Selected works from Shared Stories 2024
Marni
Year 12 · Star of the Sea College
Year 12 · Star of the Sea College
I focused on appreciating the natural beauty in our surrounding environment that we may pass by every day, unknowingly ignoring the great wonders of life that blossom around us. The flowers capture nature’s beauty and encourage people to slow down and appreciate the stillness and beauty in the world around us.
Capturing Owen
Hannah
Year 11 · Star of the Sea College
Year 11 · Star of the Sea College
For this artwork, I painted my brother, Owen. I captured this moment when he was trying on his glasses, knowing that if I had asked him to pose, he wouldn’t have let me. Throughout Owen’s life he has often been camera shy and tends to try and present a more “perfect” version of himself in photos, but I wanted to show him as he really is. I wanted a moment that reflected his calm, kind demeanour. Paintings and photos anchor us to a point in time, preserving pieces of life that move so quickly. Life is short, and we only get one chance to live it. While we may not stay on Earth forever, these moments hold us in history, reminding us to embrace our imperfections and show our true selves..
Psyche's Prisim
Anelise
Year 12 · Aquinas College
Year 12 · Aquinas College
In the “PSYCHE’S PRISM” painting series, the interplay of colour and emotion vividly illustrates the dynamics of expression and perception. The first painting, dominated by blue and green hues, captures a melancholic mood. These cool tones evoke a sense of sadness, reflecting how we often internalise and project our own emotional struggles. In contrast, the second painting employs vibrant orange and pink shades to convey a joyful, upbeat expression. This warm palette signifies positivity and how we might present ourselves to the world with a happier facade. Together, these paintings underscore how colours not only mirror our internal states but also shape how we are perceived by others. The series invites viewers to consider the spectrum of emotions that influence human interaction and how the emotional resonance of colours can deeply affect and reveal the nuances of our personal experiences and perceptions...
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The Sparrow and The Crow
Lily
Year 11 · Killester College, Springvale
Year 11 · Killester College, Springvale
No matter how small your feathers are, how sharp your claws are, or how loudly you call, one can face any obstacle with a spirit greater, braver and stronger than one will think they have.
Mikaela
Year 8 · Killester College, Springvale
Year 8 · Killester College, Springvale
The Curious Tree Frog
Mariam
Year 9 · Nazareth College
Year 9 · Nazareth College
A Hundertwasser inspired pet portrait, Oil pastels on paper
A Glimpse
Sofia
Year 10 · Star of the Sea College
Year 10 · Star of the Sea College
For this artwork, I wanted to celebrate and explore the beauty of the human face, and recognise the aspects and the amazing features that are portrayed in this piece. I used the aspect of colour to highlight the features of the face and to draw attention to it. Through the simplicity of a 'glimpse', I reflected on my personal passion and wanted to touch on the idea that we should never compare ourselves to others, for everyone is unique and beautiful in their own way.
Alex
Year 11 · Star of the Sea College
Year 11 · Star of the Sea College
In creating this piece, I wanted to capture my grandmother’s youth and how she carried herself throughout her life. I took inspiration from Frida Kahlo’s colourful and lively portraits. I wanted to present my subject in a way that encapsulates her softness and nurturing persona.
Imogen
Year 11 · Star of the Sea College
Year 11 · Star of the Sea College
For this work, I wanted to celebrate and honour my uncle, together with his career as an artist. I chose the form of portraiture. My uncle, Luke Parker, gave me my first exposure to the world of art.
This was part of what led me to love art as a creative medium. I also took inspiration from Julius Killerby’s approach to oil painting, with his intentional, ‘unblended style.’ I used a mix of acrylic and oil paint on a wood panel to achieve my finished product.
This was part of what led me to love art as a creative medium. I also took inspiration from Julius Killerby’s approach to oil painting, with his intentional, ‘unblended style.’ I used a mix of acrylic and oil paint on a wood panel to achieve my finished product.
No Gravity
Anna
Year 7 · Catholic Regional College St Albans
Year 7 · Catholic Regional College St Albans
Easter
Agam, Leah and Anabel
Year 10 · Kolbe Catholic College, Greenvale Lakes
Year 10 · Kolbe Catholic College, Greenvale Lakes
This artwork was a collaboration between the three of us and was inspired by Jesus’s resurrection. The crosses on the hill represent Jesus’s crucifixion and the sacrifice he made for us. The tomb represents his death and burial. A sun is depicted in the sky, representing that Jesus has risen. The colour violet has been used in the sky because it is the colour of Lent and represents the leading up to Jesus’s sacrifice and resurrection. The painting represents what Jesus gave up for us and because of his connection with God, he was able to rise again.
Still Life
Yuan
Year 7 · Mazenod College
Year 7 · Mazenod College
Tangle
Madi
Year 12 · Aquinas
Year 12 · Aquinas
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In Tangle, I used colour to convey a complex emotional piece, inviting viewers into an abstract world of layered feelings and reflections.
The floating organic shapes represent thought or emotion. The deep blues, purples, and reds are chosen intentionally to evoke a sense of calm combined with tension, reflecting emotions that are both soothing and unsettling. These colours blend and shift, mirroring the fluid nature of our inner experiences, sometimes in harmony, sometimes in conflict. The vivid depth of colour contrasts with the unaligned shapes, embodying the feeling of not quite fitting in, a feeling many can relate to. Being unique and having different thoughts, feelings and images is what makes us human, it’s what makes us stand out. The shapes not flowing with the background proposes that no matter how hard you try to fit in, it’s impossible, and that’s what my painting represents. I was inspired by the Australian artist Ash Keating and others who use colour differently to communicate feelings, and in Tangle, I seek to create an experience where viewers can sense the conflicting feelings, expressed through colour and form. It’s up for interpretation because of its abstract nature. |
Luna
Year 12 · St Peter's College
Year 12 · St Peter's College
Luma
Laura
Year 11 · Caroline Chisholm Catholic College
Year 11 · Caroline Chisholm Catholic College
Louise
Year 12 · Aquinas College
Year 12 · Aquinas College
Q & A with my grandfather, the legendary Des Tuddenham
Matilda
Year 8 · Star of the Sea College
Year 8 · Star of the Sea College
You were raised in Ross Creek. What was it like growing up in a farming community in a large family?
It was a great life. We could milk the cows, feed the pigs, play football, and shearing the sheep was fun. We had a good time ringing the lambs in as well. Mum and Dad were great. Dad was on the Council; Mum was president of the Country Women’s Association, and she could sing and play music. I was always inspired by that. Living in a large family was good. We learnt how to share, and we all had a vegetable patch. We grew tomatoes and anything we wanted.
What was it like being chosen to play for Collingwood when you were only a young man? Was it hard to leave your family and move to Melbourne?
I was very lucky because I barracked for Collingwood as a young lad. My Mum went for Collingwood. When I first got signed, I travelled down from Ross Creek for two years. I didn’t move straight away. A memory I will always have is mum waving to me as I left as I was the first to leave home.
What are some of your fondest memories of playing football?
The first game that I actually played was against North Melbourne. Before my first game, I was asked to play as the 19th man (interchange) against Geelong in Geelong. That would have been my first actual game, but I never got a run. Fun fact, my first kick in AFL football was my first goal.
Describe your feelings when you left Collingwood and played for Essendon.
I felt a lot of responsibility, but it was very enjoyable, and the players were terrific. Jim Mathews, David Shaw and Graham Moss became great friends, so it was a good feeling. Collingwood had made an error, and it was very hard to communicate with those in power. I would have loved to continue to play for Collingwood. If Galbally had won the election for president in ‘69 I would have stayed at Collingwood.
What advice would you give young people today about how to pursue their dreams?
Have self-dedication, and commitment. Don’t take shortcuts. If you’re planning on playing in the AFL or to play any sport, you need to get fit so you can excel. Be the best team player and the best leader.
It was a great life. We could milk the cows, feed the pigs, play football, and shearing the sheep was fun. We had a good time ringing the lambs in as well. Mum and Dad were great. Dad was on the Council; Mum was president of the Country Women’s Association, and she could sing and play music. I was always inspired by that. Living in a large family was good. We learnt how to share, and we all had a vegetable patch. We grew tomatoes and anything we wanted.
What was it like being chosen to play for Collingwood when you were only a young man? Was it hard to leave your family and move to Melbourne?
I was very lucky because I barracked for Collingwood as a young lad. My Mum went for Collingwood. When I first got signed, I travelled down from Ross Creek for two years. I didn’t move straight away. A memory I will always have is mum waving to me as I left as I was the first to leave home.
What are some of your fondest memories of playing football?
The first game that I actually played was against North Melbourne. Before my first game, I was asked to play as the 19th man (interchange) against Geelong in Geelong. That would have been my first actual game, but I never got a run. Fun fact, my first kick in AFL football was my first goal.
Describe your feelings when you left Collingwood and played for Essendon.
I felt a lot of responsibility, but it was very enjoyable, and the players were terrific. Jim Mathews, David Shaw and Graham Moss became great friends, so it was a good feeling. Collingwood had made an error, and it was very hard to communicate with those in power. I would have loved to continue to play for Collingwood. If Galbally had won the election for president in ‘69 I would have stayed at Collingwood.
What advice would you give young people today about how to pursue their dreams?
Have self-dedication, and commitment. Don’t take shortcuts. If you’re planning on playing in the AFL or to play any sport, you need to get fit so you can excel. Be the best team player and the best leader.
The Patchwork Doll
Francesca
Year 12 · Star of the Sea College
Year 12 · Star of the Sea College
Growing up as a child, I never really thought I was different to any of my peers. Raised against the backdrop of early 2000s Australian society, I engaged in typical Aussie pastimes such as Saturday afternoon netball matches and catchy slogans of “no hat, no play” being the leading framework that lunchtime playground games operated on. It wasn’t until I was 8 years old, in 2014, that I noticed, in fact, that I was not a run-of-the-mill Aussie girl.
Some girl named Emily or Zoe or another carbon-copy lookalike asked me, “Why does your name sound funny? Why do you have such dark hair on your arms and legs?”.
It suddenly occurred to me that I was somewhat far removed from the Emilys and Zoes with lightly browned hair and parents that proudly carried the Australian vernacular like a badge of pride on their breast pocket. As I heard the swell of “Nan and Pop coming ‘round for a bickie and a cuppa” and cousins who bookended the streets of nestled Bayside suburbs, I came to the life-altering realisation at the ripe age of 8, that I really was an ocean of distance away from anything or anyone I could call ‘my family’.
My parents invariably took on the questions of their origins. They responded with thick accents to those with intrusive speculation etched across their faces and furrowed brows who not so invitingly probed, “But, what are you doing here?”
Whether it was a genuine question or a cultural barricade they had just created was entirely left to question. However, the latter corresponded more with the facial expressions that not so subtly screamed their Australian superiority.
My first remembered trip to Argentina was somewhat of a spectacle. Family and culture were etched and imbued into every crowded street of Buenos Aires. My name was no longer a novelty; a blur of colour and music seemed to follow me in every place I went. Families gathered to share rambunctious stories and passionate café discourse that were followed by roars of laughter and heated debates; a celebration of heritage chiselled into every gesture, all moving and flowing through the rooms like wine. Yes, social and class distinctions were palpable but what broke free from that were aspects of an energetic and colourful culture that the Australia I knew had never encapsulated.
The working class of Australia was built on the foundations of diligence and dignity, the gateway to Australian honour. Access to the fortune of the “Lucky Country”; a cornucopia of opportunity. My parents coveted the promises of Australia and sacrificed all they knew to raise me in a country that honoured the dignity of hard work and common decency. This new land was brimming with choice and freedom. However, the migrant experience, so highly desired, brazenly failed to fully acknowledge the trials and tribulations after all the dust had settled and the exotic cultural novelty had worn off.
In a country that was rife with societal and class distinctions, the journey my parents trekked to establish themselves in the so-called ‘promised land’ was fraught with discerning eyes and judgemental stares. The subtlety of Australia’s casual racism is sometimes never blatantly clear; the irony of this society as being invariably accepting is never lost on me. When I was eight, I was too young to realise the ramifications of how cultural isolation excluded my parents from Grand Final Day barbecues or Christmas Day street parties. I knew my parents felt just as out of place as me, for we were never the family that flocked to the television on a Friday night to watch AFL with investment in each kick or handball displayed on the screen. In some ways, I felt I inherited the cultural baggage passed down from both my parents.
However, I became gradually more conscious of the fortune that was created for me, in comparison to the silver-spooned third generation Australian children who were so blind-sided by their prosperous birthright to know any difference. To be born into a society that codified the honour of hard work struck me from my Argentinean lens, where social advancement and mobility were a by-product of pedigree rather than good honest labour. The Australian horizon was ceaselessly shimmering with opportunity.
Education became the gateway to safeguarding this new-found lifestyle that my immigrant parents had unearthed. Their expectations forged into mine and I found that my identity was forged into a trajectory that had been ascertained by their dreams to fulfil. Like the daughter of any immigrant child, I worked to scale the pedestal they had created upon setting foot into Australia. My goal was to make them proud. Maybe if I had grown up in a society where my future was preordained by the social class I had been born into, I wouldn’t have been encumbered by the crushing weight and burden of familial expectations, but I liked this challenge. I thrived under it. I utilised these expectations as a springboard and every proud smile I managed to render fuelled the fire ignited within me of self-worth I worked to prove. I came to acknowledge that choice was a privilege. This self-actualisation I had found in the mould of achievement embodied the migrant rule I felt subjected to, which is to show that you were worth the sacrifice. But the question continually gnawed away at me about whether academic stimulation was enough. I was a foreign voyager who had stumbled on this land not by cultural inheritance, but by mere choice of two 30-something year old migrants in search of a better life for their child.
In an attempt to embody both versions of myself, I realised that being Australian-born meant I had the agency to create my own identity; it was enshrined into what it meant to say, “I am Australian”. Despite its social stratification, this country encompassed the vulnerability of some but the aspirations for all. I found myself feeling proud of my far-reaching and puzzle-pieced nationality. Under this conditional society, did I still feel the societal pressure to understand myself without reservations? Yes, but I’d so far realised that knowledge on every facet of my identity was not the point. I was opened to the notion of self-identity enhancing the collective migrant experience.
Though my culture was enigmatic and diverse, I now refuse to feel ashamed of the mural of pieces that collectively define my familial lineage or where I come from. I refuse to let the Emilys and Zoes dictate the evolving contours of my own personal agency and cultural legacy; for I am the architect of my future. The hopes into which I was born would only propel me into a future I had the faculty to create, with my culture as the guiding principle to my understanding of myself, a Patchwork Doll.
In loving memory of José da Câmara 1941 - 2024, who tirelessly worked to build a future for his children and grandchildren.
Some girl named Emily or Zoe or another carbon-copy lookalike asked me, “Why does your name sound funny? Why do you have such dark hair on your arms and legs?”.
It suddenly occurred to me that I was somewhat far removed from the Emilys and Zoes with lightly browned hair and parents that proudly carried the Australian vernacular like a badge of pride on their breast pocket. As I heard the swell of “Nan and Pop coming ‘round for a bickie and a cuppa” and cousins who bookended the streets of nestled Bayside suburbs, I came to the life-altering realisation at the ripe age of 8, that I really was an ocean of distance away from anything or anyone I could call ‘my family’.
My parents invariably took on the questions of their origins. They responded with thick accents to those with intrusive speculation etched across their faces and furrowed brows who not so invitingly probed, “But, what are you doing here?”
Whether it was a genuine question or a cultural barricade they had just created was entirely left to question. However, the latter corresponded more with the facial expressions that not so subtly screamed their Australian superiority.
My first remembered trip to Argentina was somewhat of a spectacle. Family and culture were etched and imbued into every crowded street of Buenos Aires. My name was no longer a novelty; a blur of colour and music seemed to follow me in every place I went. Families gathered to share rambunctious stories and passionate café discourse that were followed by roars of laughter and heated debates; a celebration of heritage chiselled into every gesture, all moving and flowing through the rooms like wine. Yes, social and class distinctions were palpable but what broke free from that were aspects of an energetic and colourful culture that the Australia I knew had never encapsulated.
The working class of Australia was built on the foundations of diligence and dignity, the gateway to Australian honour. Access to the fortune of the “Lucky Country”; a cornucopia of opportunity. My parents coveted the promises of Australia and sacrificed all they knew to raise me in a country that honoured the dignity of hard work and common decency. This new land was brimming with choice and freedom. However, the migrant experience, so highly desired, brazenly failed to fully acknowledge the trials and tribulations after all the dust had settled and the exotic cultural novelty had worn off.
In a country that was rife with societal and class distinctions, the journey my parents trekked to establish themselves in the so-called ‘promised land’ was fraught with discerning eyes and judgemental stares. The subtlety of Australia’s casual racism is sometimes never blatantly clear; the irony of this society as being invariably accepting is never lost on me. When I was eight, I was too young to realise the ramifications of how cultural isolation excluded my parents from Grand Final Day barbecues or Christmas Day street parties. I knew my parents felt just as out of place as me, for we were never the family that flocked to the television on a Friday night to watch AFL with investment in each kick or handball displayed on the screen. In some ways, I felt I inherited the cultural baggage passed down from both my parents.
However, I became gradually more conscious of the fortune that was created for me, in comparison to the silver-spooned third generation Australian children who were so blind-sided by their prosperous birthright to know any difference. To be born into a society that codified the honour of hard work struck me from my Argentinean lens, where social advancement and mobility were a by-product of pedigree rather than good honest labour. The Australian horizon was ceaselessly shimmering with opportunity.
Education became the gateway to safeguarding this new-found lifestyle that my immigrant parents had unearthed. Their expectations forged into mine and I found that my identity was forged into a trajectory that had been ascertained by their dreams to fulfil. Like the daughter of any immigrant child, I worked to scale the pedestal they had created upon setting foot into Australia. My goal was to make them proud. Maybe if I had grown up in a society where my future was preordained by the social class I had been born into, I wouldn’t have been encumbered by the crushing weight and burden of familial expectations, but I liked this challenge. I thrived under it. I utilised these expectations as a springboard and every proud smile I managed to render fuelled the fire ignited within me of self-worth I worked to prove. I came to acknowledge that choice was a privilege. This self-actualisation I had found in the mould of achievement embodied the migrant rule I felt subjected to, which is to show that you were worth the sacrifice. But the question continually gnawed away at me about whether academic stimulation was enough. I was a foreign voyager who had stumbled on this land not by cultural inheritance, but by mere choice of two 30-something year old migrants in search of a better life for their child.
In an attempt to embody both versions of myself, I realised that being Australian-born meant I had the agency to create my own identity; it was enshrined into what it meant to say, “I am Australian”. Despite its social stratification, this country encompassed the vulnerability of some but the aspirations for all. I found myself feeling proud of my far-reaching and puzzle-pieced nationality. Under this conditional society, did I still feel the societal pressure to understand myself without reservations? Yes, but I’d so far realised that knowledge on every facet of my identity was not the point. I was opened to the notion of self-identity enhancing the collective migrant experience.
Though my culture was enigmatic and diverse, I now refuse to feel ashamed of the mural of pieces that collectively define my familial lineage or where I come from. I refuse to let the Emilys and Zoes dictate the evolving contours of my own personal agency and cultural legacy; for I am the architect of my future. The hopes into which I was born would only propel me into a future I had the faculty to create, with my culture as the guiding principle to my understanding of myself, a Patchwork Doll.
In loving memory of José da Câmara 1941 - 2024, who tirelessly worked to build a future for his children and grandchildren.