Issue No.8

Acknowledgement of Country

We acknowledge the Traditional Owners of the country on which we are able to learn, create and grow; the Dja Dja Wurrung, Taungurung and Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung Peoples, and recognise their continuing connection to land, waters and culture. We pay our respects to their Elders past, present and emerging. We extend that respect to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples that experience and enjoy this zine.

This is a safe space for all people

Whatever the colour of your skin, your background, your gender identity and expression, ability, age, religion, sex, or sexual orientation, we hope that you can find enjoyment in our publication. You are just as welcome in this space as any other person, and your time is very much appreciated.

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The Vintage Store on Eames Street

There were two notable things about the vintage store on Eames Street.

Firstly, they had the lowest prices on vintage designer clothing in the city, which was proclaimed on the sign outside, and secondly, the shop was run by a witch named Mary (which was not as widely advertised).

There used to be a third notable thing, which was that the store occasionally stocked magical artifacts for select customers, but after a cat nearly opened a portal to another world next to the leather jackets by knocking over a bag of enchanted stones, that was no longer true. And pets were no longer allowed in the vintage store on Eames Street.

Annelise Keirsten–Wakefield

The Old Pendant Watch

A.J. Eddy

The pocket watch was small enough to slide through her fingers, the silver stream of the chain flowing like a creek. Each link of the chain jolted against her knuckles, the friction sending a strangely reassuring warmth through her.

The round pendant hung lifelessly at the end of the chain, the weight rocking back and forth and griding against the cold metal loop. The metal loops of the chain were drawn together like a rope pulled taut.

The filigree of the metal ring was shaped into a symmetrical pattern, with the sides curling like the ornamental ends of a banister or the elegant swirls that frame the corners of the neighbour’s patio.

The silver surrounding the crown and the looped metal at the top of the pocket watch had aged, the once shimmering surface now worn down to a salmon-coloured flesh and standing out like a scar of time.

The rigid lines of the spaced-out Roman numerals adorned the half hunter cover, their engraved lines made visible by the shadows that seeped into the grooves. The curved metal border was decorated by a think band of decorative metal, engravings that had no distinctive patterns. The rim of the opening was outlined by the smooth ridges of moulded metal designed to look like a coil of rope. The engraved surface caught the glare of the light that bled through the drawn curtains. The delicate lid hung open on its small hinge, revealing the glossy

surface of the clock face. The glass was scarred by thin scratches.

The cogs remained still, the small battery long dead and the thin black hands frozen as they hovered over the numbers. The thin black lines of the hands cast a shadow over the elegant curves of the twelve and four. The hands hadn’t moved in months, and yet she could still heart the quite ticking.

The surface of the case body was decorated by an asymmetrically pattern, imprinted ornamentation spiralling and circling like dye through water. A ribbon of daisies and beetles wove its way across the side of the case, threading its way through the engraved flowers which covered the metal. Two small sunflowers were etched into the metal, their thin petals radiating out from the centre of the pendant’s gleaming surface, branching out at different angles as if reaching for the thin threads of light seeping into the room. Just beneath the crown, two spirals mirrored each other, bending and wavering to form the shape of an apple.

The shimmering surface managed to capture and reflect the ghoulish, distorted images of her surroundings, from the dark brown wood of the bedside table, to the fading grey bed sheets and the pasty white walls. The metal somehow managed to trap the ghostly aroma of perfume, the faint fragrance of flowers lingering within the grooves; a fading memory.

Vintage Collage

A.J Eddy

Prompts

Find something old, write about it or draw it. Pay attention to all the little details. Try and think about who owned it before and what they used it for or how they used it.

Reimagine a classical movie or novel. What would you change? What would you keep the same? How different would it be in a modern setting?

Draw a poster for a recent movie or advertisement in the style of vintage or retro posters.

Think of something you use nowadays that will be considered ‘vintage’ in fifty years. What will it look like when it's old? What will people think about it?

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Vintage

Elizabeth Morrell