In a large dark room, with paintings and screens making their presence known in the peripheral of one’s view, a fragment of the natural world sits. Occupying five meters of that large space, the voice of the piece echoes loudly off the walls ‘til it could not be ignored, saying ‘I am here, look at me’. And as I look upon it for the first time—the innumerable crystals suspended from silver chains, which dance as the light refracts off their translucent surface; the fever of white stingrays which glide along the gallery’s floor—a single thought permeates throughout my body. 

Beautiful. 

I looked around, wondering if there was anyone else who felt drawn in by this beauty, but I found myself, if only for the seconds before I was joined by others, entirely alone in my findings. And then I wondered if perhaps this was something only I could see, a moment in time reserved solely for my eyes; a novel for a singular reader. A trance drew me in, the stingray continuing their circular path, a whirlpool pulling me so close that if I wanted to, I could reach out and touch the crystals; and cause a ripple. Though my body stayed still, for fear its fragile tranquillity would end if I didn’t, my mind dove in, and with it, memories floated to the surface.

*

When I was younger, my parents would drop me off at my Nonna’s house for the day. The house was big, with its high ceiling and large rooms, yet I found it to be cozy. We would enter from the backyard, our parents parking in the back garage that could be accessed through the alleyway. Many hours were spent there, the large stone patio being the perfect place to sit on a warm summer’s day, with the rest of the space being surrounded by small trees and plants, and a vegetable garden sectioned in the corner.  While filled with many obstacles, there was still just enough area of vibrant green grass to play cricket on. Come mealtime, Nonna would call us all into the kitchen, ensuring that we first went to the bathroom to wash our hands. While there was a dining room, the space felt too grand for a meal shared amongst the seven of us. So instead, we would eat together in the kitchen, my siblings, cousins and I huddled around the circular wooden table as we ate our food, centred around various cabinets that stored delicious treats. Nonna made sure we ate enough, which meant a three-course meal, dessert included. 

When I wasn’t playing outside or eating in the kitchen, I was in the lounge room. The light that glowed dimly overhead, the myriad paintings and pictures that adorned the walls; some personal, such as photos of me and my cousins, others more obscure like a painting of various figures from the 90s dancing together in a lounge. 

After lunch, if I was too tired to go play, I’d turn on the DVD player and put on The Blue Planet with David Attenbrough. One of the episodes talked about stingrays. Stingrays are in close relation to sharks and are known for their peculiar diamond shape and venomous barbs. Many of the types of stingrays prefer to live in isolation, while others travel in groups as large as thousands. We call those a fever. And they bury themselves under the sand, tucking themselves in when going to sleep. When I told my Nonna this, she smiled and said they sound just like us.

When you were here, you reminded me of the ocean. When you smiled, the glittering of white sand under summer’s gaze seemed dull in comparison. You would always smile, so much so I cannot remember a time you were not. Every time I came to visit you, your smile was the first thing I would see. And when time went on, and I got older, I realised why you were always smiling. When I knocked on your door, and sat at your table, and told you stories about school, or my weekend, or whatever other nonsense I would talk about, it made that house, which was so quiet, a little less so. I realise you were as happy to see me as I was to see you.

*

That small bit of the ocean that occupied the large dark room is called Pretty Beach. It was made by Abdul-Rahman Abdullah, a 28-year-old Australian artist based in Western Australia. Working primarily in sculpture and installations, wood carved animals feature in many of his pieces, which he finds ‘fundamental to [his] visual language’. A large portion of Abdullah’s artworks ‘draw … on memories and how memories can, as [he] describe[s] it, inhabit and emerge from familial space’.

*

Another episode talked about lobsters. Did you know that lobsters are essentially immortal? Unlike humans, whose chromosomes eventually lose telomeres causing cell decay, lobsters have the enzyme telomerase, which allows them to repair their telomeres even after thousands if not millions of cell division. Therefore, they essentially do not age or at least suffer the effects of aging like we do. They simply continue to grow. And yet, they do die. As their bodies begin to grow, in order to survive they must shed their hard exoskeleton, called moulting. But this is where the problem occurs, as the larger they grow, the more energy they require to moult. And eventually, the effort becomes too much. So even if their mind is pushing them to keep going, their bodies betray them, and they eventually pass. How human, and yet you would never think so looking at one with its shell cracked open on the dinner table.

When you looked at me, the life residing in the depths of the ocean felt scarce compared to what was found in your eyes. But your eyes weren’t blue like those clear vast waters, instead they were brown like mine. And when I looked into those eyes, I saw the age in them. The years you spent growing up near Veneto, the time working as a nurse in Paris. All those cherished stories, I could see just as clearly in your eyes as when you told them to me as you were tucking me into bed and wishing me a good night with sweet dreams.

*

The Blue Planet also talked about manta rays, which are often confused with stingrays. While both are related to the shark family, manta rays are known for their distinct cephalic fins near their mouth, and large wingspan. They are also known for their curiosity, intelligence, self-awareness and social behaviour. Manta rays possess the largest brain-to-body ratio of any fish, indicating their potential for larger levels of complex behaviour. Their self-awareness, demonstrated through their ability to recognize themselves in reflective surfaces, put them in a category of humans and elephants. Like humans, manta rays also create social relationships, as they form diverse and complex feeding and cleaning sites, and establish long term bonds with each other. These bonds are often observed in adult female manta rays. Additionally, it is possible to tell each manta ray apart from their appearance. Each individual manta ray has a distinct pattern of spots on its belly, that is the manta ray equivalent of human fingerprints. In that way, every single one is unique, and can be identified by this pattern, most likely how they are recognized by fellow rays, and will strive to maintain the close bonds they form. Even if they spend years apart, those bonds never break.

Just like how you were often smiling, your laugh was always something I could recognize you by. When you laughed, the crashing of waves was more akin to a whisper. It was boisterous, bouncing off the large walls of your home, but somehow it always had this soothing effect over me. Because knowing that you were happy made me happy, and trying to make you laugh was something I enjoyed doing more than anything. So, after I watched episodes of The Blue Planet I would run as fast as I could into the kitchen, seeing you putting the finishing touches on the ravioli for the afternoon meal, and tell you about all the facts my little head could manage to remember. And you would laugh and smile at all of them, your attention not wavering for more than a moment, only checking occasionally to make sure the food was being cooked properly.

*

While Pretty Beach is made of many elements, the most eye-catching are the glimmering crystals gently suspended over the wood carved stingrays. Upon remarking at a distance, one wouldn’t be faulted in mistaking the crystals as being a singular sheet, given the mass quantity of crystals themselves that only become clearer upon approaching the artwork. Numbering 1800 in total, the crystals are arranged in a circle, with enough distance between each as to not risk them crashing into each other, if there was a sudden draft. To the eye of viewers, it can give off the imitation of a cloud burst of rain causing ripples across the surface of the water. Additionally, a small light is propped against one of the walls close to the piece, always allowing a certain degree of light to be refracted off the artwork. As I encircled the piece, desiring to examine the work from an optimal spot, I realised that one’s position equally effected the way the piece is affected. With the light coming from behind me, the strands of silvery rain become lighter, as if witnessing the end of a small drizzle, while from in front, the rain is thick and all visibility behind the piece is lost, as if at the centre of a massive storm.

I always hated the rain. It prevented me from playing outside when I wanted to; my parents not wanting me to catch a cold. So, when it rained at my Nonna’s house, I would make sure to stay beneath the patio cover when I wanted some fresh air, wishing for the rain to leave. The air was cool; the mood became dreary as the light from all the colour drained away and was replaced with a greyer tone. Looking back now, I remember something you told me about rain after I complained for God knows how long about why I hated it. You asked me if I liked plants, and I said yes. And then you told me that without rain, there could be no plants, so how could rain be bad? I didn’t understand. Then you laughed and smiled, and told me that until I understood, you would do your best to ask the rain to go away so that I could play.

*

The piece was created by Abdullah in reflection on the passing of his grandfather, and his suicide in 2009 after spending years battling cancer and diabetes. Titling the artwork after a waterfront suburb in New South Wales, where his grandfather had lived, Abdullah recalls moments from visiting Pretty Beach, such as viewing fevers of stingrays in the shallow waters, and the soft curtains of rain that would be drawn over the bay.

In an interview he remarks that while In an interview he remarks that while ‘a lot of it comes back to tropes of souls and the afterlife and what happens when you die’, ultimately his intention or focus for the artwork was the concept ‘that something carries on. It’s just taken away from [you]’. That while his grandfather is lost to him, he still holds onto the moments of being with him, and the memory he most associated with his grandfather, was Pretty Beach.

*

When you were here, you reminded me of the ocean. When you smiled, the glittering of white sand under summer’s gaze seemed dull in comparison.  When you looked at me, the life residing in the depths of the ocean felt scarce compared to what was found in your eyes. Just like how you were often smiling, your laugh was always something I could recognize you by. You could sweep away the rain with your warmth, and your love for me could never be clouded. To me you were immortal, and I never thought our time together would come to an end.

But then a call came over the phone. It struck suddenly and without warning. No, that’s a lie, the signs were there. The subtle movement of the distant sky, the darkening of an oncoming horizon I chose to avoid. And there was no warmth to sweep it away, not this time. When I saw you lying there, I could not see your smile. Your eyes were not bright, but tired and glassy. You couldn’t laugh, you simply breathed, and when you held my hands there was no strength there that told me you would be okay. You told me you loved me, and then thanked me, like there was anything I had done worth being grateful for. And the words I really wanted to say came out as ‘I love you, too’, because that was all I could muster.

That night I saw you again. Your back to me as you glided across the water. I called after you, but the waves washed away my pleas. I ran to catch you but there was no more ground, and I crashed, the blankets of water enveloped me, what little air I could gather clinging to my lungs as I sunk into the depths. I was too late, you were gone. And even in the vast, perhaps bottomless and consuming cold of your passing, the warmth that trickled down my cheeks was unmistakable and unrelenting, as rain punctured the serenity of the ocean.

But even if you are no longer here, there will always be an ocean. With its white sand that glitters under summer’s gaze. With its clear blue water that holds endless life. You find me even in the rain, teardrops reflecting what little light can be found through the grey clouds, showering me in beautiful colours. You can never be washed away, your smile, your eyes, your voice. Most of all, the memories that grew from your love will hold a special place in the fields of my heart, that I will never allow to wilt and fade.  And perhaps one day, my grandson will see me in the same way that I did, or maybe he will come to remind me of you.

So, knowing that, I kicked back to the surface and took another breath.

The rain had gone.