GLO TATTS® X RadaPriya Exclusive Collection

Pretty excited of this one. I've been contributing design and creative ideas to my twinnie's mega metallic glow-in-the-dark temp tattoo label GLO TATTS® since its launch exactly a year ago, so when she gave me free reign to create a complete pack, my concept came quick and fast. I had my hand drawn designs within an hour, and Saci worked her magic turning them into this stunning set of wearable skin jewels

The inspirations for my designs draw on my personal style and how I like to wear body jewellery. Subtle statement pieces with a touch of romance. As a wedding dress designer and a mother, these two roles reflect in each design. Intricate floral and gem motifs that can be worn as ear cuffs and necklaces without curious little hands pulling at the delicate jewellery. White and Turquoise compliment the metallic hues and sparkle on any skin type.

Head over to GLOTATTS.COM to purchase your own. And please share using #RadaPriyaXGloTatts so we can post your images here

All Garments featured are Rada Priya Custom Designs

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...

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