the kind of music you want to play, and the kind of player you aspire to be. Any entry into music, whether transitioning into H.I.P or not, is surely a good thing.

Can you tell us a bit about the specific instruments that you play?

Yes, my first historical instrument was a five-key Viennese instrument. I’m lucky enough to have a few originals – some French clarinets from the 1840s. I loved playing [modern], and with historical clarinets I can even still play repertoire from the early 20th century, for example with my late 19th century Buffet clarinet.

What are your thoughts on fusion between H.I.P. and contemporary music? Do you see or foresee a lot of it? Are you hearing more of H.I.P coming into more mainstream classical orchestras?

Yes, and I think it’s a good thing that it’s becoming more mainstream. Although there are some orchestras in Europe now that are reluctant to play Mozart and Beethoven [etc] now because they think “Oh, should we leave that to [H.I.P. orchestras]?” But overall I think there’s just more awareness amongst orchestras as a whole, of H.I.P. practice. Funnily enough, it’s really becoming more current. I’ve seen some non-H.I.P. orchestras who use natural [French] horns, for example, if they are playing certain pieces from a certain century that used those instruments. It really shows the growth of H.I.P. into the wider ‘mainstream’ classical space — if you can call classical ‘mainstream’! * laughs* It’s all very exciting. 

How did you find the transition from modern to historical clarinet?

It took some time. You’re initially thinking “ah, this thing doesn’t work!” *laughs* but after a while, you realise that the things that feel like disadvantages can turn into possibilities. For example, the [historical] instrument that I started on, an 18th century Viennese clarinet with only five keys [compared to the average modern clarinet with seventeen keys] — required me to use cross-fingerings — lots of combinations of fingers — like on a recorder. For some notes you’re just covering half a hole with your finger, and sometimes you think “Is this actually a note?” *laughs* But, the more you discover it, the more you let it tell you how to play it, and you can discover all these new colours. Sometimes I talk to my students about notes in terms of flavours, like, “Oooh, that note has a bit of chilli on it, and, ooh, that note, a bit of pepper!” * laughs* You know, it’s a different palette of colours and spices to work with! You learn to not “tame” them, because every note has its own special colour and character. Then you get into the repertoire and you understand why pieces were written as they were, because you understand how certain notes want to be shaped in certain ways, in certain keys. That certainly still happens on modern instruments too, because the music is written so well, but I guess on historical [instruments] you discover another way of feeling the same thing[s]. Also, when it comes to deciding on how best to play certain notes, that is, which fingerings to use, this differs more between individual historical instruments. The fingering patterns are more uniform across modern clarinets, generally achieving a more uniform sound palette. So when playing historical, you really have to spend the time to get to know the character of each individual instrument.

Stephanie: As a wind player I’m curious, what is the note with the most number of cross-fingerings?

An A flat or G sharp! But still, even if we were to play on a set of identical instruments by the same maker, there would still be differences in suitable fingerings between clarinets.

I’m finding this conversation quite moving, because of the way you talk about the connection with your instruments. You embrace what they’re trying to tell you, you’re not trying to ‘iron’ out any quirks or force your instruments to be or sound like anything they are not. This feels in stark contrast to how we approach manufacturing most other things today, with our obsession with uniformity and superficial perfectionism. Has Historically Informed Performance taught you any deeper life lessons along these lines?

Yes, absolutely. [Playing historical instruments] rejoices in the quirks, we embrace the imperfect, and that becomes the source of inspiration. So you learn to forgive yourself if something goes wrong.

What are some challenges for people getting into Historically Informed Performance at the moment?

On a larger scale, there is a bit less work, and there are lots of students. So as a teacher I feel responsible to be realistic with students about that, and try to offer them as many opportunities as possible. I still believe that at the end of the day, if you play well and know how to get along with people, you will find your place. There are only a handful of H.I.P. orchestras that you can be a regular official member of, so most H.I.P. musicians work on a freelance basis, not necessarily with a fixed job. You can be asked back [to play with a group] regularly and it can be very loyal, but at the end of the day, it’s still mostly project-based and you’re only as good as your last gig. This applies a lot in the general musical scene of course but particularly with H.I.P. because it’s just that much more specialised, and the ensembles are generally much smaller as well because of how historical compositions were scored. There are of course also issues with cultural funding.

Stephanie: There’s so much more to a career in music than mastering your instrument. At Mirabilis Collective, we’re passionate about supporting that broader learning journey through professional development. In your view, what complementary skills do H.I.P. graduates need to develop alongside their musical training?

It’s really good to get some teaching. I think that’s quite universal amongst musicians. Starting independent ensembles is also a great way to get out into the industry. In Europe there are quite a few early music festivals with their own fringe festivals within them, where young ensembles can take part. There are quite a few competitions as well, which can get you a bit of exposure. So there are quite a few avenues if [one] is motivated enough.

How do you find the mental and physical shift required to play between instruments from completely different centuries — oftentimes even within the same concert?

It’s very good for my neuroplasticity! *laughs* When it comes to French versus German clarinets from about 1820, their fingering systems are totally different, for one. They went through so many different innovations, concert halls got bigger, tastes changed, and these things all affected how the instruments shifted. So it’s a lot of muscle memory, but your brain has to be on board as well! * laughs* But the worst thing you can do is panic. You have to be kind to yourself — give yourself a few days to do the mental switch if you can.

And what about the emotional shift when you go from piece to piece?

Being a musician is a bit like being a method actor sometimes — it’s like I’m time-travelling. I imagine the bigger context of music that I’m about to play, entering the world, entering the aesthetic. Then again, the instrument always helps you and shows you how it needs to be played. [Adjusting] can be a challenge, but it’s kind of fun as well — I get to wear all sorts of hats!

What is your favourite historical clarinet that you play?

That’s a really good question! *laughs* It’s funny because depending on the repertoire, whatever [instrument] I’m playing, that’s my favourite instrument. When I’m in a particular [sound]world I think “this is the best instrument ever!” But I guess the instrument that feels the most like home is my 18th-century copy 5-key clarinet. It’s the connecting point between baroque and early modern clarinets, and it was also my first historical instrument that I ever played, so it really feels like my home base. It’s also extra special to me because I made it in collaboration with my good friend and clarinet maker in Paris, Agnes Gueroult.

Why do you think it’s important for people to listen to chamber music today?

It’s an opportunity to listen to art being made in real time. No matter what music it is, it’s a chance to be invited into human connection, which we really need to be reminded of at the moment. The world can feel like a horrible place, and sometimes I wonder – is this a bit indulgent? But then I remember, “actually no, there’s a place for it.” Time stands still, and people can find bits of themselves in the music. Even if you don’t consider yourself a musical person, just watching people connect [through music] is a beautiful thing. In music you have to really listen — you have to be respectful and present to make the music work. It’s a generous profession. It’s about sharing. It’s so important.

Nicola Boud is a Historically Informed Practise clarinettist based in Belgium. Boud plays in Musica Viva’s national tour, “Mozart’s Clarinet”, alongside H.I.P. keyboardist Erin Helyard and cellist Simon Cobcroft from July 15-28.

For full concert details, visit the Musica Viva website.
To book your tickets directly for the Perth concert on Saturday 19 July head to TicketsWA.

If you enjoyed this interview, you can follow Nicola on Instagram @boud.nicola, and don’t forget to subscribe to the Mirabilis Collective mailing list for more insightful conversations with women artists, composers, and collaborators.

In Conversation with Jennifer Marten-Smith

Guest interview by Elena Wittkuhn — Mirabilis Collective cellist and creative contributor

Jennifer Marten-Smith, thank you so much for joining us. Firstly, could you please tell us a bit about your introduction to music?

I was five years old when I started piano lessons. Growing up in a musical family, I think it was inevitable that I would learn an instrument. My father was an opera singer, my maternal grandfather was a renowned tenor in Germany, and my mother studied piano although she did not pursue this as her profession.

As a child I had the fortune to have my mother sit with me for every practice, which kept me company but also kept me focused. I also had the great fortune to have a piano teacher whom I adored. I looked forward to my lessons – every Wednesday afternoon – to show him the progress I had made.

What was a turning point in your early musical journey? Were there any challenges or highlights you’d like to share?

At the age of twelve I was invited to study with Frau Professor Gediga-Glombitza at the Musikhochschule in Cologne, Germany. Because I was born in Bremerhaven (my mother is German, and my father had a career in Germany as an opera singer), there was no language barrier. The professor’s house was closer to where I was living than the Musikhochschule, so she would let me go there to practice while she was at work. I have a wonderful memory of hours at the piano, entertained by red squirrels running up and down the beautiful tall trees outside the window. Shortly before I returned to Tasmania, the Hochschule put on a concert where I performed Beethoven 32 Variations, another highlight of that trip.

Do you think your talent affected your childhood or artistic identity in any way?

I do not think growing up as a ‘talented’ pianist really changed my childhood that much. I still got to ride my bike, play with friends, go horse riding, do gymnastics. My favourite time was spent with my family and my animals. We had holidays at Christmas, and we often stayed at a shack on Bruny Island, where they let us bring our dogs and cats. It was great fun, running on the beaches, climbing rocks, avoiding snakes, and trying not to get hooked on blackberry thorns. They were happy times – but after two weeks I would be itching to go home because I missed my piano.

Could you please break down the differences in the roles that you take on in your career – between soloist, accompanist and repetiteur? Do you have a favourite, and if so, why?
I have worked as a soloist – there’s so much great repertoire to explore – and there is something really fulfilling about performing when every musical decision is your own, where it is just your own skills that need to be honed and where you are solely responsible for the beauty of your sound.

I have also worked as an accompanist/collaborative pianist – which still involves solo skills but also requires knowledge of the other part. Where two people must make the music sing, where two opinions are brought together to sound as one, and where you sometimes must be willing to relinquish control over musical direction.

Some partnerships require work; rehearsals to figure things out, such as: phrasing, dynamics and breathing written into parts. Others coalesce more quickly, and when you play, everything simply falls into place. Both types of partnerships are exciting! When you get on stage to perform together, and you bring the music to life for the audience, it does not matter, at least to those listening, how long it took to put the jigsaw together.

Thirdly, I have worked as a repetiteur – in Australia and in Germany – and this is also a fascinating role. Although as a repetiteur, it can feel a bit more as though one is in the background, as it is rarer to be involved in the actual performance. Nevertheless, it is exciting to be around opera. You get to meet a lot of people, as well as the core group of musicians working at the opera companies – guest singers, conductors, directors, choreographers, and you work on a wide variety of shows. Perhaps because I grew up in an “opera” family I was destined to work in this field for a time at least, 25 years as it turned out. I continued to play solo, and I did many, many concerts collaborating with singers. I also played a lot of chamber music, another love of mine.

All these styles of “being a pianist” are great, but deep-down performing is still what I love the most, so I will put it out there that being a freelancer now, with all the options at hand, is a fun time of life.

What is your approach to practice?

As a child I had a regular practice routine – a certain amount of time spent learning at a particular time of the day. It is a little trickier as an adult, juggling bill paying, work, family, and other commitments, so I have had to come up with ways to learn music thoroughly but quickly. Lots of focused ways to challenge the brain, ears, fingers, and muscle memory. Luckily, through early training, I am a very good sight reader. This talent, plus the ability to hear absolute pitch away from the instrument, saves a lot of learning time.

We’re about to see you and the wonderful violinist Johan Dalene embark on a national tour with Musica Viva. What has the preparation process been like so far?

For this Musica Viva tour, performing with violinist Johan Dalene, I have been afforded the luxury of time. With soloists like Johan, much in demand, timetables are tight, and concerts need to be booked in early. There is a great variety of music on this programme, and it has been a fun journey learning the notes, the style, working on technique, listening to old recordings, coming up with new ideas.

And the best part is still to come – meeting Johan for the first time just a few days before our performance at the Melbourne Recital Centre, with a short intense rehearsal period to bring our ideas to life.

At Mirabilis Collective, we’re always excited to hear female compositions and new works. This program features one of each – “D’un matin de printemps” by Lili Boulanger, in its original composition for violin and piano, and the world premiere of Jack Frere’s “Tilted Scales”. How would you describe the program as a whole?

The programme we are performing has something on it for everybody. From classical through to a brand-new commission. You’ll hear a lot of beauty and a lot of impressive technique from both instruments – a feast for the ears, eyes, and heart.

Jennifer Marten-Smith and Swedish-Norwegian violinist Johan Dalene will perform in Perth on Thursday 19 June at the Regal Theatre , as part of their national tour, “Northern Lights”.

For full concert details, visit the Musica Viva website.
To book your tickets directly, head to Ticketek.

Photo credit – Luke Frost

Uncovering Connie Converse: A Voice the World Almost Missed

In a quiet apartment in 1950s New York, a woman named Connie Converse was writing songs no one was quite ready for—frank, poetic, and deeply personal. Long before the era of confessional singer-songwriters like Joni Mitchell or Bob Dylan, Connie was crafting music that offered a startling window into the soul. But after years of rejection and silence, she packed her belongings into a Volkswagen and disappeared. Her music—like her name—was nearly forgotten.

This May, Finding Connie brings her songs to Australian audiences for the very first time. Presented by Mirabilis Collective, the concert is a tribute to a woman whose work was too early, too honest—and too extraordinary to remain hidden.

Who Was Connie Converse?

Born Elizabeth Eaton Converse in 1924, Connie was a gifted student, a self-taught musician, and a quietly radical thinker. In the early 1950s, she recorded home demos of original songs that blended classical nuance with folk simplicity, philosophical lyricism, and startling emotional honesty. Her music defied the conventions of her time.

Uninterested in pursuing fame and unsupported by the male-dominated industry around her, she eventually stepped away from songwriting altogether. In 1974, shortly after turning 50, Connie wrote a series of farewell letters to her family and friends, drove off, and was never seen again.

Her story was largely unknown until a 2004 WNYC radio broadcast shared some of her music. That moment sparked a wave of discovery, culminating in the publication of To Anyone Who Ever Asks by Howard Fishman—a richly researched and empathetic portrait of Connie’s life, music, and mysterious disappearance.

Connie Converse in Ann Arbor 1959

A Lost Genius Rediscovered

Connie Converse’s music is quiet and unassuming—but under the surface, it's fierce in its clarity and emotional depth. She writes of longing, disconnection, inner complexity, and the ache of being unseen. Her harmonic palette—often borrowing from art song and classical form—sets her apart from her folk contemporaries, while her lyrics cut close to the bone.

Her work resonates deeply with listeners today—particularly with women, queer artists, and others who have felt outside dominant narratives. She composed not for commercial success but as an act of expression, of trying to be understood.

In her absence, she has become something of a mythic figure: a reminder of how easily important voices can be missed—and how vital it is that we keep listening.

Connie Converse composing at the piano in her New York apartment in 1958.

A Collective Tribute: Finding Connie

Finding Connie is the result of a rich collaboration between Mirabilis Collective and the University of Western Australia’s Conservatorium of Music. Third-year composition students were invited to create original chamber arrangements of Converse’s songs, reimagining her music through a fresh contemporary lens. These new works form the centre of the program.

The concert also features a multigenerational ensemble of women musicians, performing alongside exceptional UWA student performers. Together, we’re weaving Connie’s voice into a new musical conversation—one that stretches across time, generations, and experience.

We extend our warm thanks to James Ledger, Head of Composition at UWA, for his generous support and for facilitating this special opportunity for the students.

This performance forms part of our 2025 Unveiled concert series, dedicated to amplifying women’s voices through chamber music, storytelling, and creative collaboration.

Connie Converse performing in New York in 1958.

Why Connie’s Music Matters Today
Connie Converse’s music captures something timeless: the ache of disconnection in a crowded world. Her song One by One becomes a haunting metaphor for modern isolation—“we can hear each other pass / but we’re far apart, in the dark.” Writing in the 1950s, she was already diagnosing a spiritual malaise we’re still grappling with: lives filled with noise, yet void of deep connection.

In an era when community was shifting—urbanisation rising, families dispersing—Converse wrote music that reflected both the alienation of her time and the yearning to break through it. Today, as we scroll through curated lives, swipe through connections, and increasingly live behind screens, her songs still resonate deeply.

Bringing Finding Connie to the stage is about more than reviving her lost music. It’s about giving voice to the unheard, making space for stories that were once dismissed or overlooked. It reminds us that history is full of women like Connie—brilliant, ahead of their time, and worthy of being seen and heard.

Connie Converse in her West 88th Street Apartment 1959

Mirabilis Collective presented Finding Connie on 4 May 2025 in collaboration with UWA Conservatorium of Music student musicians and composers.

The concert received a glowing review in The West Australian, highlighting the emotional depth of the performances and the powerful storytelling at the heart of Finding Connie. Read it here.

Programme Notes and Interviews

For a further deep dive into Connie Converse’s life and music, read the Finding Connie concert programme notes here.

Listen here to Mirabilis Collective cellist Elena Wittkuhn in conversation with Bec Bowman on RTR FM’s Artbeat segment, recorded on Friday 2 May. In this 20-minute interview, Elena discusses Connie Converse’s music, the mystery surrounding her disappearance, and how Mirabilis Collective brought her songs to life in Finding Connie.

Listen here as Mirabilis Collective violinist and composer Julia Nicholls reflects on the haunting beauty of Connie Converse’s songwriting in this interview with Curtin Radio’s Jenny Seaton.

Want to explore more?
Howard Fishman’s acclaimed biography To Anyone Who Ever Asks: The Life, Music, and Mystery of Connie Converse is available here—read by the author and featuring excerpts of Converse’s music.
Shortlisted for the Plutarch Award for Best Biography.

To Anyone Who Ever Asks: The Life, Music, and Mystery of Connie Converse by Howard Fishman.

Sisters in Sync: 3-2-1 with Sharon Grigoryan

3 Questions - 2 Insights - 1 unique photo with remarkable women musicians

We shine a light on the extraordinary cellist Sharon Grigoryan in this month's Sisters in Sync. Sharon's passion for chamber music is evident in her remarkable seven-year tenure as the cellist with the Australian String Quartet, and her ongoing collaboration with her husband, the acclaimed guitarist Slava Grigoryan. Their duo performances are a testament to the deep connection they share, both personally and musically, resulting in profoundly moving experiences.

In our upcoming concert, Luminous, we will be performing Grounded for Cello and Guitar by Australian composer Anne Cawrse, a piece composed in 2021 specifically for Sharon and Slava Grigoryan. Grounded is a celebration of finding solace and joy in simplicity during the challenging times of COVID-19 lockdowns. Its lightness of spirit and infectious joy capture the essence of rediscovering ourselves and the things we cherish most.

Sharon shares her insights, inspirations, and valuable lessons learned throughout her formidable career. Get ready to be inspired by her story!

Who is a female musician that has been a source of inspiration in your musical journey?

Wilma Smith, violinist. She was the concertmaster of the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra whilst I was a university student in Melbourne, and whilst I was a young casual player (and then permanent) player of the MSO. I always admired how she handled all situations with a smile on her face, no matter what was thrown at her from all directions. She was also always so supportive of the students in Melbourne, coming to so many of our concerts, and giving so many masterclasses. She treated everyone around her with equal respect and warmth, from fellow Principal players in the orchestra to young freelancers and students. She was a real ambassador for music in Melbourne. She also had a young family at the time - so she was a busy woman, but had time for everyone.

What's one piece of advice from a woman in music that has stuck with you?

Just be who you are, and that’s enough.

What moment in your career made you feel most empowered as a woman in the music industry?

Leaving my job with the Australian String Quartet. It felt like the majority of our audience base assumed that it was because I was a mother that I needed to leave my job. I enjoyed explaining that this wasn’t solely the case, and that there were many reasons, like wanting to explore other avenues in music, having more variety in what I play, as well as spending more time with my family. Many were surprised to hear that I was leaving to explore other avenues of work, to take risks, despite the fact that I was a mother. It felt wonderful to take matters into my own hands and have full control over my life after a wonderful but extremely demanding period with the quartet. Since then, it’s been wonderful to be able to balance my work and motherhood in a way that is happy and healthy for my family.

What's a valuable lesson you've learned throughout your career?

You can’t change other people, you can only change yourself. 

What advice would you give to young women aspiring to build a career in music?

What some people see as female passiveness is actually our great strength. We may not argue a point until we’re blue in the face, we may indeed sacrifice what we really want in order to keep the peace with a colleague who just “must” have it their way. We may “lose” an argument, because we are actually full of self-doubt in that moment and questioning if we really are right or wrong. This self-questioning, this willingness to sacrifice what we want in order to keep the peace, is, what I’ve realised, our greatest strength. “Being right” isn’t strong. Being flexible is. Women, in general, are great diplomats and listeners.