reviewed, revered

To my delightful surprise, I gave in and went to see My Week With Marilyn in cinema last week at the Como... than was lucky enough to catch on board my flight to Italy today. I say "gave in" because I cannot count the amount of dud depictions and documentaries I have seen about the life of the most famous actress that ever lived.

The first time I saw Marilyn Monroe was in one of her best films: Some Like it Hot. I was about 13. We didn't have a television in our house growing up, so when we started weekend visits to our dads house we discovered Hollywood for the the first time... old golden Hollywood through TV1.

The world of singing, dancing, actors was revealed - Gene Kelly, Toni Curtis, Jack Lemmon, Jane Russell and the most dazzling - Marilyn Monroe

Her movies opened up the world to me. She has fascinated me on the silver screen. The more I discovered about her, the more I believed that her personal torment and broken childhood contributed to the poignancy of her on screen characters. She had allure and mystery paired with a sort of childish innocence, and of course undeniable physical beauty that made her attractive to both men and woman. Unconsciously over the years I have collected every film she has ever made.

It seems as though noone really knew her, and I think that is because she didnt know herself. A week with Marilyn is a beautiful portrayal of her insecurities. Michelle Williams metamorphosed into the character with a delicate grace, that I found slightly darker than the real Marilyn Monroe - who was a fun bubbly actress that just wanted to be approved of, and loved. Truly a must see.

The Original...

The Re-make

Lovingly hanging in my office space

The Man I Was Taught to Fear

There are people we grieve twice in a lifetime. Once for who they were. And once for who we were never allowed to know. My father is one of them. When I was a child, my mother told me he was a paedophile. She didn’t whisper it. She didn’t hesitate. She said it plainly, as fact. As warning. As control. When we misbehaved, she would drop us at the greyhound station and force us to spend sleepless weekends with him. I remember the noise of the station. The way my stomach would knot. The terror that would sit in my chest at night when the lights went out. I was absolutely terrified to sleep. He was a workaholic. Twelve-hour days. Long hours. Absence disguised as provision. He would leave cash on the bench, stockpiles of food in the fridge, and the television on - a wild luxury I couldn’t enjoy because fear had already moved in. At home with my mother, we weren’t allowed a TV at all. Looking back now, my father was unemotional, but never unkind. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t offer hims...

Versions, and “Versions”

I’ve already written about The Wiiyaan as a journalist. That piece lives in the Tweed Weekly . It’s careful, respectful, measured. It honours Bundjalung origin story, place, and the quiet authority of listening. It was written for a broad audience, many of whom - like me - come from settler families, carrying our own histories alongside the land we now call home. But after filing that story, I knew I wasn’t done. Some stories ask something back from you. This one did. So this is the version that doesn’t fit in a newspaper column. This is the version that explains why that exhibition cracked something open in me - why listening to Kyle Slabb speak about holding one version of Country, with care and restraint, felt like a mirror I wasn’t expecting. Kyle spoke about perspective. About how this telling is not the story, but a story - shaped by lineage, responsibility and law. He was clear, careful, and deeply respectful of other versions held...

The Story Behind the Front Page

When I walked into the Tweed Weekly office to meet Jonathan, the editor, I was mostly just hoping I’d find the right door. I’d been asked by my friend (and journalist) Madeline Murray to fill in for her while she recovers from surgery - my first little step into local journalism. Jonathan looked up, smiled, and said: “I recognise you, you’ll be in the paper tomorrow.” The week before, Madeline and I had worked on a story about a local collaboration - I had no idea it would end up splashed across the front page. Full circle moments have a funny way of sneaking up on you. I first met Dean three years ago at TAFE - I was studying photography, and he was in graphic design. We used to talk about how incredible it would be if students from different creative disciplines actually worked together , like we would in the real world. Fast forward to now: I’m wrapping up my Diploma of Fashion Design, and Dean has just completed the same Certificate IV Photography course I once did. Afte...

Rada Priya

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