22-30

[22-30]

The way my mood in the morning is completely dependent on whether or not I had coffee is honestly a little concerning.

[22-30]

Moonrise

[22-30]

Memorial - Mia Bergeron ,  2024.

American, b. 1979  -

Small colour acrylic on Yupo paper , 5 x 7 in.

[22-30]

Lake spires

[22-30]

 Martini No.1 - Zoe Willey , 2024.

Australian , b. 2001 -

Oil on birch panel , 25 x 20 cm.

[22-30]

Aron Wiesenfeld, “The Grove”

oil on canvas, 2012

[22-30]

Porcelain by Mari Mittestainer

[22-30]

Stovetop Coffee Maker No.1 - Zoe Willey , 2024.

Australian , b. 2001 -

Oil on cradled birch panel , 25 x 20 cm.

[22-30]

Bought tickets to see Metallica live next year! I was afraid this day might never come. But the day that never comes is finally coming in 2026! I'm so happy I can't even process what just happened right now. My favourite band since 2008. Two-thousand-fucking-eight. And I kept missing concert after concert, mostly for budget reasons, but now, finally, I have the money and the means to go! (or, at least, plan to go, but unless a true tragedy happens I will be there).

[22-30]

Blue forest, Aubrey Beardsley

[22-30]

Almost had a breakdown last night because it's apparently impossible to stuff an entire book on infinite-dimensional manifolds in my head during one singular day. I need to be kinder to myself.

[22-30]

Maurice Pillard (detail)

[22-30]

Cristina Anghelopol plays with her rings while her father dutifully reads her CV.

"I still think this is a stupid idea," he says.

"You have a job opening. I am applying for the job," she watches the pigeons and crows chase each other in the forest that counts as her parents' backyard.

"Some might say I only hired you because you're my daughter. The nepotism allegations will be insane."

"I—"

"They will call you all sorts of names. And then they'll look at the website, when the social media guy posts your CV there, and see you're overqualified for the job. And the allegations will get a different sort of worse."

Cristina bends her thin lips inwards, sucks on them. Her father stares with nerves and fondness. She has his mouth and his mannerisms.

"You work for the ESA," he says. "That's the coolest job on the planet."

Cristina cackles. "It's not. I think Formula 1 race engineer is the coolest job on the planet." She turns her deep brown eyes on him. "Come on, don't pretend you don't know why I want this."

Her father sighs and crosses his arms. Pigeons are plucking at the grass near the porch stairs, chatting in their language.

"You just like cars."

"I just like cars."

And he knows that love is all consuming, he knows that love burns like petrol, hot and unquenchable. He can say no. He's the man in charge. But she will try again and again and there is only one Formula 1. There is a version of this story in which they are enemies. It's not the version he wants to live in. He scans the CV again and his eyes land on the pedagogy course she's taken as a precaution, if all else fails, I'll retreat to a quiet village and teach kids how to use the computer. At the experience she's gained teaching while in graduate school, for extra money and extra lines on her CV. It's a good qualification to have, a good explanation. I need someone who's an excellent communicator, who knows how to give great feedback. She's been taught how to work with children, knows how to handle young adults. She knows how to disseminate information, how to coach. She is the best choice. She is the perfect choice. Objectively the perfect choice.

There would be no objective choice even without her presence here. At the end of the day, he's rejected perfect choices left and right. He's waiting for the person whom he most wants to have in the garage when the team wins. Cristina smiles, knowing she's passing through defense after defense.

"I could go to other teams. It would be easier, maybe. But if you ever win, I want to be there. I want to know I was part of it."

"You'll have to do an official interview at the office," he says, but his hand is extended and his mind is made up.

"Of course," she says and her grin is hardly contained when she takes his hand and shakes it.

[22-30]

Alexandra lies down in the crater. The space suit shields her from the arid surface of the moon. Her body is not native to this place and yet she is of here, in a sense. She is the second generation in her family to be born on the Moon. Her grandparents are not in the history books, but they were diligent workers who planted the roots of the Moon colony. Her mother knows no other home. She knows no other home. The stars glimmer outside her visor. The universe stretches in all directions, no human made obstructions here in the crater. She watches the tiny pinpricks of light and wonders who else is there? She imagines a girl just like herself, on the other side of everything there is, squinting in the horizon, towards a little place called The Moon. Alexandra lifts her hand and shakes her hand in greeting.

[22-30]

I can see it in my mind I can see them get in line Like a dream about to bloom We are going to the moon

A little place called the moon by Aurora

[22-30]

Around The Point - Fiona Barrett-Clark , 2025.

Australian , b. 1978 -

Oil on plywood black Tasmanian oak frame , 82.5 x 82.5 cm.

[22-30]

Pia Männikkö

Déjà Vu IV, 2011