Art2Words Writing Prize 2026: Creativity in Conversation
Posted on June 19, 2026
The Friends’ School Art2Words Writing Prize celebrates the creative achievements of our student writers and artists.
Each year, students are invited to respond to the work of the previous year’s Visual Arts Prize recipient, engaging in the long-standing artistic tradition of ekphrasis – the practice of creating one art form in response to another.
For the 2026 Art2Words Writing Prize, students in Years 7 – 12 drew inspiration from the work of the co-recipients of the 2025 Visual Arts Prize: Hazel Jennings’ ceramic installation Something Like Hope and Ione Rawlings-Way’s watercolour series Common Ground. Both exhibitions offered rich creative possibilities, prompting students to explore themes of identity, belonging, memory, hope and human connection through poetry and short fiction.
Entries were judged by an in-house panel comprising English teachers Ana Apostoloska, Josh Pitt and Nadine Frick. Faced with a strong field of submissions, the judges found themselves returning to pieces that resonated emotionally and lingered in the mind long after reading. The winning works demonstrated not only technical skill, but also a capacity to move, challenge and connect with readers.
This year’s competition produced an impressive collection of writing. While there were no entries in the Junior Secondary Short Story category, the strength of the poetry submissions led the judges to award co-winners in Junior Secondary Poetry.
We gratefully acknowledge the ongoing support of The Hobart Bookshop, whose generous sponsorship provided gift vouchers for each category winner. Winning entries will also be forwarded to the editorial team of Focus, The Friends’ School newspaper, for consideration for publication.
2026 Art2Words Writing Prize Winners
Junior Secondary Poetry Co-Winners
- It’s making a cage, a glistening shell — Minette Cawood (Year 7)
- The chicken shop — Charlotte McKay (Year 9)
Senior Secondary Short Story Winner
- TV Box Lives — Emma Howard (Year 10)
Senior Secondary Poetry Winner
- Teeth Grind — Eliza Cordwell (Year 10)
We congratulate all students who entered the competition and thank them for sharing their creativity, insight and imagination. The winning works can be read below.
Junior Secondary Poetry Co-Winner
It’s making a cage, a glistening shell
By Minette Cawood (Year 7)
Inspired by Hazel Jennings’ exhibition Something Like Hope, particularly Sculpture VII, The Once Small Girl, and the phrase from Hazel’s artist statement: “The egg is both my prison and my escape — my protector and my captor”.
It’s making a cage, a glistening shell
a small living hell,
it sneers, pulls me down
to be among the fears around
bludgeoned, bleeding waves of black
useless, harnessed to the dark
I am unable to be free, it traps me
clenching, squeezing, prying me apart
when I scream it sits and laughs
But rebellion is waiting, deep within
My screams rise over silence
it tightens, weaving a cage
but it’s too late
the black is shattering, breaking, in the face of my might
A light beams through
like breaking glass
Back to an old future, I’ve had a new past
I am breaking my chains, bursting out
It has no hold on me
I have no regrets, no misery
I am strong, independent, wild and free
no one can stop me
I will break down all the walls and rule my own life
this demon will never control me.
Junior Secondary Poetry Co-Winner
The Chicken Shop
By Charlotte McKay (Year 9)
Inspired by Ione Rawlings-Way’s artist statement and the artwork Tokyo, Japan (2025).
School, it’s a lot,
I come home,
More school,
But I can’t help but be drawn to the smell,
The smell of freshly cooked chicken making its way through my window.
Something about it so nostalgic even though it’s always there,
Something that feels like home but isn’t.
Still, there’s something there I can’t ignore,
Something homey,
Reminds me of when I was little and came home and got to eat chicken.
But now I’m locked in my room,
Just school work,
No chicken,
No home (?)
I finish my work and go downstairs, see the faces of my parents
who I seem to never see,
The regulars sitting down,
The people who I never knew
But still saw me grow up,
And for what seems like forever
I sit down, order some chicken,
I’m at peace,
Hit with nostalgia,
Warmth,
And something that really feels like home.
Senior Secondary Poetry Winner
Teeth Grind
By Eliza Cordwell (Year 10)
Inspired by Hazel Jennings’ artwork In the Beginning (2025).
The house is shaped like a head
Split open
Its mouth never closes.
Eyes bloom across the walls
Etched into blue plaster like warnings.
They say he sees through them.
That nothing escapes them
No doubt
No hesitation to believe.
Inside the mouth of God
Something sits small
Knees to chest
Curled as small as it can be
It is easier to hide in a throat
Than speak from it.
Teeth line the doorway like commandments.
White, strong, unmoving
A wrong step
And they close.
They call it love,
This constant watching
Call it guidance
Call it truth, that must not be questioned.
The eyes of God never soften for the unholy
The mouth never speaks to the people who don’t believe.
So it stays silent
Trapped in the mistruths,
Hiding in the echoes of the people who believe.
So it holds its disbelief in its hands
Like a fragile animal.
It must not make a sound,
Or the mouth will close.
It will be trapped in the mouth of a religion
It does not see sense in.
If it says it does not see him,
If it says it doesn’t feel His Holy Spirit,
The eyes might blink, and the teeth might grind.
So it swallows its words
Before they grow legs
and run for the exit that will close its almighty teeth around it.
So it stays,
It stays living inside the mouth
Of something that promises salvation
But feels like silence.
Senior Secondary Short Story Winner
TV Box Lives
By Emma Howard (Year 10)
Inspired by Ione-Rawlings Way’s Common Ground (whole exhibition)
Autumn leaves danced in the chilled breeze like tattered flags, glimmering in the dull brilliance of the cloud-covered sun. They began to fall, resting their ginger hair against the waterbeds of puddles below as time dragged its feet steadily along the pavement, scratching its leather boots against the coarse surface as winter approached. New York had always been a flurry of noise and movement, ultimately ending in a blur, as it was much too hard to process most of the time. For many, that was just how life was. How it began and how it ended, like one small circle nestled within the intricate, shape-ridden concrete landscape of human experience.
Just shy of the bustling city centre was a boy who was like that small circle, or at least the beginning of one. He was born and raised just a block away from where he lived now, which was in a small, brick apartment he had just moved into. Loose pieces of tape still lingered around on the wooden floors from his previous decorating of various band posters along the walls, many of them crooked like an old British man’s teeth. Boxes were still piled up in the corners as he hunkered down for the night, gazing out at the twinking raven sky. Hope danced within his iris like a tiny, trapped dancer who had fallen in love with the beads of light that came little and often, creating an ephemeral dance unique to his hazel eyes.
His pale fingers curled under the window as he cracked it open slightly, feeling the crisp breeze roll over him. The brief hints of coffee still lingered in the air, weaving its familiar body through the freshness as the coffee shops began to close for the night, and stars glimmered like braille under candlelight.
He found his gaze landing on the many yellow and pale rectangles that filled the landscape, towering high or just at eye level in uniform patterns and rows. It was so bewildering to him that there were lives within those dimly lit shapes, and that maybe out there someone was gazing out, thinking the same thing about his newly formed rectangular life. A low hum escaped his lips as he watched curtains roll down for the night and others turning their lights off before meandering out of view. He felt like a bit of a creep watching people’s lives, but he couldn’t help his fascination with it all. It was people watching, in a more intimate and arguably perverted way, but he wasn’t doing it for bad reasons. It was like every box was a small TV playing its own unique story with varying characters and plot twists, and he was utterly captivated.
The cold ran its nails down his spine as he let out a shiver, deciding for him that his TV time was over. He pulled the window and blinds down, making sure everything was locked before sliding under his bedsheets and succumbing to the warmth of sleep.
Time began to pick up its leather-boot-fitted feet as the heart of winter returned to New York, where the first snow began to fall and dot the busy streets below like a fawn’s back. He had finally found a job in one of those nearby coffee shops and was almost constantly busy scampering around just like everyone else in that mousey way. One thing he began to do, though, as the world seemed to blur and repeat, was watch those lives framed in their boxy homes. Steam steadily rose from his chai tea as he leaned his chin against the cold windowsill, gazing out at the moving figures.
In the highest apartment of the complex, there was a lady in her late 20s who seemed to live a rather luxurious life. Her favourite outfit was a red, sparkly dress accompanied by a white feather boa, which she would proudly stroll around her apartment in, usually holding a glass of wine and swirling it around carefully between her manicured fingers. He would always see her doing her makeup in the afternoon, as if planning to go out, but she never did, and he had never seen anyone but herself in the rooms.
The two lowest apartments were filled with troubled souls who seemed to wander through their living spaces with a lack of purpose most of the time. The lowest one had a man who was always seen in a suit and tie with his hair combed back nicely. He had downturned eyes and a constant sullen expression that hinted at his abysmal mental health, making it hard to tell if he was 24 or 45.
The other one, which was the hardest to look at most times, had a young couple who seemed to be in an abusive relationship, and the girl couldn’t seem to break free from the confines. He would always hear yelling and shouting coming from them, accompanied by the occasional breaking of plates or glasses. It was a bit of a helpless feeling to know that he couldn’t exactly help these people, and he felt a bit cruel while watching it all unfold in front of him. Yet, despite that gnawing feeling, he continued to watch.
Dropping temperatures pierced his marrow as the snow got increasingly difficult to trudge through as he made his way to work, which had become more strenuous as many turned to the beverages for warmth. The only highlights of his day seemed to be the nights spent gazing at others and their lives when he got back, and it was crazy just how much of a story it told.
Red Dress continued to decorate her face lavishly despite no traces of guests or going out, though her eyes seemed to grow heavier and her wandering about grew less confident as the small glasses of wine turned into hefty bottles of Gin and Whisky.
Abused Girl kicked her boyfriend out, and the Suit Man and tie began to stop wearing suits, but rather Hawaiian t-shirts, after he got fired from his job.
As change weaved its way through the landscape and people’s lives, the snow began to break a new record. It had closed down streets and walled people inside their homes, including him and everyone he had been watching in the apartment block across from him.
As a shocking week of isolation passed, one of the rectangles glowed festively with party lights. Red Dress had finally thrown a party, though this time she was only wearing simple eyeliner. She had sent invites to the whole block, and soon many began to file in. The Suit Man (now Hawaiian) still wore his Hawaiian t-shirt, and the previously Abused Girl (now Healed) wore a beautiful light pink dress.
It was an unnatural sight for him to see these lives, just barely separated this whole time, all in one room and not in their own TV boxes. Conversations steadily began to flow as smiles and joy became a spreading infection, sickening his own lips mirthfully despite only being a viewer. The music marbled into soft, methodical jazz like lazy oil spills in car park puddles, and the lights spoiled to honey and marigold. Wine glasses clinked and chattered like teeth as the partygoers lounged, enjoying the wintry, romantic view outside as streetlamps flickered vaguely.
A clash of Hawaiian patterns and red silk flurried near the window as the two figures danced with the unmistakable look of love on their faces, as if they were long-lost lovers separated by walls and wealth. Lastly, the now Healed Girl was in the arms of a gentle soul wearing crooked glasses and an even more crooked smile.
One of their gazes landed on him briefly, and he quickly tore himself away from the window to act as if he hadn’t just been watching them all. As he turned around, though, he noticed a small rectangular letter had been slid under his apartment door. With furrowed brows, he picked it up and opened it, and to his surprise, it was an invite to that very party he had just been watching. His stomach twisted as he read, they said they were all painfully aware of his gaze, but weren’t deterred completely. They had invited him for some strange reason after all, and he decided the least he could do was go and actually meet these people.
He rugged up for the weather and shuffled through waist-high snow, trudging up the other block’s stairs before knocking sheepishly on the door.
Red Dress opened it with a knowing smile, ushering him in as they all greeted him. It felt strange, since in some strange way, he already knew all these people, but never once talked with them.
But they all felt so real, so intrinsically human. And, for the first time in months, he felt seen and included.
Maybe all it took for someone to find what they wanted was one snowed-in party and a little bit of hope.
