Perth’s intimate Blue Room Theatre is buzzing with hushed, excited chatter and the sliding sounds of stringed instruments being delicately tuned. Cut through only by metronomic ticking, ebony hands racing around the clock. The Priestess of Morphine rehearsal is set to begin. The room is not full, yet the clock keeps ticking. This sound continues for another five minutes, not foreboding, but calculated. Only now musicians are pouring in through the doors, but nobody bats an eyelash. The arrangement is all part of a mutual understanding between the performers and creative team. The energy in the room never once turns frantic.

If audience members were given a peek into this rehearsal space, they would be none the wiser to the fact a majority of these orchestra members are disabled. Whether visible or not, disability is a reality many WA actors, musicians and performers live with day to day. But the way forward is often difficult and there are many obstacles.

Disability and self-advocacy
Actor Crystal Nguyen lives with brittle bones disease, using a powered wheelchair full-time to get around. With projects across Australian stage and screen including: the Blue Room Theatre’s The Complete Show of Waterskiing (2022,) SBS’ Erotic Stories (2023,) and NEFLIX and NITV’s Eddie’s Lil’ Homies (2024) each performance is another step in her mission to “Challenge the abled-gaze in the arts.”
“Existing in a disabled body is always political … it is already a statement that we exist, and we are thriving.”
Crystal Nguyen




Crystal Nguyen doing script work. Photos: Luca Daniel.
While first breaking into professional acting Nguyen quickly learned she would spend almost as much time explaining caveats of her condition to directors as she would actually doing her job. In 2021 she created an Access Rider containing all the necessary details for co-workers so they can best help each other and get straight back to lights, camera, action on set.
Nguyen says one of her proudest moments as an advocate was making these accessibility conversations, even for things as simple as a tea break or being allowed headphones, the norm on her sets.
Initially diagnosed with fibromyalgia, Tenth Muse Initiative founder Hannah Lee Tungate prefers the term ‘dynamically disabled,’ encompassing her ever-changing access needs based on the peaks and valleys of chronic pain and high fatigue.
Originally, Tenth Muse Initiative was born out of Tungate’s dissatisfaction with the lack of classical works highlighting female composers.

The project which shifted her mission to representation for all marginalised groups was The Priestess of Morphine. A chamber opera by composer Rossa Crean, based on the sapphic poetry of Baroness Gertrud Günter von Puttkamer at the time of the Weimar Republic.
The team Tungate assembled coincidentally comprised almost entirely of neurodivergent or disabled artists, allowing her to cater an environment where everyone can feel supported.
Tungate says this shift caused her to become more proactive in her role as creative producer, right from the earliest stages of developing a project.
“I’ve been to venues where they asked everything up front… [I’d asked about] lift access [and was told] oh we don’t normally open it because we’re not using that part of the venue… well you’re going to have to,” Tungate says.
Invis-ability
While talked about more by theatre management, this kind of exclusion can occur at any level of theatre.
Teacher and actor Penny Loois was diagnosed with complex regional pain syndrome in 2016. CRPS sits at almost 50 on the McGill Pain Index, just above a finger amputation. She was medically retired from teaching in 2018.
“I’d get more sympathy when I was in the moon boot,
“If they can visually see it then it’s ok, but if not, they think you must be exaggerating,” she says.
“I set a three-to-five year plan… be on stage, was the ultimate goal.”
She achieved this momentous goal, appearing in Roleystone Theatre’s Addams Family in 2024.

Though Loois felt the creative team was as accommodating as possible, altering her choreography when needed, her doubts remained while auditioning.
Penny Loois
“I felt like I needed to hide the challenges that I might face… I didn’t want it to stand out in my movement.”
You know what they say about assuming…
Nguyen says one of the most dehumanising aspects of disability is people making assumptions about you. Though she is ambulatory, she meets people who assume she can’t walk at all, treating her like a talking head.
On the other hand, Nguyen says some will see her wheelchair and assume she can take stairs, not realising the high risk resulting from those quick, high impact jolts.
Nguyen believes no disabled character should exist purely as a plot-device. While devising The Complete Show of Waterskiing, following three Asian women learning to waterski to honour their grandparents’ memory, the decision was made not to mention her disability at all.


Assuming Nguyen portrayed an able-bodied character, one reviewer commented on how refreshing the choice to cast regardless of ability was.
Disabled artists say after working tirelessly to pursue a career in such a volatile field, honing your skills is supposed to be a rewarding process. Even in the early days of university when the walls around you feel so imposing, building warm connections with fellow artists makes everything feel a little lighter.
Tungate was not afforded this relief. She says from her first year at UWA’s Conservatorium of Music she had people doubting her effort. Her soprano voice against the world, the expectation was to have knees locked in place. A heavy binder of music in hand, Tungate persevered through pain for hours.

“I’ve had choir directors that are really understanding… [say] if you need to sit down during the performance, just sit down, “Other people in the choir, because it’s not convention… think you’re being lazy,” says Tungate.
“These attitudes are really pervasive.”
Tungate’s previous experiences soured her from performing in a choral context. Instead of repeating these mistakes, they became a driving force when structuring the expectations of Tenth Muse Initiative. She comes from a standpoint of presuming best intent.
Tungate says giving her community the grace she did not see, through small tasks she is perfectly capable of, whether it’s planning a two hour meeting to discuss an hour’s worth of content, or driving people to and from rehearsals, means a lot to her.
“Being hyper-anxious and feeling that shame is not a great way to start a rehearsal,
“Just because something doesn’t seem like a thing to you, doesn’t mean it’s not a huge accommodation for somebody else.”
Hannah Lee Tungate





The many artists of Tenth Muse Initiative. Photos Supplied: Michelle Chong, CJ Barker & Partographia.
Missing the mark
Though advocacy for disabled artists on behalf of able-bodied creative teams is always a positive, the two lived experiences can never be conflated, leading to gaps in knowledge.
While Tungate says a lot of work is being done to ensure disabled audiences can properly engage with the arts, whether through Auslan interpreters, audio description or relaxed sensory performances which ease up on technical elements like bright lights or loud sound effects, she feels less is being done to further the platforms of disabled artists to get their stories on stage.
“You can talk to people who are really well meaning but they’re only thinking of disability in a really narrow form,” Tungate says.
She recalls training sessions on accessibility tailored from the idea disabled people don’t already exist in the arts.
“They had got someone who wasn’t autistic explaining autism to a room full of people they were presuming weren’t autistic, and it just fell flat for me,” she says.
Tungate and Loois agree there is a fundamental misunderstanding when it comes to invisible conditions on the spectrums of chronic illness and chronic pain.
Similar to Penny’s moon boot, both feel if a visual indicator is missing because they are feeling good on the day, then some assume they must magically be better and no longer need accommodations in place, which could not be further from the truth.
A past argument Nguyen has heard from people she considers friends is any good actor, regardless of ability, should be able to adapt to any role.
“You can put [disability] on as a costume. Or you can enlist all these props and storytelling and crafts to be me, but that will be a caricature. I can’t put something on to be you.”
Crystal Nguyen
The gig is up
Disability in the Arts, Disadvantage in the Arts, Australia Director of arts services Christopher Williams believes many arts institutions are slow to cater to disabled artists due to the cost of both physical renovation and artistic innovation.
“Arts institutions are notoriously badly funded, so any financial implication comes with an element of fear,” Williams says.
DADAA aims to fly in the face of this blockade by producing artistic works across a multitude of mediums, whether it be theatre, dance, film or visual arts. According to Williams, it’s one of the last companies to do so at such a large scale.
“DADAA as an organisation is almost hard to understand because it does so many different things,” he says.




Christopher Williams working across DADAA. Photos: Luca Daniel.
Despite artistic hubs like DADAA, most artists regardless of ability still rely on a gig economy, never sure when or where the next job will find them.
One of the many talented artists to collaborate with Tenth Muse Initiative, violinist Hannah Brockway has been playing the instrument since she was four. She was playing with the West Australian Symphony Orchestra at just 17-years- old.
Diagnosed with autism only recently in 2022 and battling anorexia for close to 17 years she has had brushes with many questionable performances over the years.



Hannah Brockway shows off her many artistic talents. Photos: Luca Daniel.
Having precise schedules is essential for Brockway so she can properly regulate her energy before a performance; lethargy and fatigue being common side effects of sensory overload. This is often at odds with unorganised creatives feigning fluidity.
Seemingly a lose-lose situation, Brockway recalls a paid performance where the schedule was not properly settled upfront, leading the artists to work three extra hours for free. Brockway voiced her dissatisfaction online, anonymously, as the group was not willing to back up her voice.
“We know that if we complain then we just won’t get hired again,
“No one wants to be seen to be difficult… [but] some of us will be affected more than others,” Brockway says.
Hopes for the future
On September 1, 2025 it was announced Tungate was one of 13 deaf and disabled artists selected to form the Implementation Advisory Group.
This team will be consulted while the government rolls out Equity: the Arts and Disability Associated Plan under the Revive Cultural Policy.
According to the government, the plan aims to further the careers of disabled artists by investing in new works which centralise them and connect with audiences.
Despite this seemingly positive shift, Tungate and Nguyen agree there is a lot to be said about the cultural load on disabled artists both to advocate and educate others.
“I can’t expect everybody to just know everything or how to be a good person, I just hope that everyone is trying,”
“I’ve just learnt to pick my battles and not assume that I’m the expert either,
“I can’t just be an educational guru all the time about all things disability, I can only do so much.”
Crystal Nguyen
Categories: General

