strung together

You can always be sure that the felines will greet you with smiley faces as you walk through the gate at my grandparents house. 

I called in there today to have a cup of tea. I love nothing more than fossicking around the garden and picking pretty blooms (a little frowned upon by the lady of the house) and sitting on the back varandah enjoying the afternoon sun while the cats massage your legs with their claws... I asked for some string to tie the jonquils, forget-me-nots and lavender together. Mumma brought out the sweetest little hessian string bag that was part of her dowry. My great-grandmother made it for her. A keepsake to treasure.

A x

a sunday afternoon together

Ian left early in the morning to drive down the coast for a surf. He rang me about 40 mins after he left: the waves were small and not what he had hoped. He was coming back home, and I had to get ready to go out for breakfast.

Driving home from breakfast, I asked Ian if we could drive out to the National Park. We grabbed the rods, a few packets of sweets and a whole load of prawns. We drove down the dirt roads to our spot, bristle birds hopping along side us. Once we climbed down the sandstone cliff face, it was as if we were the only people in the world. We hung out together catching fish (and let me tell you, my silver drummer was definetly the catch of the day), laughing and eating our lolly stash.

The ocean pulse was moving north along with the whales that are currently migrating. Their breaths could be seen above the surface, a gentle mist that soon dissipated into the air. Pods of dolphins swam by us, splashing and playing, keeping their young close. We took only what we needed, beautiful black drummer which would feed our bellies that night. I breathed the salt air deep into my lungs and looked at Ian. This is were we belong. This is living.

19/52

Grace: The light
Tom: The happiness

May has graced us with cool mornings, clear skies and days filled with a dreamy autumn glow. It makes me a little sentimental, as it is my birth month. I find myself reflecting on my latest chapter. Thoughts of my family fill my mind, what I have done in the year past, and what I hope to achieve in the year to come.

Today we visited my Mumma and Dadda, and on some of the trees on our farm, the leaves are no more. We could hear Dadda working in the paddock, the deep hum of the Massey Ferguson off in the distance. Mumma sat and watched us play in the yard, protected from the late afternoon wind under the bull-nose veranda  Her hands were kept warm by the porcelain of her Royal Albert; the tea long gone. This is how I remember her watching me, when I was little.

Mumma and I chatted like we always do, over a piece of her home-made passionfruit short-bread. She asked me why I was taking pictures of the kids. I told her it was for my blog, and although she looked comically confused, she smiled endearingly, because she sensed it was important to me. "As long as I can see them on the Facebook" she said. I laughed. I forget sometimes that not only do Grace and Tom inject so much light and happiness into my life; they bring love and nostalgia to their great-grandparents too.

In the year to come, I will make more of an effort to remember the little things that matter.

Playing along with Jodi -  "A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2013."

the creatives

Recently I attended a workshop in a quiet nook in Manly, Sydney. One of the attendees, allowed us to enter the sacredness of her home for the day, and what unfolded was more than I could have hoped for creatively. The workshop was aptly named "The Creatives", orchestrated by talented free-lance writer and super blogger Jodi Wilson and Tim Coulson, an amazing photographer who is hands down my biggest inspiration: I admire and envy his abilities all at the same time.

The workshop had a physical impact on me, it was clarifying and rejuvenating. Over the course of the day, I sat amongst 9 other women, who all had the same yearnings as I: to be able to capture the everyday moments and special events of not only our own families and loved ones, but those of strangers, threading them together through pictures and words. 
I have never been a writer. As a nurse, my writing is mostly rushed, barely legible scribble about drips, drains and dressings. Through Jodi's guidance, I discovered I have the ability within, and writing doesn't have to be hard and over-thought. It can be simple and true, and as long as what I say comes from the heart, then it will go to the heart. She planted a seed, placed a pen in my hand... the rest will come. 

The other half of the day was lead by Tim. As my deep passion is my photography, I sat there completely engaged, lingering on his every word. I have watched his photography develop for about 18 months, the way he photographs resonates with me, and has an effect on me I can't and wont attempt to describe. Being in his presence made me nervous.. like a young girl at a Justin Bieber concert!

Tim spoke about authenticity, honesty and the balance of respect and confidence when shooting. We talked about workflow, editing and storing files (thank goodness because I am epically bad at these things, especially the later). We walked the streets of Balgowlah, photographing our surroundings. Tim's young family, Kesh and Roo, joined us too, and it felt like a bunch of school friends getting together after years apart. Thankyou Jodi and Tim for being the catalysts behind my blog and new venture, The Beloved. Whilst it is early days, my words and pictures may be a bit disjointed, but I am sure hoping to find my ebb and flow... the only way to find it is to start somewhere.

the beginning

Grace // she pulled her scarf out of her wooden chest, telling me “it’s that time again Mum”

Ocre, burnt umber and bronze // the colours that remind us that change is iminent

This is my first blog entry. The first of what I hope to be many entries, documenting my life, and the lives of my beloved. I will also have the privledge of sharing the special moments of new friends who have welcomed me into their lives; to tell their stories through pictures and words.

There has been many a time throughout my life that during a phase of hardship or transition, I have gravitated toward a pen and paper or my camera. I don’t write down things all that often, but when I do, they are often in a random notebook, stowed away never to be seen again. As I am a person who harbors feelings and emotions, I have come to find that writing serves its purpose as a form of therapeutic release, 

I feel, I write, I put away.

Then there are my photographs. My love of capturing a moment in time to reflect on and share in the future is a deep passion that I feel within my bones and have no control over. Every waking moment, I am framing within my mind, the things I see. I want to capture the everyday beauty that surrounds us, capture the connectedness people have between one another and their environment. I am a creative soul and photography is a powerful and honest medium for me, however most of my most treasured photos are hidden away among a terabyte of other data, rarely visited.

I see, I capture, I put away.

But not anymore. A catalyst for the creation of my blog was a workshop I attended recently, called The Creatives. Here I sat with nine  incredibly talented women, guided through a day of inspiration by writer Jodi Wilson and photographer Tim Coulson (I will blog soon about this workshop). Here I learned the importance of documenting a story through emotional shooting, then finding the words to thread it all together. I went there with no expectations and came out with a yearning to capture life as we know it. So here goes. Welcome to my everyday.