2018 Award Winners:
CCI Art Award — 'Australian desert, Isolation' by Luke of Whitefriars College
ACU Writing Award — 'Empty Spaces', by Daniela Vinaccia of Star of the Sea College
ACU Writing Award — 'Empty Spaces', by Daniela Vinaccia of Star of the Sea College
Mallia‘Australian desert, Isolation’
Luke Mallia, Whitefriars College
"My theme is the exploration of landscape and different places I have travelled to around Australia with my family. I chose locations and spaces which I felt were iconic and uniquely Australian. This artwork was also inspired by artist Sir Russell Drysdale in its aesthetic style and effects with colour and texture. It explores the balance of life and the isolation of the outback. While there is such beauty to gaze upon, this is also a harsh landscape in which to live."
Luke Mallia, Whitefriars College
"My theme is the exploration of landscape and different places I have travelled to around Australia with my family. I chose locations and spaces which I felt were iconic and uniquely Australian. This artwork was also inspired by artist Sir Russell Drysdale in its aesthetic style and effects with colour and texture. It explores the balance of life and the isolation of the outback. While there is such beauty to gaze upon, this is also a harsh landscape in which to live."
Empty Spaces, Daniela Vinaccia of Star of the Sea College
This creative piece is based on the film, 'Rear Window'. I have chosen to develop the backstory of one of the characters, Miss Lonelyhearts.
7:00pm
Thirty minutes until The Date.
The time goes by so slowly. With every ominous tick of the second hand creeping on the wood trimmed clock on the sideboard, my heart beats a little harder. The time for The Date nears.
I sit under the golden, muted light of a rose-coloured lamp that I inherited from my grandmother. This was one of the only items that was rescued from the wreck that was my family life over the past five years. My hand trembles slightly as I try to apply my mascara and scarlet lipstick. For lips and matching fingertips is what the Revlon ad said. If I wear the requisite red lipstick and red nail polish, then maybe I could look like those real women in Harper’s Bazaar; flawless and beautiful.
I remind myself that I will never be able to look like Kim Novak and Grace Kelly. I will not be able to defy the ageing process. Their skin is smooth and luminous. No blemishes, just perfection. In contrast, I require an inch of foundation to mask those telltale signs of ageing and weathering. Men reject the ageing process in women. It reminds them of their own mortality. At least I have cleansed myself of the layers of dust from my past. The dust is gone but so is any sense of community that I once enjoyed. As my mother always said, “in order to impress, you must look my best!”. It is so ironic that her life now is the very opposite.
Her money. I forgot to send that yesterday. I have been thinking about tonight’s Date all week and haven’t had time to worry about much else.
7:06pm
Twenty-four minutes until The Date.
It has become my monthly ritual to place two crumpled five dollar bills in the empty envelope marked ‘Stillwater OK 74074’. My distant aunt had told me about my mother’s cancer diagnosis. My aunt is the type of person I only ever saw at funerals. She seems to revel in grief. As for my mother, I still haven’t been able to put pen to paper to comfort her. I don’t know what I would say. What can I say? The only family that I have left in this world is slowly withering away and I can’t do anything to stop it.
Just the thought of returning to that crumbling town of Stillwater frightens me. How could I return to a place that ripped away everyone I ever cared about? My father, my brother and now my mother.
My father. He was meant to be unlike other men. He cared for and respected me. But most importantly he let me believe that his love would be unconditional. On the day he vanished, he broke my heart; a heart that was yet to be touched by any lover. We were always waiting for the day that my father’s dark brown eyes, slick brown hair and muscular, lean body would return. We were hoping he would say that he had been working as a labourer to earn money for the family. The gate, collapsing slightly on its hinges, hasn’t closed fully since the day he vanished across the dusty horizon.
Not long after my father’s abandonment, my boyfriend left me. I suspect that he no longer wished to endure my family situation. I haven’t been able to love anyone since. Sometimes it is just easier this way.
7:13pm
Seventeen minutes until The Date
It is the vision of my mother that haunts me the most. I can still see her gnarled and beaten hands as she scrubbed floors in a barren attempt to wash the layers of dust from our home. Her weather-beaten face, with those sunken light blue eyes, would occasionally glance at me as I sat watching her. She would never question me as to why I didn't offer to assist. She knew what the answer would be.
Futility. Sheer futility.
The place was a dump and no end of cleaning could make it different. No end of cleaning would see her husband return from wherever he was. No end of cleaning would restore the mangled body of her beloved son, blown apart by a German land mine somewhere in a foreign land. Those light blue eyes, like ice. They were kindly but distant, as if a light of love and hope had been extinguished.
She was a shell.
7:25PM
Five minutes until The Date
The evening bustle intensifies outside my window. I feel so utterly alone, even though there is some sense of joy in the apartments around me. My heart rate increases to match the pace of the noise outside. I don't really know or understand what I am afraid of. Maybe it's something that is so deeply embedded within me that it can't really be understood.
The moment has come. Should I meet this man or should I abandon the dream that he could be 'the one'? Given how my life has been, there really is no choice. I decide to walk down and post the envelope containing the two crinkled five dollar bills to my mother. Once again, I couldn’t bring myself to put a letter inside.
I return to my apartment and turn off the lamp. I pause in the dim light and listen to the hum of the street below and the sound of 'Mona Lisa' being sung in communal voice in another apartment. I close the door gently behind me.
7:30PM
As I walk to the bar, I know that I am ready to join this community. I am a void but even a void can be filled with love and trust.
I see him waiting, wearing a French navy suit, red and yellow tie with a white handkerchief in his suit pocket, just as promised.
I am a mixture of excitement and panic; joy and dread.
I cannot do this. I am not ready.
Before he sees me, I turn and walk away, back to the safety of my apartment.
My time for adventure will come.
But not yet.
7:00pm
Thirty minutes until The Date.
The time goes by so slowly. With every ominous tick of the second hand creeping on the wood trimmed clock on the sideboard, my heart beats a little harder. The time for The Date nears.
I sit under the golden, muted light of a rose-coloured lamp that I inherited from my grandmother. This was one of the only items that was rescued from the wreck that was my family life over the past five years. My hand trembles slightly as I try to apply my mascara and scarlet lipstick. For lips and matching fingertips is what the Revlon ad said. If I wear the requisite red lipstick and red nail polish, then maybe I could look like those real women in Harper’s Bazaar; flawless and beautiful.
I remind myself that I will never be able to look like Kim Novak and Grace Kelly. I will not be able to defy the ageing process. Their skin is smooth and luminous. No blemishes, just perfection. In contrast, I require an inch of foundation to mask those telltale signs of ageing and weathering. Men reject the ageing process in women. It reminds them of their own mortality. At least I have cleansed myself of the layers of dust from my past. The dust is gone but so is any sense of community that I once enjoyed. As my mother always said, “in order to impress, you must look my best!”. It is so ironic that her life now is the very opposite.
Her money. I forgot to send that yesterday. I have been thinking about tonight’s Date all week and haven’t had time to worry about much else.
7:06pm
Twenty-four minutes until The Date.
It has become my monthly ritual to place two crumpled five dollar bills in the empty envelope marked ‘Stillwater OK 74074’. My distant aunt had told me about my mother’s cancer diagnosis. My aunt is the type of person I only ever saw at funerals. She seems to revel in grief. As for my mother, I still haven’t been able to put pen to paper to comfort her. I don’t know what I would say. What can I say? The only family that I have left in this world is slowly withering away and I can’t do anything to stop it.
Just the thought of returning to that crumbling town of Stillwater frightens me. How could I return to a place that ripped away everyone I ever cared about? My father, my brother and now my mother.
My father. He was meant to be unlike other men. He cared for and respected me. But most importantly he let me believe that his love would be unconditional. On the day he vanished, he broke my heart; a heart that was yet to be touched by any lover. We were always waiting for the day that my father’s dark brown eyes, slick brown hair and muscular, lean body would return. We were hoping he would say that he had been working as a labourer to earn money for the family. The gate, collapsing slightly on its hinges, hasn’t closed fully since the day he vanished across the dusty horizon.
Not long after my father’s abandonment, my boyfriend left me. I suspect that he no longer wished to endure my family situation. I haven’t been able to love anyone since. Sometimes it is just easier this way.
7:13pm
Seventeen minutes until The Date
It is the vision of my mother that haunts me the most. I can still see her gnarled and beaten hands as she scrubbed floors in a barren attempt to wash the layers of dust from our home. Her weather-beaten face, with those sunken light blue eyes, would occasionally glance at me as I sat watching her. She would never question me as to why I didn't offer to assist. She knew what the answer would be.
Futility. Sheer futility.
The place was a dump and no end of cleaning could make it different. No end of cleaning would see her husband return from wherever he was. No end of cleaning would restore the mangled body of her beloved son, blown apart by a German land mine somewhere in a foreign land. Those light blue eyes, like ice. They were kindly but distant, as if a light of love and hope had been extinguished.
She was a shell.
7:25PM
Five minutes until The Date
The evening bustle intensifies outside my window. I feel so utterly alone, even though there is some sense of joy in the apartments around me. My heart rate increases to match the pace of the noise outside. I don't really know or understand what I am afraid of. Maybe it's something that is so deeply embedded within me that it can't really be understood.
The moment has come. Should I meet this man or should I abandon the dream that he could be 'the one'? Given how my life has been, there really is no choice. I decide to walk down and post the envelope containing the two crinkled five dollar bills to my mother. Once again, I couldn’t bring myself to put a letter inside.
I return to my apartment and turn off the lamp. I pause in the dim light and listen to the hum of the street below and the sound of 'Mona Lisa' being sung in communal voice in another apartment. I close the door gently behind me.
7:30PM
As I walk to the bar, I know that I am ready to join this community. I am a void but even a void can be filled with love and trust.
I see him waiting, wearing a French navy suit, red and yellow tie with a white handkerchief in his suit pocket, just as promised.
I am a mixture of excitement and panic; joy and dread.
I cannot do this. I am not ready.
Before he sees me, I turn and walk away, back to the safety of my apartment.
My time for adventure will come.
But not yet.