When most of us think of mini-golf, images of resin palm trees, windmills and exaggeratedly cartoonish obstacles come to mind. It’s often dismissed as frivolous, a pastime for children and holiday crowds. Yet nestled within Melbourne’s abandoned Flinders Street ballroom, the Rising festival’s new exhibition “Swingers” challenges this stereotype with a radical, feminist twist. Designed by nine women artists from around the globe, each hole pays homage to mini-golf’s origin as a rebellious protest against gender exclusion, while simultaneously transforming the cavernous space into a series of immersive, interactive art installations.
Origins: A Sport Born from Exclusion
Mini-golf—as many historians note—emerged in 1867, when women were barred from playing the main game of golf at St Andrews Links in Scotland. Rather than accept exclusion, affluent Edinburgh socialites established “golfettes,” miniature courses designed to mimic regulation fairways. This workaround quickly spread throughout the United Kingdom and beyond, positioning mini-golf as a subversive pastime for women denied access to traditional sporting clubs. Curator Grace Herbert explains, “We think of mini-golf as silly, childlike and infantilising—but it has a subversive history. Women first invented and popularised this sport precisely because they were excluded.” With the Swingers exhibition, Herbert and her team have invited contemporary female artists to reclaim that legacy, creating nine holes that weave together queer aesthetics, feminist critique and playful experimentation.
A Hidden Ballroom Reborn
Flinders Street ballroom—a forgotten enclave tucked behind peeling doors in the city’s busiest train station—has long sat dormant, its art-deco grandeur slowly fading beneath layers of neglect. Rising festival organisers have revitalised this forgotten venue into a kaleidoscopic wonderland of neon lights, warped hallways and secret doorways. The ballroom’s cracked floors, peeling walls and dim lighting lend an eerie yet inviting atmosphere, setting the stage for art installations that feel simultaneously nostalgic and unsettling. Visitors enter through narrow corridors, passing rusted iron railings and flickering fluorescent bulbs. Each doorway—painted in bright, unexpected hues—serves as a portal into an artist’s vision. No two portals look the same: one resembles a blown-up slice of a doughnut, complete with sprinkles; another is framed by two enormous inflatable bows. These portals hint at the whimsy and strangeness lying just beyond.
Rules of Engagement
At the entrance, a small sign outlines the exhibition’s guidelines: each player has a 10-stroke limit per hole; borrowed balls or clubs are prohibited; and if your ball goes out of bounds, you must place it at the point of exit and add one penalty stroke. There are no official scorecards, but participants can track their own progress—if they wish. Most players, however, find that “winning” takes a backseat to exploring the environment and discovering each artist’s conceptual twist on mini-golf.
Hole 1: Kaylene Whiskey’s Colourful Tribute to Movement
In the first gallery—a room suffused with pastel pink light—Yankunytjatjara artist Kaylene Whiskey has constructed a homage to her childhood memories and queer iconography. A life-sized silhouette of Cathy Freeman creates the first obstacle: players must “putt through Cathy Freeman’s legs,” a playful nod to both athletic heroism and Indigenous pride. Beside Freeman stands a miniature Greyhound bus, painted in bold hues of teal and purple—an ode to Whiskey’s own travels as a child attending local golf tournaments. Accompanied by upbeat country music—fading in and out of speaker distortion—this hole feels like a tribute to joy, movement and perseverance. The green turf is flanked by illustrated panels depicting Dolly Parton and drag performers, reminding players that popular culture and sporting heritage often intersect. Many visitors find this opening hole deceptively straightforward; sinking the ball in three putts, as one reviewer quipped, “proved I still have the chops—even if they were terrifyingly easy.”
Hole 2: Natasha Tontey’s Chaotic Soundscape
Just beyond Whiskey’s pastel fantasia lies a doorway painted in dizzying black-and-yellow stripes. British-Thai artist Natasha Tontey’s installation revolves around a giant Devo hat—complete with the band’s iconic energy-dome design. Players must aim their ball through the hat’s hollow interior, but the next room’s layout makes the task anything but predictable. Turquoise-painted ramps jut out from the walls, forming a labyrinth of jagged angles. Adding to the chaos: other participants’ balls frequently collide, deflecting shots at unpredictable angles. The hole’s soundtrack—an experimental mashup of new wave synths and live recordings of cheering crowds—blares through overhead speakers, heightening the sensory overload. “I placed my ball through the Devo hat and tried to hit it into an adjoining room,” one player recounted. “But every few seconds, stray balls came flying at me. I realised quickly I’d be better off just sipping a cocktail.”
Hole 3: Pat Brassington’s Carnivalesque Unease
Flanking a corridor lined with faded circus posters is Australian multimedia artist Pat Brassington’s creation: a haunted fairground rendered in fiberglass and neon. Brassington’s hole features a miniature carousel, complete with metallic horses whose painted eyes seem to follow you as you approach. The soundscape here is eerie—distorted carnival organ melodies loop endlessly, evoking a sense of disquiet. Players must navigate a narrow plank that sways slightly when stepped on, an allusion to carnival funhouses. The ball, once released, often lurches toward a mirrored wall, triggering projections of ghostly carnival-goers screeching in slow-motion. Brassington’s goal, she has explained, was to evoke the uncanny: “I wanted to remind players that play can be unsettling—much like carnival rides themselves, where the line between delight and dread is razor-thin.” While some visitors described this hole as “creepy” and “uncomfortably beautiful,” others praised its meticulous attention to detail—from the chipped paint on the carousel to the glitchy video feedback on the mirror.
Hole 4: Delaine Le Bas’s Subversive Geometry
A stenciled welcome sign reading “Push Boundaries, Push Shapes” greets players as they enter British artist Delaine Le Bas’s section. Here, the familiar mini-golf ball is replaced with small, multi-coloured cubes—some smooth, others studded with metal spikes. The course itself is a perfectly square depression carved into plywood; players must fit their square ball through round holes of various diameters. This literal interpretation of “fitting a square peg in a round hole” forces participants to experiment: roll, nudge, angle—whatever it takes to complete the course. Each miss produces a satisfying clatter as cubes collide with metal edges, drawing laughter and groans from nearby players. Le Bas’s piece draws on her Traveller heritage and longstanding interest in societal marginalization: by making the very shape of the ball a challenge, she invites reflection on how individuals are forced to “reshape themselves” to fit societal norms.
Hole 5: Soda Jerk’s Disturbing Teletubby Remix
In a darker wing of the ballroom—where light seeps through stained glass windows—experimental film duo Soda Jerk have conjured a disquieting world of warped nostalgia. Their hole is enclosed within a floor-to-ceiling projection of distorted Teletubbies, their bright, childlike visages flickering and glitching as they move. The physical course is a series of white foam bumps set against a black turf, but the true obstacle is psychological: the Teletubbies’ squeaky voices, slowed to half-speed, chant surreal nursery rhymes in the background. One visitor admitted, “I’ve watched Teletubbies with my niece dozens of times—but Soda Jerk’s version made me want to unsee everything. It’s playful horror.” As players attempt to sink their ball, the projection reacts in real time: each successful putt triggers an over-the-top explosion of pastel confetti on screen, while missed shots send the Teletubbies into a frenzy of digital distortion. The juxtaposition of childhood innocence and hallucinatory imagery underscores the exhibition’s theme: fun and subversion often coexist uneasily.
Hole 6: Saeborg’s Wearable Latex World
Tokyo’s avant-garde artist Saeborg greets players with an array of wearable accessories: latex ears, tails and mismatched gloves. Participants must don these haptic extensions before attempting to putt large foam spheres toward a suspended target, fashioned from shimmering chrome and neon tubing. The challenge is twofold: players quickly discover that latex tails—meant to be wiggled like a club—are unwieldy, while latex ears distort one’s auditory perception, making it hard to gauge distance. Saeborg, known for her cyborg aesthetics and explorations of bodily modification, designed this hole to foreground the body’s malleability. “I wanted to show how our physical limitations can change when we alter our appendages,” she explains. “With latex, our skin feels different, our movements feel amplified or delayed. Suddenly, a simple putt becomes a performance.” Many players cheered when they finally sank a ball, celebratory squeaks echoing against the ballroom’s vaulted ceiling. One friend commented, “Calling this the most stressful experience I’ve ever had is not an exaggeration—but also, there was something liberating about it.”
Hole 7: Bktherula’s Sonic Exploration
U.S. rapper and multimedia artist Bktherula’s installation feels like a hybrid recording studio and golf course. The turf is studded with small metal plates that resonate when struck. Rather than aiming for a single endpoint, players are encouraged to experiment—rolling their ball across various surfaces to trigger different sounds. An overhead speaker system captures these noises, mixing them into a looping sonic tapestry of clacks, hums and reverberations. Despite being one of the easiest holes—many players could sink their ball in a single stroke—few bothered. “The joy here comes from creating music, not scoring points,” says Bktherula. Above the course, neon signage reads “Make Noise, Not Just Points.” Visitors paused to listen to the echoes, occasionally gathering around to remix impromptu beats. One teen remarked, “I could stay here all day just finding new sounds.” The emphasis on collective creativity rather than competitive prowess resonates deeply: in a space dedicated to feminist mini-golf, collaboration trumps individual victory.
READ MORE: Janet Anderson Reveals Her Top 10 Funniest Internet Moments
Hole 8: Nabilah Nordin’s Edible Architecture
Singaporean-Australian sculptor Nabilah Nordin’s course resembles a fairytale cottage—its walls, roof and decorations all constructed from various types of bread. Sourdough loaves form the foundation, while baguette battlements line the edges. The turf, however, is a slippery plywood platform coated in a thin layer of flour to evoke sandy desert dunes. Players must deftly navigate their ball through the “bread house,” aiming for a small hole in the chimney. But the floury surface causes balls to skid unpredictably, and occasional gusts from an unseen fan send flour clouds drifting in unpredictable patterns. Visitors caution that their shoes and clothes will likely pick up a dusting of flour, yet many willingly accept this minor inconvenience for the sake of artistic innovation. “I found it both beautiful and bizarre,” one player notes. “There’s a certain melancholy in seeing food used as architecture—knowing it might crumble at any moment.” Nordin’s piece underscores themes of consumption, preservation and the ephemeral nature of both art and sustenance.
Hole 9: Miranda July’s Wave of Fortune and Life Advice
Britain-born, U.S.-based artist Miranda July closes out the exhibition with a whimsical, introspective finale. Her course begins with a large, sine-shaped “Wave of Fortune” ramp. When players launch their ball, it tumbles through the crest, emerging in a labyrinth of textured pathways—each leading to a flag inscribed with hand-lettered life advice. Messages range from the poetic (“Seek the beauty in your mistakes”) to the humorous (“Stop apologising for things you haven’t done”), designed to provoke reflection as much as amusement. Once a ball finally drops into a hole, the player can’t immediately retrieve it; the maze conceals it from view, forcing visitors to meander through the labyrinth until they stumble upon their own offering of wisdom. “You are insulting yourself in ways you find insulting. Insult a hat like that and I promise the hat will cry. Today you stop,” reads one flag, eliciting chuckles and contemplative nods alike. While some critics describe the advice as “naively optimistic,” most agree that in a world dominated by cynicism, a dash of earnest encouragement can be disarming—and perhaps necessary.
Beyond Competition: Celebrating Art, Weirdness and Female Agency
By the time participants exit the Flinders Street ballroom—fluorescent lights dimming behind them—they have traversed a landscape of latex, bread, glitchy projections and life-affirming mantras. While the exhibition’s ostensible premise is mini-golf, the true emphasis is on exploration, collaboration and feminist reclamation. Players are encouraged to abandon rigid notions of “winning,” instead focusing on the sensory pleasures of each artistic world. Curator Grace Herbert reflects, “We wanted every visitor to feel as if they’ve stepped into multiple dreamscapes, each reflecting a different facet of feminist resistance—whether through humor, critique or pure absurdity. These nine artists remind us that art can be playful, subversive and deeply meaningful all at once.” Many attendees confessed that keeping score felt secondary; instead, they reveled in the delight of discovery. For some, the biggest triumph was sinking a putt through Cathy Freeman’s silhouette; for others, it was creating a spontaneous dance of flour clouds in Nordin’s bread house. Others still found catharsis in Bktherula’s sonic playground, or tranquility in July’s words of wisdom.
Conclusion: Art as a Scenic, Subversive Route
Swingers is open through late June, and Rising festival organisers anticipate it drawing thousands of visitors. Though the exhibition requires only a modest entrance fee, its cultural value far exceeds any monetary measure. By placing nine female artists at the heart of a centuries-old “silly” pastime, Swingers reframes mini-golf as a vibrant site of queer and feminist agency. As one gallery-goer put it when exiting the final hole, “We walked in expecting kitsch, but came out with new ways of thinking—about art, about our bodies, and about how whimsy can be revolutionary.” In a time when art often feels overly earnest or inaccessible, the Rising festival’s Swingers project reminds us that the scenic route—in both life and leisure—is always worth taking.
