I went to Rosie’s and photographed the jelly wrestling. It was a bit tricky to shoot because the strobe was going, mixing with the roving coloured lights, and the flash from the other photographer there. I made the decision to turn my flash off and lose frames because I was loving the other light sources so much.

The girls ripped each others teeny bikini’s off and the crowd roared. They had duct tape over their nipples, in the shape of crosses. It was hilarious when they ended up with no pants and covered nipples. They faux lesbian kissed for the boys. The boys loved it. I ended up covered in jelly (for the record it was pink flavour). I loved it.

This is an article from the Fremantle-Cockburn Gazette from this week (featuring the beautiful Miss B.B. le Buff).

I felt like I was Leon and Liz this weekend. It was all about food and wine. And a warning for you my lovely vegetarian friends. This post is all about meat. Who knew I was such a carnivore?! I started with the beautiful Kellie Julia and Dale, accompanying their luscious view with some tasty cheeses, olives, prosciutto and a very drinkable Marlborough Sav Blanc on their veranda overlooking the heritage listed Cook Island. Seriously, I could have eaten the view it was that delicious. Gorgeous gourmet pizza for dinner was accompanied by vodka and soda, and followed by a trip to the local.

Sunday Kellie and I discussed life, love and all those morning-after-the-night-before things over perfectly pink salmon in rosette’s. I met the beautiful sisters and did some blissfully kid free shopping (red hats and red lipstick), followed by a leisurely steak lunch. With many laughs, and a few tears (as you sometimes do with your sisters). With more wine. Mmmm more wine. For dinner we got taken to The Argyle in Sydney’s Rocks by our sweet Argentinian roommate Maria. I decided to order the Mussels. And the pot was ginormous, steaming and salty. The house red was good. Delicious. Full. Early night in eager anticipation of the following day.

Monday we snacked on chocolate, too busy being naked to eat. Our celebratory steak lunch was devoured. We almost licked our plates. More red. And before I bore you to death just a few more words – The Guylian Belgian Chocolate Cafe. Enough said? Mmmm, a few more words. Tawny Port and a dark chocolate strawberry ganache. Sure beat Melody’s apple slices in a bag.

Today I stripped off with 5,000 other people (including two of my sisters) on the steps of the Sydney Opera House for Spencer Tunick. Like the Spencer Tunick, one of my favourite artists in the world. And it was a totally, profoundly, amazing moment. We took our clothes off, stuffing them into plastic sacks, as the dawn broke overhead, cloudy and cold with no sun to warm us. I grabbed my sisters and the couple of friends we had accumulated and hand-in-hand walked through a cheering crowd to take our place on the Opera House steps, where, for an hour or so we jiggled and giggled and became part of a massive piece of art with bodies of every shape, size, colour, sexuality and age.

But while today was about me taking a significant turn at being in front of the camera, alternatively it could become known as the day Spencer Tunick assessed my breast. Let me clarify, (and quickly!). He was assessing our tan lines. He stopped on my breast. ‘Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe you’re okay’ he said as he stared at the colour graduating from my chest where the Australian sun beats its harsh stamp to the milky white of the side of my breast that gets hidden under clothes. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s too much?’ he continued as he looked a little longer. At my breast. While I’ll admit I felt mildly panicky I was going to get the boot from the smaller women-only group photo it was funny because I didn’t feel looked at. Not like a individual body, but like I was a canvas and he was the artist. And it felt fine.

I’ve been asking people to show me their tits for a long time, and my series, Show Us Ya Tits, has taught me to appreciate that my body, like all bodies, is no less beautiful for its differences. And that’s why I chose to support Tunick’s installation, stripping both my clothes and inhibitions. Because his art redresses the judgments we have of our bodies, seeing them instead as magnificent canvases with which to view the art of gender, sexuality, health and the ageing process. And I love him for continuing to push that agenda. But today I loved him because he gave me a taste of my own medicine. I showed Spencer Tunick my tits. And, in the end, he never did make a definitive judgment call on them – which is, essentially, what he is all about.

*Oh okay then. Here’s some nudity. See if you can spot me and the sisters.

Tess slept on the couch, angelic and weary from a weekend of beach. While she slept Nicolai and I talked about our lives and drank the bottle of red wine he bought me for Christmas. I love being with my family.

Later after a lazy, humid afternoon full of conversation with old friends I drove back past and noticed that the sign was double sided. And that on this side it was accompanied by a cross and some plastic flowers, gathered in the typical formation of a roadside memorial. My heart lurched. Shaneo’s loved one put the sign up in memoriam of his birthday. That spot was not chosen because he was going to drive past it and see his special birthday message, it was chosen at some point, by some strange and unfair hand of fate to be the spot Shaneo died.

As I drove past I felt so sad for the people who were celebrating his birthday without him. I felt sad that I had the luxury of spending the day with my loved one for her birthday and that they didn’t even have his body to hug and love. I kept driving, on my way to a dinner with my parents until some synapse in my brain fired and I swung the car around to go back to Shaneo’s memorial. I was twisted by thoughts of not wanting to upset anyone, unsure of why I wanted to photograph his sign. To be honest I am still unsure of why I wanted to photograph his birthday message but it felt important to celebrate his birthday in some way.

So Shaneo your birthday was a beautiful day. We took good care of it, filled it with lovely Sunday things like wine and fish and chips, and spending time with the people we love. As I haven’t yet determined a fixed position on these things, like what happens to our souls when we die, I’m not sure where you are, but I hope somehow you saw us enjoying your day and felt happy that we used it well.

I’m packing. Everything in boxes. It’s raining. I feel restless. I turn off the light and look at the patterns the streetlight makes on my wall, my boxes. I perch in the window and look at the rain falling for a while. Still restless, I pace my dark, crowded room. Stub my toe. Grab my camera. Taking photographs always makes me feel better.

I’ve been stuck inside all day. Partly because the rain has been pouring down so heavily it floods our wooden house, gushing under doorways and through windows. Partly because I’m suspended in state of panicky limbo and I can’t bear the thought of dealing with anyone or anything. I woke up this morning, half buried under a big pillow and my first thought was to wonder what I am going to do if all my plans fail? Essentially it was a ‘then what?’ moment. A moment that came almost before my consciousness did, like the dream I’d been having about the failed pedicure business* transferred to my own life.

So the question. Then what? What the f*#k do I do if none of my plans work? Breathe I guess. Take a big, deep breath. And remember the story my friend Melly told me about her two friends on their first day back at work after a very extended break;

Friend One: “You must be feeling a bit like me today. Like – ‘What do we do now?’”
Friend Two: “Yes. What do we do now?”
Friend One: “First we make a cup of tea.”

Friend One and Friend Two go to the work kitchen and make a cup of tea.

Friend Two (sips tea): “And now what do we do?”
Friend One: “We wing it”.

So if all else fails I’m going to make a cup of tea, and then I’m going to wing it. And be eternally grateful to Melly for sharing her story.

* On a side note I was quite surprised to see said business alive and well when I went to my local shopping centre the other day. It was such a vivid dream I was sure they really were closing down.

Melody you are the JFK of our life (which I guess makes Lily our Marilyn Monroe). Happy 28th Birthday little sister. I love you all the way to the Moon, and back.