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Acknowledgment of Country Avondale University acknowledges our Sovereign God as Creator and Provider of all things. We respectfully acknowledge the Awabakal and Darramuragal people as the traditional custodians of the lands on which we live, work, study and worship across our Lake Macquarie and Sydney campuses. We pay our respects to Elders past, present and emerging, and extend that respect to all First Nations People.
Avondale University Church Wellbeing Centre
Location: Main foyer of the University Church
Confidential counselling services for students experiencing
Open: Mon-Thurs: 9am-5pm & Fri: 9am-12pm
academic, mental health, and personal concerns.
Pr Norman Hurlow: norman.hurlow@avondale.edu.au
Phone: 0403 478 994 (SMS preferred)
Phone: (02) 4980 2272
Email: counselling@avondale.edu.au
Extension: #272
(appointment queries only)
Email: universitychurch@avondale.edu.au
LM Campus: The Well-being Centre SYD Campus: The Clinical Education Centre Equity officer: equity@avondale.edu.au
Chaplaincy Services LM Campus: Lower College Hall Phone: +61 2 4980 2148
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The student associations always seek volunteers with a 'here to help' attitude. Want to be involved? LM Campus: asapresident@avondale.edu.au SYD Campus: ansapresident@avondale.edu.au
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C O N N E C
What we make, makes us Answer. That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. -Walt Whitman Life is short, a phrase we may have all heard from old people, a warning of wasting existence. The average male lives 81 years and the average female 85. If you’re 23, like myself, that is over a quarter of the way through (isn’t that just a bastard). How then shall we milk the udder dry from this existential cow? I would argue that the most authentic way to exist as a human is to express one’s uniqueness in all opportunities. The good Lord has in fact individually knit us together in our mothers’ wombs, such that we are distinct. In my opinion, to express one’s uniqueness is to create art. The word ‘art’ is an umbrella for all endeavours that express oneself. Being authentically and unapologetically you is to create art. As you express yourself, you are ejecting your inner being into the outer, creating something profound. Expressing oneself can be done in an infinite number of ways, for some its putting paint on a canvas, for others it’s sharing their worldview, some choose to put tattoos on their body, some dress up as cats and piss on newspaper, regardless of what people are expressing it is important they are indeed expressing. ‘We make art out of ourselves and what we make, makes us’ – Julia Alvarez. The idea of leaving this world, having created at every opportunity, leaves me with no fear that I will waste my short life. Search for all opportunities to express and create. Make the Most. • U •
Tim Gyles
This is art...
This is art...
And this is art.
What is your art?
Art is a form of both expression and connection. Expression of my creativity and the story I want to present. And a connection to the moment I captured and the memory of it. As well as attempting to -Alex Smedley, Avondale Student Art is a form of both expression and connection. Expression of my creativity and the story I want to present. And a connection to the moment I captured and the memory of it. As well as attempting to -Pablo Picasso
"We have art in order not to die of the truth." -Friedrich Nietzsche Art is something that is beautiful, meaningful, and impacts our lives in positive ways -Daniel Carrigy, Senior Avondale Lecturer "I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way – things I had no words for." -Georgia O'Keeffe All art starts from something small. Be that a blank page, a slab of shapeless clay or crappy ukulele -Tia Medhurst, Art Student
Art is to console those who are broken by life - Vincent Van Gogh
What is art? - Emily Chester I’m an art student and I don’t really know what art is. Not properly, anyway. Some people say art is spending hours meticulously painting individual hair strands onto a realistic portrait. Others think that duct-taping a banana to a wall is the most impactful thing you can experience. Some people believe art is anything that moves you. By that definition, ambulance stretchers, escalators, and rollerblades would all count as art. And others state adamantly that the most respectable form of art is how well you can cook a snag. But who cares anyway? Art is just a noun. It’s “relative” as some say. I, personally, think a better thing to strive to understand is what happens in people to make art exist. That’s the cool bit. People are innately creative. Yes, even you, random person reading this. Shut-up, no, I don’t care what argument you have, you are creative. Deal with it. Go make something. I know people are creative, because creativity is just doing something with your own mind. And everyone has a mind. Creativity is originality. How do you think about the world? What is your perspective on that TV show? What are you going to say in the next gap in the conversation? Creativity is problem solving. How can you open that can without a can-opener? Where might you find a better car-park? Do you think the character in your truecrime book is guilty? Creativity is action. Hmm, what happens if I draw the flower I picture in my mind? I wonder if I could make a catapult with Caf spoons? This poster would look better slightly to the left. Combine things together, just to see what happens. Explore something new to you and ask questions. Transform something, tell a story. And before you know it… boom. Art. Your art could be an epic rock song, a scrawly crayon drawing, or the perfect toastie. It could be a fantastic sunset that you had to scramble up a trail to see. It could be that telephone pole covered in stickers near your local supermarket. It doesn’t actually matter what it is, but how your perception of it came to be. That may mean it’s only art to you. But that’s the beauty of it. Art is something that speaks to someone. And then that someone shares that meaning. That’s why art creates so much discussion, so much arguing, so many haughty, pondering people stroking their chins at the splash of paint somebody decided to whack on a wall. Everyone is trying to understand why someone thought something was art. But in the end, it doesn’t really matter if we “get it”. I don’t understand or even like half the artworks I see in my classes. But it’s pretty illuminating to engage with someone else’s experience. It creates empathy, and opens the mind, and keeps us creative. And, let’s face it… the world could do with some more actively creative problem-solvers. So, does it matter if we know what art is? No. It only matters that we continue to be creative. It’s really the most fun thing we can do while we’re alive. So I challenge you, random reader… create some art. You’ve got a mind, and the whole wide world. I’m sure you’ll think of something.
Levi Bruderlin
Northwind Short Story
Cicadas. Winged gemstones hidden amongst the
in that song by Ricky Montgomery, “Talk to you”.
thick, looming gumtrees. I used to dread the summer because of those ghastly things.
“Frangipani tree Bradys gully
The comfy chill at the top of Point Claire would
Memories fall into place
slowly release its arms, the sun would hang in the
Wish we could go back to Northwind
air for another hour or two, and soon out of Brady's Gully would arise their cacophonous song.
Back to Northwind
A choir with no inclination to pitch, intonation, or
Back to Northwind
clarity would scream out from the depths of the sultry bushland through the day until sundown and
Time passes by
then… quiet. It’s the night's turn to speak.
We remember what’s been lost
Ominous rustles from the gully, Ellie and Tiger
Pogo sticks and scabby knees
hissing and clawing at each other, and the two
Wish we could go back to Northwind
magnificent Powerful Owls in gentle dialogue deep into the early morning.
Back to Northwind Back to Northwind
I remember when we first started writing and recording our music – Me, my piano, and my mate
Back to Northwind
Tonk and his guitar. I wrote a song called
Back to Northwind”
Northwind… I sat in front of the piano with the idea floating in my head, the faint hoots drifting in
There was a bike path that anyone from West
and out of the music. Like
Gosford to Koolewong would have walked or ridden at least once,
but it was better in winter: less noise, less people, more serenity. The path began hidden behind the industrial area with the Bunnings and the Officeworks and ran all the way along Brisbane Water through to Woy Woy. Overgrown by mangroves and usually littered with glass bottles, rusty scooters, and the odd shopping cart, it was only when you reached the more residential area that it became a little more sanitary, now mostly scattered with whipper snipper cords and empty
put my AirPods in. The same AirPods (with a
bread packets.
dwindling battery life) that I used 5 years ago riding my bike on this same path, through Tascott
“It’s honestly lucky I haven’t found a syringe yet”. I
and Koolewong and making our way to Umina.
took a deep breath in and nearly choked on the
“Whoa (mind in awe)” started playing.
thick stench of rotten eggs. “Mate”, I said, covering my nose. I have never been able to get used
“Banger”, I said quietly, smiling.
to it, that ‘creek smell’. No one on the central coast ever really bothers to Google why, but they just
I looked out across the water, the gold reflection of
know that when you drive over Narara Creek or
the sun, threaded through the mangroves, danced
any creek or stream that connects to Brisbane
over the ripples. Mullet were flamboyantly jumping
Water, you keep those damn windows shut.
over each other, alongside the occasional Tailor chasing schools of baitfish. “Shoulda brought a
I stopped on the bridge over Coorumbine Creek
rod”, I thought, in my mind I could still picture
and
those times out at Square Jetty in Lake Macquarie smashing Bream and catching not much else. Once, me and Tonk caught this massive puffer fish on prawns with a long-shank hook. We just chucked the bait straight out into the deeper water, and what emerged was definitely bigger than a footy and probably the most insane animal I have
ever seen. Tonk was a bit like that, a bit of a wild
steamy dumps. I was convinced we could’ve made a
card. He was a real tall, skinny fella with dark eyes
podcast or a YouTube channel gamifying our
and frizzy black hair that sat over his forehead like
escapades. We would’ve made millions.
a pasty-caucasian, unintimidating ghoul. “Haha, nah mate, it’s all luck”. Those nights were good. We would drive our shitboxes home, try to make a meal of our only just
“Nahh I reckon we could do it.”
legal-size fish and sip on whatever rank excuse for a cocktail we could make using what was in our
“Hmm, maybe. But like, what if we don’t even
parents’ pantry. Making those cocktails was a true
make a living out of it. Then we become teachers
masterclass of alcoholic craftsmanship, because you
with 3 years of pure slop for depraved high
had to find that perfect balance where it was as high
schoolers to laugh at.”
in alcohol as possible, whilst maintaining a certain level of drinkability. They accompanied us through
I laughed.
our famous “beat-offs”, where a wheel would be spun on various themes, and we would have 30
“True, true.”
minutes to produce a beat that matched that theme. The themes included a range of random and crass
The horizon slowly engulfed the remaining sun, and
objects, people, or ideas, including but not limited
my eyes strained to find the footpath. King Krules
to: Peter Dinklage, Greek yogurt on a Sunday,
“Rock Bottom” was playing in my AirPods.
Dove men’s antiperspirant, and
Squinting ahead, I could just make out the outline of the park bench me and Jackie used to hang out at. She was a shorter girl with a slender build and silky blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, but she wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense. She had these
sharp almond eyes that could pierce through your
We used to go to the bottle-o just down the road in
skull and probe your thoughts at will.
Point Clare to buy something cheap and tasty, like a bottle of Steinbok Schnapps, or something
“Stop being upset; it’ll be alright.”
stronger, like those tequila bottles with the little Mexican hats. Then we’d stumble off and clumsily
“Sorry, I know it’s not that big a deal, but it still
make out beneath the mouldering timber roof of
sucks.”
the nasty park bench. We had only just finished high school and had no idea what we were doing
“Yeah, I know, but frick her. She doesn’t know
but it was fun all the same. I still remember when
what she’s on about”
she was overseas with her family for a few weeks. I was lying in bed watching some dumb YouTube
I don’t know how she knew I was still fighting with
video and she facetimed me on Snap, told me she
mum, but it was good to feel like someone knew
wasn’t feeling it anymore. Later, I found out from
you.
her friend that she’d hooked up with some Norwegian guy at a bar and felt too guilty to tell
“’frick’. Why don’t you just say the word? It’s so
me. It tore my heart to shreds. Not that I even liked
off-putting.”
her all that much, but I’d spent so long chasing her attention, so often finding myself infatuated with
“Ugh, we’ve had this conversation so many times.
the possibility of being wanted by her, that hearing
Just think, whenever you walk past someone like at
she’d given herself so willingly to a stranger
Coles or something and you hear them swearing their head off like an idiot, do you ever think: ‘Wow, that person must be so cool, I’d love to hang out with them. I love how well they use such intelligent language to articulate their feelings.’”
“Haha, no. but I don’t know how saying ‘frick’ is any better.”
“Yes you do bro. It just doesn’t sound as yuck.”
made me want to tear my guts out in anguish.
would I go?” My dad wouldn’t take me at the business; besides, I’d have to be pretty desperate
My stomach still churned as I sat down on the
to go back to support work. The wind was now
bench. I took a deep inhale of the musty air and
howling like a wolf in agony and was shooting
heard the familiar beep as my AirPods carked it
through my scarily thinning, black hair.
for the day. The night was finally pitch-black, and the eerie quietness was suffocating. “’Bout
My teeth started chattering as I quickly checked
time I face the music aye?”, I chuckled at the
my bank account. I probably had enough in
first and probably the last time I quote Katy
savings for a few months of figuring out what to
Perry. The cool winter wind really started to
do. I sent a message to my boss, Mike.
pick up and I decided it was probably about time I headed home. As I reflected on my success at
“Sorry mate, I’m putting in my two weeks.”
getting some exercise during the week, I began to dread tomorrow, and I mean really dread.
I knew he would understand. I sent another
The days at the office were getting so long and if
message
I didn’t move on soon, there really wasn’t much more I could take. It wasn’t until now that I
“Can’t keep doing this aye.”
began to realise how much my life had fallen from what I wished it could be, and it wasn’t
I sighed, maybe I could go back to uni. It’d be
going to get any better.
better than sending other people’s emails and organising the calendar of some pompous prick
“But move on where?” I thought, my mind in
who couldn’t care less about anyone with a net
torment. “Where
worth under 1.5mil. I slid back onto the bike seat and pushed myself down the footpath. Maybe nothing would ever change, maybe I would be forced to find another dreary office in another dreary accounting firm.
Anyway, there was at least a bit of comfort in knowing something could change, and there was still so much time to experience the world that I didn’t even know what I was worrying about. As I flicked my little headlights on, I found myself quietly singing that cover of ‘Tom’s Diner’ by AnnenMayKantereit and Giant Rooks.
“I am sitting in the morning at the diner on the corner I am waiting at the counter for the man to pour the coffee And he fills it only halfway and before I even argue He is looking out the window at somebody coming in”.
Sophie Sinclair
Conversations about Art - with Daniel Carrigy
1. Do you create art? Why/why not?
4. Why do you think as humans we feel the need to create?
Yes, although not everyone might call it art. I love to paint miniatures and build dioramas. Recently, I had been practicing a technique in painting called non-metallic metal, where, like classical artists you use a combination of blacks, whites, and greys to paint something that gives it the appearance of silver or chrome.
I think it is because God himself is the ultimate creator. When he made us in his image, and breathed his spirit into us, he gave us elements of himself. To create is to imitate God, in a way, and I think God delights in us using our creative gifts.
I really enjoy doing a hobby that doesn’t involve a screen. I also love creating something because you have a tangible product at the end. I find it very relaxing and very enjoyable.
5. When you create, do you see it as a form of escapism, expression, connection, or something else entirely?
2. When you hear the word ‘art’, what is the first thing you think of? I actually think of quality. For me, art is something that is beautiful, meaningful, and impacts our lives in positive ways. It reflects our emotions, struggles, desires, and aspirations, but also shows us what we as humans are capable of.
All the things! But mainly a form of escapism and a form of relaxation. I definitely want to be more daring, bold, and different with my art.
6. What would you say to someone who feels they aren’t ‘good enough’ or ‘artistic enough’ to create?
3. Where does art show up in your everyday life, even in things you might not specifically categorise as art?
Firstly we all start somewhere. No-one comes out of the womb knowing how to draw or paint. Secondly, I feel that everyone is capable of creating something meaningful and beautiful. Even our mistakes can be wonderful things. To quote Bob Ross, there are no mistakes, just “happy little accidents”.
It definitely shows up in home decor - thinking about what colours go where, what would complement a specific item of furniture etc. I also love to cook, and I think there is an artistry to creating something that both looks good and tastes good.
7. Do you think the university gives students enough opportunities to create? If not, what would you like to see more of? This is a great question. I don’t know how to respond to that, other than to say creativity is never a bad thing, and I have been challenged in recent years to give my students opportunities to create. For example, I created a final assessment for HIST11140: Australian History that lets students create their own museum exhibit. I want to think of more ways to do that in my teaching!
Sophie Sinclair
Conversations about Art - w i t h C h a rl i H e i s e
1. Do you create art? Why/why not? Yes I create art. I find that you can communicate some pretty cool things through visual material that you can't with words. Everyone interprets things in different ways so even something with an intended message can be taken in so many different ways which I think is a really beautiful indicator of all of the things that make us unique as individuals.
2. When you hear the word ‘art’, what is the first thing you think of? I immediately think of fine art because I think growing up in the education system you get taught that fine art is art (all the historical stuff). My personal belief is that everything is art. Everything had to have some creative genius behind it whether that was God creating the complex life systems in our world or the chair that sits in your room with the cool dark varnish on it.
3. Where does art show up in your everyday life, even in things you might not specifically categorise as art? Like I said in the previous question, mundane objects are still art. I think that being here at Uni is an awesome opportunity to understand people and their creative brains. The easiest way to do this is to go see their room. Immediately, you can see the creative/artistic choices that people have made in their rooms. For example, my friend Mickey has decorated her room in all these sage coloured objects and plants - her creative choices communicate that she is appreciative of life and loves to be in nature. While my other friend Rosie has decorated her room in postcards and explorative symbols that communicate that she has lived a life of cool experiences across the world. Next time you go into your friend's room have a look at their artistic choices! They can tell you a lot about what your friend puts value on!!
4. Why do you think as humans we feel the need to create? I think we were made by a God who loves creativity!! It says in the bible that we are created in God's image so why wouldn't we want to be creative! Everyone loves pretty things and amazing views, so why wouldn't we want try and emulate the beauty that God has created around us!!
5. When you create, do you see it as a form of escapism, expression, connection, or something else entirely? I used to use it as a form of escapism. I would put on gossip girl or brooklyn 99 and just draw as a distraction from the things I had to do. I guess as a form of procrastination. However, my job with Avondale Uni Church has shown me that my creativity has a purpose in communicating the good news of Jesus Christ. Through creativity, people connect with a common idea and I think there's something really beautiful about a graphic or a drawing that draws you closer to people and to God.
6. What would you say to someone who feels they aren’t ‘good enough’ or ‘artistic enough’ to create? I'd say you're lying to yourself that you're not good enough. Society has put constructs into our world of what "art" should look like. As I said before, your room is an artistic part of you, the clothes you choose to wear tell people about the artistic choices you like. Despite "not being artistic" you probably don't realise that you are being artistic and making artistic choices every day! Everything is art, so stop lying to yourself and start appreciating the choices you are making!
7. Do you think the university gives students enough opportunities to create? If not, what would you like to see more of? I think that there are some cool opportunities for people to create! I feel like there may be some cool opportunities like during FOF or at salt where some more creative activities could be integrated. For example, during FOF what if we had a mindfulness piece of paper to help structure program notes! Almost like a journal guide that people can fill out and take home after the program! I don't know just throwing ideas out there!!
Pablo Picasso said, "The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls". Everyone has 'daily dust' and we all wash it off in different ways. For some it is something physical, for others, it is a creative outlet like art or music. Art can be about the daily dust, or it can just be a form of creating beauty. But Art is often seen as something you are either good at, or not. Those who are not good at it, or at least think they are not good at it, generally don't want to try or don't care. Teaching Art is a rollercoaster of joy, frustration and occasionally, surprise. Teaching Art to students who don't enjoy your subject, or think they are not good at it, is a challenge. In the younger years when Art is compulsory is the hardest time to engage students. Picture student A. Not good at Art, not enjoying art, and causing havok, because they are bored, or indifferent and just not trying. Now Picture student B, naturally good at Art, enjoying it, behaving well. You'd think that student B is what makes teaching Art enjoyable. But it's not. Hear me out. Picture these same 2 students, a few years later, in stage 6 elective art. Students often choose Visual Art because there is nothing else on that subject line. Student A, comes in to the course, no specific skills, having missed stage 5 art, totally starting from scratch with little practical experience and theory understanding. Student B, completes the stage 5 course, developing their skills and knowledge, getting expected A grades. There is joy in teaching both of these students. However, the deeper joy is not in the expected high grades and excellent work of the high achievers. There is deeper satisfaction in seeing students realize that they can enjoy the art space even if they are not good at it. Seeing students create work that they like, and make something they are proud of. This joy of teaching the A type students can be in the younger years, when you, and they, are surprised and suddenly realize they are good at something unexpected, or that they are simply enjoying the creative process. Or in the older years, when they come back to your classroom, unsure and lacking confidence. In stage 6, the course is less teacher directed and students need to figure out what type of work they can develop. This can be a tough journey, getting students to look within, to figure out what self expression means for them, and what skills do they have to work with. Slowly, like an onion, you start to see layers, beneath their outer layer of cool, or sporty or indifferent. You work with them, planting seeds of ideas, methods and materials until something clicks...... and they begin. For this student, A, it's generally not easy. But when they create work that they are proud of, that works, and says something about them or how they perceive the world, it is so satisfying, for them, and me. When I look at the work produced in my classroom, it is the unexpected successes, the surprises, the breakthroughs that are what keep me finding joy in my teaching everyday. Georgia O'Keeffe said, "I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way, things I had no words for". What a privilege it is to help students say things about themselves and the world, that they couldn't say any other way Joanne Robertson, Avondale Alumna
GOOD NEWS ...just a b unch of really nice things South Carolina Aquarium Celebrates ‘Baby Boom’ of Critically-Endangered Penguin Chicks Five baby penguins from a species considered Critically-Endangered have hatched at an aquarium down in South Carolina. The 5 join 2 that hatched in May, and together make up a record nesting season for the organization’s resident African penguins. Hatching at Ripley’s Aquarium of Myrtle Beach, staff are calling it a “baby boom” and a major positive for the species at risk of disappearing from the Earth.
Avondale Alumni Leah Stewart Continues her amazing recovery from Shark attack. On June 13, 2026, Sydney teacher Leah Stewart was swimming between the flags at Coogee Beach when a Great White Shark attacked her, leaving her with severe bites, multiple fractures, and the amputation of one arm. She spent days in an induced coma, waking briefly to ask after her daughter, August, before a long run of surgeries began. More than two months on, Stewart calls her recovery "remarkable," though far from finished. Her community raised over $500,000 to help her family through treatment. Her outlook, in her own words: "I feel like I've been given a second chance at life, and I'm not going to waste it."
Huge Viking Archaeological Hoard Found in Denmark A man in Rebild, Denmark, was hoping for nothing more than a new terrace when he broke ground in his backyard, and got the "biggest surprise of my life" instead. Just half an hour into digging, his spade struck Denmark's largest Viking Age silver hoard ever found: over 40 pounds of coins, bracelets, bars and a tiny Thor's-hammer amulet, buried for roughly 1,100 years. It's nearly three times bigger than the country's previous record holder. Archaeologists say the neatly organized weights reveal how Vikings used silver as currency, with one expert calling it "like finding a safe from the Viking Age."
Cambodia has unveiled a Statue to honour the Minesweeping Rat Magawa Cambodian artists and authorities have unveiled the statue of a four-footed hero to the nation, never to be forgotten. During his remarkable life and career, Magawa the African giant pouched rat used his incredible sense of smell to locate 100 landmines and unexploded bombs before they were able to hurt anyone. s
Know your ARTIST (Because "I could've painted that" is not an artistic movement) Welcome to your crash course in the icons who make gallery gift shops a small fortune. Michelangelo The original overachiever - painter, sculptor, architect, loved a fig leaf, and a man who did not appreciate being told what to do. Example: The Sistine Chapel ceiling: spent four back-breaking years painting it, even though he considered himself a sculptor first and mostly did it to get the Pope off his case. Reportedly got his nose broken by a jealous rival.
Leonardo da Vinci Painter, inventor, anatomist, and the patron saint of unfinished to-do lists. Example: The Mona Lisa: small, smug, took over a decade to finish, and he never actually delivered it to the guy who originally commissioned it.
Vincent van Gogh - Proof that genius and recognition rarely turn up to the same party at the same time. Example: The Starry Night: painted from memory, using swirling brushstrokes that basically invented a whole visual language for turmoil before anyone had a word for it.
Claude Monet Basically invented Impressionism by refusing to paint anything the "correct," realistic way. Example: Water Lilies: painted the same pond in his own garden over 250 times, because according to him, the light was never the same twice.
Pablo Picasso Never met a style he didn't want to invent, reinvent, or completely take apart. Example: Guernica: a giant, black-and-white scream of a painting about the horrors of war, finished in about a month out of pure fury.
Frida Kahlo Turned chronic pain, heartbreak, and identity into some of the most confrontational self-portraits ever painted. Example: The Two Fridas: one of over 50 self-portraits, because as she put it, she painted herself because she was so often alone and it was the subject she knew best.
Georgia O'Keeffe - The original "I'm moving to the desert to get away from everyone" icon. Example: Her giant, close-up flower paintings: which critics insisted were secretly about something else, a theory she spent her entire career shutting down.
Artemisia Gentileschi - A Baroque painter who turned personal trauma into some of the most viscerally powerful paintings of the 1600s. Example: Judith Slaying Holofernes: a woman beheading a man with zero hesitation, painted by someone who very much meant it.
Jean-Michel Basquiat - Went from tagging walls under the name SAMO to being one of the most influential painters of the 20th century before he turned 30. Example: His Untitled skull paintings: raw, chaotic, and layered with text and symbols that turned street art energy into gallery-wall gold.
Yayoi Kusama Turned a lifelong experience of hallucinations into an entire aesthetic empire built on polka dots and infinity. Example: Her Infinity Mirror Rooms: walk-in installations of mirrors and lights designed to make you feel like you've dissolved into the universe (in a good way).
Most of these artists weren't just "talented," they were obsessive, broke, heartbroken, or dealing with things no one around them understood - and they turned it into work anyway.
in memory of Yayoi Kusama (1929-2026) Yayoi Kusama, the artist who turned the inside of her own mind into one of the most recognisable visual languages on the planet, died in Tokyo on August 14, 2026. She was 97, and passed away in a hospital not far from the psychiatric institution she'd called home for more than fifty years. That detail matters, because it's basically the whole story. Kusama started seeing polka dots and hearing flowers talk to her as a child in provincial Matsumoto, Japan, and instead of getting help, she got silence - her mother reportedly destroyed her early drawings and tried to talk her out of art altogether. So Kusama drew anyway. Not because she wanted to make something beautiful, but because putting the visual hallucinations down on paper was the only way she'd found to survive what was happening inside her own head. Her famous mirrored Infinity Rooms full of dots were never really a design choice. They were a coping mechanism that happened to get famous. She spent her career "obliterating" herself and everything around her in paint, dots and light, not as a gimmick, but because, in her own words, art was a creed - something closer to a survival instinct than a career. She moved to New York in the late 1950s after writing to Georgia O'Keeffe for advice, and spent the next decade building a name for herself in a scene that was often quicker to credit her ideas to the men who copied them. She painted polka dots onto protesters' bodies during the Vietnam War, filled rooms with pumpkins the size of cars, and, in the early 1970s, chose to voluntarily admit herself into a psychiatric hospital. She stayed there for the rest of her life, walking across the street to her studio every single day to keep working, right up until she couldn't. Her legacy isn't really about the dots. It's about what she proved with them: that making something out of pain doesn't erase the pain, but it can be the difference between disappearing into it and living alongside it. For every student who's ever been told their art isn't "serious," or that making things is a nice hobby but not a real answer to anything, Kusama is the counter-argument. She turned a lifelong psychiatric condition into one of the most influential bodies of work of the last century, and never once treated it as anything other than necessary. Rest well, Yayoi. The dots were always the point.
The Art of Devoting Yourself Sophie Sinclair Recently, I came to the realisation that I’m not that interesting anymore. Not in the sense that I’m dull – or at least I hope not – but in the sense that I don’t find the quality time I spend with myself particularly inspirational. The way I express myself has aligned with baseline standards. I feel bland, and I found that even the walls of my dorm room reflected plain white-painted brick, devoid of any personality. And when people asked me, “What do you do in your free time?” My mind instantly flicks to an image of me, in bed, spending my time exercising my thumb against the glass screen of my phone. Which is embarrassing, to say the least. When I was in high school, I was interested in fashion design, art, cooking, writing, you name it. And when I was doing all the subjects that I was interested in (food tech, fashion, visual art, English, etc), even when I wasn’t actively choosing to do these things at home, I was still practising them every week. I was constantly making, constructing, designing, creating new things that were stimulating my brain. Whether it was an article of clothing, a meal, an artwork, a piece of writing, I was actively and intentionally choosing to create. At university, especially if you’re living in dorms, it can be easy to fall into a routine of consistently excluding these things from your life. There is always something more important: an assignment, a lecture, a tutorial, laundry, dinner, late-night maccas runs, social activities, sport, and general fomo. And eventually, I found that the things that used to make me who I am, have become the things that made me who I was. I realised that I didn’t even know what I would want to do if I gave myself the opportunity. Now, I’m a fan of podcasts, and one I’ve listened to religiously is Pretty Lonesome by Madeline Argy. A month or two ago, I was listening to her episode The Power of Choice and she said something that stuck with me. She discussed the simplicity and excitement she received when she reframed the question “what do you do in your free time” to “what do you devote yourself to?” This resonated with me, as I often feel immense pressure to start a hobby and be consistent with it. I’ll decide to paint, or write, or read, or craft, but then I spend every moment doing it, trying to perfect it and prove to myself that this is my new niche, and I end up burning out. But this idea of devotion feels different, because it means that I get to look at my hands and intentionally decide what I want to do with them today. Not, ‘what am I going to start doing’, but ‘what am I going to do right now.’ Because the thing is that you don’t even have to be particularly good at it, or consistently do it every day. And while, yes, that would be great; devoting yourself to doing something, in this moment, becomes something you do for yourself. So, at the start of this sem, I brought down my sewing machine and started on small projects, like hemming garments and making tops from scrap fabric. And as the perfectionist I am, even though I was initially frustrated by its beginner-level standard, with all the uneven stitches and constant unpicking and resewing, I also realised that I’m currently relearning something I used to be good at. And that is something I should be proud of, because even though it’s not ‘good’ right now, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it at all.
Even last week, I brought my watercolours to the beach with the intention of painting, and even though they sit on my desk untouched most of the time, when I took them to the beach, I started to paint. And although it was very basic, very beginner level, I left with something new. I had created something that wasn’t necessarily something that was ‘good’ or something that everyone looked at and thought me better for – it wasn’t even something I necessarily wanted to keep. But I had spent the afternoon paying attention to something other than my phone, in the company of others, simply because I’d wanted to. I think I have spent a lot of my time believing that to be an interesting person I have to have something interesting to show for myself – to prove to others that I am good at what I create. Whether that be a finished painting, a handmade dress, a published piece of writing, a pristine room, something tangible that proves I did something worth my time. But perhaps being ‘interesting’ is less about what we produce and more about our willingness to do so. Maybe its more about our ability to enjoy the time we use. Because when I used my watercolours, I wasn’t escaping, I was dwelling in the moment. I was enjoying the company of others, using each brushstroke with intention and purpose, sitting at the beach and feeling the sun. Devotion, for me, is more than just doing something for the sake of it. It is using my time with that intention and purpose. Devotion encompasses not just the ‘what’, but also the ‘who’, ‘when’, ‘where’, and most importantly, the ‘how’. So why am I giving up before I’ve even started, just because I’ve decided I’m no longer creative? Devotion means I am allowing myself the freedom to do something badly without making it meaningless. I think there is something strangely freeing about removing that expectation that every interest must be a hobby, and every hobby must become a skill, and every skill must be evident in my everyday life. We are so accustomed to forcing ourselves to achieve, finish, or become, that maybe we should be asking instead: ‘What can I give my attention to today?’ Because giving something, or someone, or somewhere your attention is a form of devotion. And perhaps what I was missing when I thought I had become boring was simply the permission to become the beginner again. I don’t think I need to become the girl who is constantly sewing, painting, drawing, cooking, writing, or whatever else I feel the need to pour my worth into. Because a full sketchbook or a wardrobe full of handmade clothes is not my identity. Because hi, I’m Sophie, and I am much more than what my sewing machine or paintbrush can produce. I’ve now decided I want to live a life of creativity as a form of connection, rather than to prove to myself that I am good enough. And you know how I mentioned the white walls of my room earlier? They’re now full of pictures of the people I’ve devoted myself to. My windowsill is covered in LEGO plants and real plants – yeah, I have a basil plant, which I’ve been trying to keep alive (so if you have any tips, please let me know). Anyways, my point is that I think there is immense importance in creating, but it doesn’t always have to look like a finished product, a new skill, or something I can proudly show someone. Sometimes it looks like a photograph or a scribbled quote on my wall, a half-finished painting on my desk, a sewing machine I haven’t touched for a few weeks, or a basil plant I’m desperately trying not to kill. They are small, sometimes seemingly insignificant things, but they are evidence that I have chosen to give something my attention. They are reminders that my life doesn’t have to be impressive to be full. Because when we look at our lives through the lens of devotion, it becomes more than just something we do to fill our time. It becomes something we do to fill ourselves.
Calling Things Performative Is Performative - Joel Kammaralli
Matcha. Tote bags. Reading. Feminism. Wired headphones. Fake. Performative. Superficial. Attention seeking. Why is your first thought, upon seeing someone reading in public, that they are being perorative? This reflects more on you than it does on them. What do you mean that you’re an adult and you’ve never genuinely read a book by choice? For enjoyment, education, entertainment. Get over yourself, not everything is about you. The social media trend of labelling certain behaviours as “performative” is just a justification for stupidity. If you see someone genuinely reading some philosophical feminist literature at a café, good for them. Your perceptions of their motivations are totally irrelevant in this situation. Not only is your assumption that others would only read to gain attention harmful and anti-intellectual, it is also totally unfounded, as life is inherently perorative and so this is not a valid ground for judgement. Whist! I love the argument that the individual reading this feminist literature might genuinely be interested in its contents, this point is also totally irrelevant, because you shouldn’t judge someone even if they are only reading for the aesthetic. It genuinely doesn’t matter whether the person intends to read for their own growth or because they want to be seen reading, as everything about the way we function as a society is perorative. We each cultivate lifestyles for ourselves that we agree with the aesthetics of. We make efforts to be perceived in certain ways, so why are certain efforts considered fake and perorative and others aren’t? When you go for a run, and you post your Strava time, you’re making a statement about who you are. You’re asking to be perceived in a certain way. Sure, the target audience is different but why should reading not be treated the same with respect to its own aesthetic. If you don’t like to read, if you don’t like matcha, if you don’t like the aesthetic that they are presenting then you are not. Not the intended audience, and that’s okay. But if you are judging their perorative choices just because they vary from yours, that reflects more on yourself than it does on them. If you are going out of your way to hate on this certain aesthetic, you should take a moment to wonder where this perspective came from. Either you genuinely hold this opinion, in which case you are a biased and judgemental person, or you have simply adopted an attitude that you have seen online. If that is the case, the irony is that everything you are perorative is wrong. The only way to be seen as aligning with a certain type of people, you want to find ways to express this opinion so that you are perceived to be against the group that is being hated on. Now you have become the more perorative of the two groups, because you are performing your opinions as well as your actions. I personally am not the biggest fan of matcha or wired earbuds, but I also don’t care in the slightest whether you are. I do genuinely read philosophical feminist literature sometimes and I don’t care whether you think I’m being fake and perorative while doing so, because this online trend of labelling certain behaviours as fake and perorative is inherently a perorative mindset. Anyone who is brave enough to be true to and represent themselves the way they would like to be perceived, even in the face of judgement, is worthy of my respect. P.S. Sorry to Bethany Croft for highkey plagiarising the final line of your essay, it’s out of respect tho
LIFE 101
Tax Returns: Yes, you have to
The least skippable admin task of your adult life. Somewhere between "lecture you didn't attend" and "email you haven't opened," there's a little task sitting on your to-do list called Tax Return. Here's what it actually is, and why it's worth five minutes of your life. What is a tax return? It's a form you send the Australian Taxation Office (ATO) once a year, telling them how much you earned and how much tax you already paid, so they can check the maths. The Australian financial year runs 1 July to 30 June, a deeply annoying date range nobody asked for, but here we are. Why bother? Because if you earned under $18,200 for the year (the "tax-free threshold"), you technically weren't supposed to pay any tax on it at all. Your employer doesn't know that though. They withhold tax from every pay cheque automatically, just in case. Lodging your return is you putting your hand up and saying, "actually, I didn't earn enough to owe you anything, can I have that back please." What's a refund, then? That's the "have that back please" part. If you paid more tax across the year than you actually owed (extremely common for students on casual shifts), the ATO sends the difference back into your bank account. It's genuinely free money that was already yours. Skipping your tax return is choosing to let the government hang onto it indefinitely, for no reason at all. How do you actually do it? Get a Tax File Number (TFN) (just search it up) if you don't have one already - you'll need it for basically every job anyway. Then log into myGov, link it to the ATO, and head to myTax. Most of your income and tax details are pre-filled by the time tax season rolls around, so half the form fills itself in. Check it over, add anything missing, and hit submit. Realistically: fifteen minutes, and a lot less painful than the assignment you're currently avoiding by reading this. One date worth knowing: if you're lodging it yourself, it's due by 31 October. Miss it, and the ATO can start charging penalties that grow the longer you leave it, which is a genuinely bad trade for something that takes less time than making toast. So: not fun, not hard, mildly profitable. Go do your tax return. Future you, holding a surprise refund, will thank present you for doing something productive between naps.
Which Part of the Food Chain Are You? Another rigorously peer-reviewed ecological personality quiz for students running on caffeine, chaos, and pure will to survive. You have now survived six months of your degree. You are now approximately 40% instant noodles, by volume. So...If your degree were an ecosystem… where do you actually sit on the foodchain? 1. It's Week 9. Three group chats are on fire and someone's part of the assignment has quietly vanished. You… A) Swoop in, fix it in five minutes, and vanish again like nothing happened. B) Hunt down whoever caused it. Calmly. Terrifyingly. C) Feast on the chaos — honestly your favourite part of the week. D) Stay calm, stick with the herd, wait for it to blow over. E) Quietly clean it all up. Nobody says thank you. You don't need it. F) You weren't in the group chat. You don't do drama. You were simply… photosynthesising. 2. Someone gives you harsh feedback in a seminar. You… A) Absorb it instantly, adjust, move on. Barely blinked. B) Lock eyes. Remember. This is not over. C) Shrug, take the one useful bit, ignore the rest. D) Feel it for a second, huddle with your friends, feel fine in ten minutes. E) Take it apart quietly, rebuild it into something better, tell no one. F) You weren't listening. You were absorbing sunlight. Vibes only. 3. In a group assignment, you're the one who… A) Takes the lead without asking — somehow everyone's fine with it. B) Does the terrifying part nobody else will touch. C) Finds the loophole, the shortcut, the leftover mark nobody claimed. D) Makes sure nobody in the group gets left behind. E) Does the unglamorous, essential bit that holds the whole thing together. F) Provides "moral support" from a great distance. Somehow, still essential. 4. Your campus energy is… A) Effortlessly in charge. People just… clear a path. B) Sharp, focused, faintly unnerving eye contact. C) Chaotic-resourceful: three side hustles, always has snacks. D) Warm, social, moves in a pack. E) Background character quietly running everything. F) Calm, steady, weirdly glowing under the library lights. 5. Your greatest strength is… A) Command presence - you didn't ask for the top spot, you just are it. B) Precision. Focus. Follow-through. C) Adaptability: you will eat, use, or repurpose literally anything. D) Community. Safety in numbers. Nobody thrives completely alone. E) Quiet, unglamorous necessity — nothing above you works without you. F) You are, biologically speaking, where all the energy on this list actually comes from.
Mostly A's – You're the Apex Predator: The Mountain Gorilla, The Lioness, The Great White Shark... Top of the food chain, no natural predators, and somehow still humble about it (mostly). You do the least visible "work" of anyone on this list (lions rest about 20 hours a day) and still run the whole ecosystem just by existing. Deadlines fear you. You fear nothing. Mostly B's – You're the Predator: Velociraptor, Jaguar, Snow Leopard... Focused, intense, and never doing anything halfway. When you commit to a task (or a grudge) it's total. You hunt in short, terrifying bursts of productivity and then disappear to recover. Genuinely excellent group project teammate. Slightly unsettling eye contact. Mostly C's – You're the Omnivore: The Honey Badger, The Coyote, The Raccoon... The Jimothy of your cohort. Endlessly adaptable, oddly thriving on chaos, and capable of turning any disaster (a cancelled class, a broken phone, a group project falling apart) into a personal win. You will survive absolutely anything. You will probably enjoy it. Mostly D's – You're the Herbivore: The Deer, The Kangaroo, The Water Buffalo... Gentle, social, always slightly alert, and definitely travelling in a group. You keep the whole ecosystem calm just by being around. Underestimated by predators and professors alike, right up until you and the herd move as one, and nothing can touch you. Mostly E's – You're the Decomposer: The Vulture, The Earthworm, The Fungi Unseen, unglamorous, and completely irreplaceable. Without you, everything above you collapses into a rotting pile of missed deadlines and unread emails. Nobody thanks the decomposer. Everybody, quietly, needs the decomposer. Mostly F's – You're the Producer: The Algae, The Sunflower, The Phytoplankton... You are, in the actual literal biological sense, where all the energy in this entire system comes from. Every predator, scavenger and herd above you only exists because you quietly did your thing first. Humble? No. You are the foundation of life on Earth. Act accordingly. So… where did you land on the chain? And more importantly — are you thriving, or are we about to witness a mass extinction event? Either way, there's free Counselling down at the Wellbeing Centre!!!
art is like a cup of tea It’s served best from a teapot into a ceramic cup. But tastes equally as good from a kettle into a mug. But no one can deny that the tea needs time to steep. Art takes time as well. All art starts from something small. Be that a blank page, a slab of shapeless clay or crappy ukulele. When I was in year twelve, my major work was a piece entitled The Hollow Men, inspired by T.S Eliot’s poem. And it was in fact, three hollow bodies of clay, they were plain, painted brown with various indentations and cutouts from their chests. They got a good mark, served their purpose and retired the school year to my home garden where they stand guard over the violets, weeds and occasional wild tomatoes. I recently walked through this garden, taking a break from my endless study, and I noticed the subtle change in the hollow men. No longer were they plain brown, but they had marks of mossy green and earthy bronze, spots over their heads from the droppings of perched birds and plants growing from within their hollow chests. Their time in the garden had served them well, so well in fact that I took photos to send to my year twelve art teacher, who never failed to remind me that what I lacked was refinement. And finally I had found it. My art was refined by time. Time served not by me, but by the pieces themselves. Time served outside in the garden, with the earth, the violets, the dirt and the birds. Time served in a place that would evidently be perfect to enjoy a cup of tea. But sometimes tea cools down before you can drink it, and its laden with bitter disappointment. Just like our art can seem finished, but not excellent as we had first imagined. Its normal for artists to not like the first things they make. To in fact, forget about the first draft they create, because they are honestly so ashamed of this creation because it comes nowhere close to the masterpiece they envisioned in their mind. They forget about the idea, thinking it unattainable, a goal so far-fetched as to be unreachable. And just like we may forget about our cup of tea, getting distracted by everything else we need to do, and forgetting the time we set apart for our passions (or in this case, a cup of tea). An artist can become overwhelmed with their busy life, forgetting about their passions and the vision that started that passion. But beautifully, we can reheat our tea. Unpoetically in a microwave (removing the bag first of course). Or elegantly by mixing our cold tea with a fresh pot of extra hot tea, and then having the chance to share it with friends. And just like our reheated tea, art is able to be refined and redefined, changed and adapted, left to sit for hours (or years) and still given the chance to become what it was always intended to be. Art is like a really good cup of tea.
I’ve got a song for that Isabelle Tosen “I’ve got a song for that” is one of my favourite quotes. Now, I don’t know about you, but like some strange disease, every time I hear a song for the first time, it instantly becomes entangled in the memory of where, when or with whom I heard it. In my opinion, this is both a blessing and a curse. If you are even remotely as chronically online as I am, you’ve probably seen the ‘Purple Rain’ TikTok trend, taking Prince’s hit song and relating it to someone you’ve lost. For me, this relation happens with every song. I live with severe GAD (generalised anxiety disorder), something that takes up a serious portion of my everyday life. The not-so-funny thing is that severe GAD, as I have, is linked to memory loss. My brain is always busy; it doesn’t know how to take a ‘chill pill’, and because of that, I get so flooded with new information that I forget older stories. Most of the memories I can still remember today are linked to music. Car trips, dance parties in the lounge room as a kid, and watching movies for the first time. Everything is linked to music. The words Don’t You (Forget About Me) blast through the car as Dad drives me through the school gates for the last day of grade 12, closing off 13 years of driving to school every day with him. Feeling like I am, in fact, living a Lush Life, roaring down a street in Cambodia at 4 am in a tuk-tuk, as our dodgy Bluetooth speaker fights for its life. Answering the phone with How Do You Do?, right after hearing it play as Mum’s ringtone – a habit I still carry today. Reminding myself that the end of the ACE Lab hike is Right In Front Of Me as I hike up the final hill and sprint for the train (I missed it by two minutes and had to wait an extra hour). Thinking I am in fact Free Now every time a plane takes off, and then contemplating the Over-the-Ocean Call while I’m in the air. Getting lost on a random dirt road with Lillee as The View Between Villages becomes less of a view as it fades into the horizon. The Lingering Love I have for all the girls I’ve skipped down College Drive with, completely ignoring the studying part of uni, and just being so cheerful about spending time together. The feeling when I realised I Know the End of the book is coming, but I don’t want it to ever end. My childhood realisation that I’m just like Major Tom, living in a strange Space Oddity, still leaves me with a minor existential crisis every time I realise there really is nothing I can do, and the Great Gig in the Sky, the song that Dad and I would blast out of the Subwoofers every time I needed a good cry, until my brother would complain it was too loud. Music is designed to bring you joy, designed to be something you relate to personally. It’s the artist’s goal, their job, to make music that people see their own stories and experiences in. I write my own music to keep my memories alive longer, so I can remember my own stories. Memories are so precious and something many people take for granted, I used to! But now I’ve realised that, as much as we want them to, memories don’t always last forever. I want to challenge you to start collecting your memories, big or small. Write them down in a journal, take pictures and make a photo album, take a video diary for a week on a cheap Kmart camcorder or even write your own songs. Hopefully, you will soon be able to say, “I’ve got a song for that.”
Music and Faith Levi Bruderlin
Speaking of music, It was not long ago that in my monday night bible study we began a discussion on secular music, Christian influenced music, Christian music, Christian contemporary music, Christian pop, and worship music. We discussed what role this music ought to play in our lives, and particularly whether the messages in christian pop specifically are even really helpful for a Christian walk. Is it just ‘feel good’ music? Is it even bad if it is? And what about how we interact with worship music? Is there a ‘correct’ way to do so? If so, what is it?
Music is no doubt a gift from God, but as articulated by C.S Lewis: “Wickedness is the pursuit of goodness in the wrong way." So at what point do we draw the line and say, this is the wrong pursuit of music?
I myself am a huge Beatles fan, and it would be devastating to come to the conclusion that ALL secular music ought to be deemed wrong. I encourage you to ask and try answer these questions, and particularly for the Christian audience, I encourage you to consult scripture and analyse what it says on music. In the meantime, here are a few albums (or tracks) from each type of music mentioned, hand picked by me, to give you some direction if you feel your music taste is going stale
What's On in October: Sydney, Central Coast & Newcastle Cheap & cheerful— a student's guide to actually leaving the house this month. October is doing a lot of heavy lifting this year: long weekend, spring finally behaving itself, and somehow every region between Sydney and Newcastle decided to throw a festival at the same time. Here's what's worth your very limited student budget. Sydney Sculpture by the Sea (Oct 16 – Nov 2, Bondi to Tamarama coastal walk) is the easiest free outing on this whole list — a hundred-odd sculptures strung along one of the best walks in the city. Bring a friend, bring zero dollars, look artistic. Ghost in the Rocks (Oct 29 – Nov 1, Circular Quay and The Rocks) bills itself as Australia's biggest Halloween street festival, and it's free to wander through, which is the correct price for pretending you're not scared of a fog machine. DanceRites (Oct 24–25, Sydney Opera House forecourt) is a free Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander dance competition on one of the best stages in the country — genuinely one of the better free things you'll see all year. If markets are more your speed, the Sydney Ceramics Market (Oct 17–18, Carriageworks) and Gymea Spring Fair (Oct 26, Gymea Bay Road, 200+ stalls) will happily eat an afternoon and a very small amount of cash. Central Coast Woytopia Sustainable Living Festival (Oct 11, Woy Woy South Public School) is an ecomarket with talks, a clothing swap, and the whole thing running on renewable power — cheap, wholesome, good for the group chat. The Bouddi Peninsula Arts Trail (Oct 3–4, over the long weekend) is a free self-guided trail through 19 open artist studios — perfect low-key long-weekend plan that doesn't involve spending anything. Gossy Weekender (Oct 16–18, Gosford CBD) packs 40-odd artists into venues across town, with a free stage on Donnison Street on the Saturday if your budget is, realistically, zero. ChromeFest (Oct 23–25, The Entrance) is mostly free and brings 450-plus classic cars, markets, and entertainment to the foreshore — surprisingly fun even if you don't know a Holden from a Kingswood. And if you just want a low-effort Sunday, the Gosford City Farmers Market and Avoca Beachside Markets both run weekly (Sundays, mornings) — reliable, cheap, good coffee. Newcastle Festival of Sweets & Treats (Oct 11, The Station) is exactly what it sounds like — carnival games, live demos, and enough sugar to get you through the next assignment. Mayfield Day (Oct 24, Dangar Park) is a free, pet-friendly community festival with markets, food stalls, and live entertainment — bring a dog you don't own and borrow someone else's for the day. Sons of the East are playing a free outdoor show at Civic Park (Oct 10) if you want a proper gig without the ticket price, and the Newcastle City Farmers Market runs weekly at the Showground for the Sunday-market crowd. For something bigger, Strummingbird (Oct 17, Foreshore Park) is billed as Australia's largest touring country festival — ticketed, but a solid day out if country music is even slightly your thing. So that's October: three regions, a long weekend, and a genuinely absurd number of ways to have a good time without touching your savings.
Art & National Identity Jack Molyneaux
Art is a mirror. A statement often heard, and one that carries a degree of truth. Art reflects and shapes the values of the societies that produce it. The literature of the English Victorian age, for example, is rife with political and social critique, reflecting a period of extreme transition. Britain was developing from a predominantly agricultural and hierarchical society into an increasingly industrialised, urban and politically representative state. From this tumultuous period emerged many poets, writers and artists whose work both reflected and challenged the society around them. This pattern has occurred throughout history. As societies develop and their lines of communication expand, artistic movements have increasingly moved beyond individual communities and regions, becoming movements capable of influencing much of the world. Art, in its many forms, has existed since prehistory, from the first human paintings of animals on cave walls tens of thousands of years ago to the construction of monumental structures thousands of years later. The civilisations of Sumer, Egypt, China, the Indus Valley, Rome, Carthage, Aksum, the Aztecs, the Inca and countless others all contributed to the development of art and visual culture. Their artistic traditions provide more than aesthetic objects; they provide evidence of how societies understood religion, authority, warfare, death, nature and themselves. This relationship between art and political power is particularly important. Ancient Egyptian monuments, for example, were not simply architectural achievements. They communicated the authority of the Pharaoh, the relationship between ruler and gods, and the importance of maintaining order. Roman monuments similarly celebrated military victories, emperors and the power of Rome. Art therefore existed long before modern nationalism as a means of communicating collective identity and political legitimacy. The late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries provide a particularly useful example through the emergence of modern nationalism and political propaganda. The French Revolution helped transform the relationship between the individual, the state and the nation. Citizens were increasingly encouraged to understand themselves as belonging to a national community to which they owed loyalty and service to. One contemporary expression of revolutionary patriotism declared: “...When la patrie calls us to her defense, we ought to fly there as if running to a good meal. Our life, our wealth, and our talents do not belong to us. It is the nation, la patrie, that all that belongs...” This sentiment was not unique to France. Across Europe, emerging nationalist movements sought to define what their nations represented and who belonged to them. Art, the written word, the painted image and the performed play became tools through which these ideas could be communicated. National identity could be given a face, a landscape, a history and a collection of heroes and villains.
The development of German nationalism demonstrates this relationship. Johann Gottlieb Fichte and Ernst Moritz Arndt were prominent figures in German national thought, advocating forms of German cultural and political unity. Their ideas contributed to a broader movement that culminated in German unification in 1871. Anton von Werner's The Proclamation of the German Empire at Versailles subsequently represented this event as a monumental and unified moment. Its composition can be compared with Jacques-Louis David's The Coronation of Napoleon, in which political authority is similarly presented through ceremony, hierarchy and visual symbolism. These paintings demonstrate that art does not record history. It represents history. David's Coronation of Napoleon helps construct an image of imperial authority, while Eugène Delacroix's Liberty Leading the People transforms revolutionary struggle into a powerful symbol of French identity. Emanuel Leutze's Washington Crossing the Delaware similarly transforms an event from the American Revolution into an image of courage and national destiny. These works were not necessarily propaganda in the strict sense, but they demonstrate how art can communicate political ideas and shape collective memory. This relationship is not confined to Europe or America. Australia also demonstrates the connection between art and national identity. The relationship can be harder to see today, particularly because nationalism has become associated with some of the most destructive political movements of the twentieth century. Yet national identity remains significant. Australians continue to debate what it means to be Australian, and art remains one of the ways through which that question is explored. Australian national identity can be understood through competing visions. For example, One represents the modern, pluralist reality of Australia: multicultural, urban, global and shaped by people from diverse backgrounds. Another represents a more traditional and often idealised conception of Australia, built around the bush, the frontier, rural life, British heritage, mateship and military sacrifice. Paintings, literature, photography, film and monuments have all contributed to these competing visions. The important question, therefore, is not simply what Australia looks like, but who gets to decide what Australia looks like. Art can preserve a memory of the past, but it can also create a memory of a memory: an idealised image of a past that may never have existed in quite the form it is remembered. The Australian bush, the stockman, the Anzac soldier and the rural landscape can become symbols representing something much larger than their original subjects. Over time, these representations can become so familiar that the image itself becomes part of historical memory. The relationship between art, history and nationalism is therefore circular. History provides the events, people and experiences from which art draws. Art interprets these experiences and gives them emotional and visual meaning. Those interpretations become part of collective memory, influencing how later generations understand their history and national identity. Art, therefore, is not simply a mirror reflecting society. A mirror shows what is placed before it, but art chooses what to place within the frame. It can preserve history, reshape it and challenge the stories societies tell about themselves. To study art is consequently to study more than aesthetics. It is to study how societies have understood themselves, imagined their past and constructed their sense of belonging.
One in Five of Us Thinks Differently
- Neroli Marshall (The Equity Officer)
An estimated 15–20% of the population is neurodivergent, according to Nancy Doyle’s 2020 review in the British Medical Bulletin. (https://academic.oup.com/bmb/article/135/1/108/5913187) This estimate includes people with ADHD, autism, dyslexia, dyspraxia, dyscalculia and other cognitive profiles, including AuDHD and twiceexceptional. Our understanding of neurodivergence continues to develop. Research has identified neurological differences associated with conditions such as ADHD and autism, although these differences are complex and cannot currently be used to diagnose an individual through a brain scan. We also know that many neurodevelopmental conditions have a strong genetic component. In other words, neurodivergence is not new. Neurodivergent people have always existed, although many lived without diagnosis, appropriate support or understanding. Another way to think about this is to use Pluto as an example. Pluto wasn’t discovered until 1930, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t exist before then.
Why fit in when you were born to stand out? - Dr Seuss
People’s willingness to be open and vulnerable about their neurodivergent identities and diagnoses has helped society improve its understanding of neurodivergence and increasingly view it through a lens of acceptance rather than deficit. Some well-known people who have publicly shared their diagnoses include: Autism Sir Anthony Hopkins Eminem Elon Musk Tom Hardy ADHD Simone Biles Michael Phelps will.i.am Dyslexia Richard Branson Steven Spielberg Keira Knightley Jamie Oliver Tom Holland
There is also speculation that several well-known historical figures may have been neurodivergent. However, because they cannot be assessed retrospectively, these suggestions should be treated as interesting possibilities rather than confirmed diagnoses. Neroli—why are you giving us a personal TED Talk? Every day, I work with students who experience challenges at university because their brains work differently or because they live with health conditions, disabilities or physical limitations. While my caseload is already large, I want more students to feel comfortable accessing the support they may be eligible for. Being different does not mean being less capable. Needing adjustments does not mean that you are not a good student. Most people readily understand why a wheelchair user may need a ramp to enter a classroom. Cognitive, sensory and learning barriers may be less visible, but the principle is the same. A student might need a reader during an exam or access to PowerPoint slides before class to take accurate notes.
At the end of Semester 1, I did a little research. As of mid-May, the Equity Department—that’s me!—had: written 97 Reasonable Adjustment Plans (RAPs); been communicating with a further 31 students who had enquired about obtaining a RAP; and identified another 80 students who had disclosed some form of disability, health condition or difference when applying to Avondale University. That is out of a total student population of approximately 1,150. Together, these figures represent up to 208 students—or approximately 18% of Avondale’s student population. There may be some overlap between these groups, but the numbers nevertheless demonstrate that barriers to education affect a substantial proportion of our students. Barriers? What do I mean by that? Traditionally, learning needs have often been viewed through a deficit lens. The focus was placed on what a person could not do. Today, we aim to take a more inclusive approach by shifting the question from: “What is wrong with this student?” to: “What barriers are getting in the way, and how can we reduce them?” Here’s a simple example. Imagine that a student breaks their hand. A deficit-focused perspective would identify the problem as the student’s inability to write. In an exclusionary system, this might mean that they are unable to participate fully in their studies until their hand heals. An inclusive approach asks a different question: What is preventing this student from demonstrating their learning? The barrier is not the student’s ability to learn. The barrier is that they cannot physically write. Once we identify the barrier, we can look for ways to remove or minimise it. Perhaps the student could use voice-to-text software for written assessments. During exams, they might be provided with a writer. The adjustment does not change the learning outcome or lower the academic standard. It simply provides equitable access and another way for the student to demonstrate what they know. The same principle applies to neurodivergent students. A student with ADHD may struggle to maintain concentration during a three-hour exam. A student with dyslexia may require additional time to process written information. An autistic student may find some learning environments overwhelming because of their sensory demands. These differences do not mean that the students are less capable. They simply mean that traditional ways of delivering and assessing education may create barriers that other students do not experience. This is where Reasonable Adjustment Plans can help. RAPs are designed to reduce barriers while maintaining academic standards. They do not change the learning outcomes, lower expectations or move the goalposts. Instead, they provide practical adjustments that allow students to demonstrate their knowledge and skills equitably. So, if you are part of this significant proportion of our student community—whether you are neurodivergent, live with a chronic illness, have a specific learning disability or experience another condition that affects your studies, I want you to know that you are not alone. You do not need to wait until you are struggling or falling behind to ask about support.
Email me at equity@avondale.edu.au,
and let’s talk about whether reasonable adjustments could help reduce some of the barriers you are experiencing.
My Crippling Fear of Wasting Stickers Tiarna Medhurst As a kid, like everyone, I loved stickers. Stickers were a reward for doing a good job in school. They were a fun tool to hold terrible craft together. They were a toy to use and discard on a whim. I would stick them to my face, my hands, my furniture. I would stick them to the wall, the floor, anything with a compatible surface much to the displeasure of my parents, so I stuck them with stickers too. And this carefree childlike attitude lasted from three different homes, two different schools and one sticker covered bedframe. Then I turned ten, and at ten I realised that I didn’t want to use stickers with such reckless abandon anymore. And the sticker-filled life that I once led was replaced by barren walls, slightly better made crafts stuck together with glue and my own face and arms free of sticky residue. Stickers were not, it seemed, as fun. When I was twelve, I had the realisation: I was terrified of wasting stickers. I collected, acquired, curated. But never used. Because I was scared, so scared. Because what if I wasted it. What if I, on a whim, stuck a sticker to my Year 7 notebook? That book that I only ever used twice. Then the sticker was gone forever. And what if I stuck it to my Year 9 laptop? The one I had to give back at the end of year 10? The sticker, gone forever, for good, probably scrubbed off in the wiping process just to resell the laptop at slightly less than market value. So, I stopped using the stickers. How could I condemn them to an ephemeral existence? To be used once; to be wasted on an item unworthy of their sentimental value. And what if. What if when I did dare to use a sticker, it didn't stick? Like so many other things in my life, what if it didn't stay? So the stickers, the ones I found, the ones I was given, and the ones that I bought, were put in a little box that lived in my room. Kept out of the sun so the colours wouldn’t dull. Kept away from the damp so the adhesive wouldn't fade. Hidden and searched through when looking for a little bit of joy. But in keeping them hidden away, safe, they never fulfilled their purpose. My crippling fear of wasting stickers… it sounds stupid. It almost sounds insane. There are so many things I could do. So many opportunities to embellish upon the surfaces in my life, so many chances to decorate and enhance the world around me. And so many different stickers exist, that surely even wasting one wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things? And yet, I cannot bring myself to do it. But don't I have a right to be afraid? I have one chance. Only one. What if I waste it? What if I choose the wrong thing to bestow the stickers upon? What if in my once chance in this life, I choose wrong?
It was only in the theatre that I lived I may be biased, because I LOVE Oscar Wilde’s play The Importance of Being Earnest, but I agree with him. Unfortunately, with movies stealing the spotlight in the entertainment category, it has become a lot cheaper and easier to become emotionally invested in someone else’s life for an hour. I’m not saying to boycott Hoyts or uninstall Netflix, but there is something so grounding yet magical about live productions, as I believe these are the moments we witness the truest form of self- expression. In 2024, I performed “Act 5, Scene 1” of Macbeth (more famously known as “out dammed spot”) in the Youth and Performing Arts (YIPA) showcase on the Central Coast. As an actor, I felt like this was my breakthrough moment; after this performance, I would be discovered as the new up-and-comer. Wishful thinking at its finest. A week out from my performance, my appendix burst. On stage, as I performed, not a single person knew that five days prior I was vomiting up my own stomach acid and begging for an extra dose of Endone. The first time I went to the theatre was when my aunty took me to see Matilda the Musical in Sydney's Royal Theatre. Before the show, we went and got yum cha, because what’s Sydney without yum cha? My uncle started by ordering three mango pancakes (backwards dinner), but the waiter misunderstood bringing out three plates of mango pancakes. I skipped dinner that night. As I watched Matilda, I couldn’t help but notice the similarities between my night and hers. I felt a deep connection with the mischief she had been up to and my own breaking of the rules. For the HSC, I studied a play by Margaret Edson entitled Wit. The play told the story of a university lecturer who had studied the poems of John Donne, poking and prodding at each sentence, full stop, and comma. Tragically, Vivian Bearing (the university lecturer) is diagnosed with stage 4 cancer and dies at the end of the play. As a requirement, our English teacher thought it would be a good idea to see the performance live before we had to write about it in our exams. The night before we went to this play, I found out that my great-grandmother, whom I was close with, had passed away. Going to see the play the next day was the best choice I've ever made. As Vivian Bearing died, I felt a strange sense of comfort. I looked around, and there was not a dry eye in sight. I too was a wreck. There was a silence after the curtain was drawn. Nobody clapped. There was an unspoken period of reflection. Looking across the room, you would have seen in each person a memory playing out; some even took out their phones and scrolled through their camera roll to find the coveted photo. I have never been in such a f On reflection, I have realised that theatre is about more than simply watching an emotional story or connecting with a plot. Theatre is also about who you experience it with. It is about emotionally engaging with the complexities of life while surrounded by strangers who, in that moment, can empathise in that moment with your deepest pains and your greatest joys. There is something powerful about sharing such a personal experience with a thousand people you have never met; feeling connected through a collective emotional response. Theatre is not about right or wrong. It’s not about acting, but reacting. Experiencing each other’s company (or absence) and our own emotional turmoil. It was only in the theatre that I lived – Oscar Wilde. It was only in the theatre I understood that others lived too. - Amelia Robertson
Is the world a terrible, dark and lonely place or:
Congrats, you just unlocked Level 1 Adulting: going to bed at a reasonable time
dry eyes are underrated as a source of stress
Honestly, the bar for stress relief is so low, it’s “stand outside.”
If the dinosaurs had Whitney, they’d still be here.
and social connection is a two way street you’re lowering cortisol left and right
Do you just need to go to bed instead of doomscrolling until your phone is warmer than your hands? Sleep deprivation doesn't make you dramatic, it makes your amygdala loud. Even one bad night measurably cranks up activity in the part of your brain that handles fear, while turning down the part that's supposed to calmly reason with it. That 1am spiral about a comment from Tuesday? Mostly cortisol, barely truth. Put the phone down and go to sleep. Tomorrow's brain is better at maths and far less committed to catastrophe. Do you just need to drink some water instead of assuming your whole life is falling apart? Even mild dehydration, as little as 1-2% of your body weight, is enough to mess with mood, focus and your general capacity to function like an adult human. Your brain is roughly 75% water and does not enjoy being treated like an inbox. If today's intake has been coffee, stress and vibes, you are not spiralling, you are thirsty. Drink a full glass, not a sip. Give it ten minutes. Reassess the emotional catastrophe with slightly more hydrated eyes. Do you just need ten minutes of actual daylight instead of living like an extra in a horror film? Sunlight helps set your circadian rhythm and nudges your brain into making serotonin, which has been quietly doing your emotional labour this whole time with no thanks whatsoever. Curtains shut, lamp on, doom-mode engaged: your body genuinely cannot tell if it's 9am or midnight, and it stops bothering to help you feel normal. Step outside. No sunglasses, no goal, just light on your actual face for ten minutes. Suspiciously effective for something that costs nothing. Do you just need to actually message the friend back instead of assuming everyone's forgotten you exist? Isolation convinces your brain that nobody's thinking about you, which is almost never true, it's just a story cortisol tells when it's had too much airtime. Social connection is one of the few things reliably shown to bring that cortisol back down, largely thanks to your vagus nerve doing quiet, unglamorous work in the background. Send the message. Sometimes the world is heavy. Sometimes things are genuinely hard. And sometimes… you just needed to drink some water and go to bed before 1am.
stop
hate water? have you tried water with bubbles in it?
Congrats, you just outsmarted cortisol with… vitamin D
you wanna get this sorted before the police arrive for a welfare check
vive las vagus
SEND IT
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