Me at the Museum, You at the Wintergardens.

This stunning song by Tiny Ruins.

With a beautiful little video made by Neil Finn.

Homecoming.

It's cold here, but not as cool as the cold in this beautiful snap. 

I'm trying to come back to this world.

Soon. 

(pic via The Yard)

New Year's Eve with Zooey and Joey.

Happy New Year's Eve darlings. xo

On the first day of Christmas...

When I was a little girl, the last week of November was a torturous time. I would anxiously spy on the clock, waiting for the days to tick by until finally it would land on the first day of December.

I had decided that day would be the start of my Christmas campaign, a festive assault on my poor, unsuspecting family.  I would pester Dad to cut a branch from the lone pine tree on the banks of our little creek and stand watch like a little general making sure it was as close to Hollywood-perfect as possible.  Let's just say it wasn't always the most beautiful but that's often the case with real stuff.

As Mum pulled the box of Christmas decorations down from the top cupboard in the spare bedroom I would eagerly wait below, arms outstretched, ready to accept the treasures. The box would be haphazardly packed with a hotchpotch of trinkets: tiny glass-like ornaments, snakes of tinsel, a little straw angel.  I would diligently dress the tree as it sat politely - my most supportive Christmas ally - between the piano and the wood heater, calling for help to place the angel on top of the highest branch. 

The following weeks would be filled with festivities. I remember fossicking through the cupboard for my favourite John Denver Christmas record; thumping out Silent Night on the piano as the daily house soundtrack; sitting on the verandah podding fresh peas with my dear Granny; and deeply inhaling the welcome smells of plum puddings boiling away while apricot sauce, laced with brandy, warmed on the stove. 

To be honest, not much has changed in that years since that little girl has become a (mostly) fully-formed adult.  My heart still bursts when the crackling record player fills the house with old carols and friends drop into our family farm for a Christmas tipple.  I adore buying thoughtful presents for my family and dear friends, having an woozy afternoon nap after overdoing it at Christmas lunch and packing my bag for our annual Boxing Day roadtrip to the beach.  

But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves.  We have 24 days to go my dears! Silver bells...  

The Glass House.

I am totally enamoured with this.

Completely.

Pier Crushing.

Lately I've been overcome with a dream to build a pier on the weir just a stumble down the road from my homeland.

I would ride my bike down, with a cushion and a book in its basket, and laze about with one foot dangling in the water.

I would walk along hand-in-hand with a friend and then cheekily push them off before diving in myself.

I would strap a kayak to the top of my car, mosey on down and carefully plop it in the water - jumping in for an afternoon glide.

I would pack a picnic basket with gooey cheeses, champagne and a sounddock and listen to Fleet 

Foxes at dusk.

I would, truly I would.

If I build it, will you come?

(pic 1, pic 2)

Roadtrips with The Paper Kites.

This afternoon I hit the highway only a whisker ahead of peak hour madness, smiling happily as the busy roads, sneakily sandwiched between city housing blocks, slowly gave way to sweeping views of bright green, undulating lands. 

As I zoomed along the highway the sun sprayed shades of yellow, burnt orange and fiery pink across the landscape, changing hues with each passing minute. 

I saw frame after frame of country goodness: cows lolling on the banks of dams, no doubt seeking respite from the warm springtime day; bales of silage tightly wrapped in mint-green plastic and lined up in neat rows across the paddocks; and a kamikaze cockatoo that swooped cheekily, and somewhat stupidly, across my windscreen to reach the other side of the road and, perhaps to take a peek at some freshly killed roadkill. 

All the while this beautiful new album States by The Paper Kites shared my journey.  From the first bars I knew this lush, atmospheric collection with its understated, lilting melodies and (good) lazy riffs would be my perfect roadtrip companion.  It didn't disappoint. 

The Invitation.

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, 'Yes.'

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

 -- Oriah Mountain Dreamer

(pic via the yard, thanks to Sarah Capper for the reminder!)

Overgrowth.

Overgrowth is an ongoing collaboration between photographer Parker Fitzgerald and floral designer Riley Messina.  

I'm crushing on all of these beautiful photographs and limited edition prints have just gone on sale.  

Overgrowth will be exhibiting in Japan beginning 11 September 2013. 

Home is Where You Park It.

In July 2011, Foster Huntington left his job in New York City, bought a VW Canagon and hit the road with the hope of "addressing the voice in the back of my mind that was constantly saying there was more to life".

For the past two years Foster has been travelling around the US and he started taking photos of vans and other campers that he came across in his travels.

“Not until experiencing something for myself can I really appreciate it. Call me thick headed, but it’s been true about autumn in New England, sex, and most recently, camper vehicles, or as I call it, van life. I purchased my Syncro with no prior knowledge of van life. Operating on the assumption that I liked the freedom and exploration offered by living out of a van, I committed to trying it out. A handful of interesting people’s stories of the road reassured me that it was the right thing to do. Ships of the open road are hard to understand when you’re not sailing them. Now that I am sailing my own, I have grown to appreciate the breed of adventurers they attract and the vehicles they drive."

Foster is releasing his second book, Home is Where You Park It, in March 2014 and he has launched a Kickstarter project to fund it. 

It has one more week to hit its target - go on, hitch a ride! 

This Old Drive.

Home. 

A camping we will go...

My extended family goes camping regularly - at the beach over summer and in the country hills in autumn over Easter.  It has been a constant in my life and one of my great joys.

Since 2010, when I made a deliberate decision to live a life full of happiness and adventuring, 'GO CAMPING' has stayed at the top of my various to-do and dream lists.

I know tents and hole-in-ground loos are not for everyone.  But you can also camp in huts and cabins and chalets and modernist boxes in forests.  For me, 'camping' and the urge to constantly do it has become more than falling asleep in a contraption made from poles and canvas (which I love like nothing else); it is about welcoming a different space - involving deeper breathing, an open mind and an adventuring heart.  It's travelling to somewhere different to your home and surrounding yourself with nature.

I find it bemusing how much hunting, fishing, canoeing, adventuring, mountaineering etcetera have become the latest 'thing' when, for country people, they are quite literally a daily reality.  But I also just love it, because the logos and designs and endless photographs of hills and streams and mountains are so freaking rad. And I'm a sucker for that and movies like Moonrise Kingdom just make my little heart swell and my chest puff out with pride and excitement.  Whether it's aspiration or inspiration or complete fantasy, I don't care - as long as more people make it out of the city streets and into the country hills then it doesn't matter what inspired them to do it.

I'm off to the High Country today to begin my slow breathing/adventuring sojourn.  I can't wait to pack up my little car on the weekends and head for the hills.  A camping we will go, a camping we will go!

Girls.

This is terribly funny!

It's All Good.

Oh yes it is.

(pic: Rob Kalmbach)

The Calm Before The Clearing.

I've been in a funny transition period.  A period that has lasted for, um, about 7 years.

I had such an idyllic upbringing that just meandered along so beautifully until my early twenties.  Of course it wasn't all sandcastles and margaritas - I fell in and out of love, lost and re-found friends, won prizes and criticism, left home for the big smoke where the cycles were again repeated in new territory; I had a healthily undulating life.  But it wasn't horrid or hard to the point where I questioned things in a dramatic sense.

And then tiny threads started to pull and come apart.

My seas have been gathering a bit of confidence, and over the past seven years they've been sneakily dishing up the curveballs.  For the first five years I'd been sailing through like a pro - deftly navigating an unexpected swell; brushing myself off as the lines tightened my sails; adjusting my sou'wester when the rains hit a little harder than before.

But, as we know, an ocean storm slowly gathers confidence, building to a squall.  And I've been in its sights.  This little pocket is tossing me around ferociously, like a final spin cycle.

I keep imagining the clearing; just when you think you've had enough, that you cannot possibly take another hit, it just stops. The skies clear, the seas flatten out and the sun comes bounding out from behind the clouds. You realise you're alive.  Just.

I'm finally accepting the messages-in-bottles my ocean keeps sending and I'm going to chase some longheld little dreams.  And, as a result, this heartfilled space and my Instagram life may start to slowly chart a few different courses, I hope you'll come along for the journey.

First up is renovating the sweet bungalow (read nearly-falling-down shack) at Little Oak.  I'm heading up the highway in a week's time to get started.  I've been planning this for a few months but I'm a little shocked that the time is nearly here. When I was living in Los Angeles three years ago I wrote a 'dream bio' and one of the lines was: 'Frances splits her time between her inner-city Melbourne apartment and a bungalow at the bottom of the fruit orchard on her family farm'.

I'll share the other bits of my dreaming as they become realities. Or not.

Ahoy there me hearties.

(pic by Fanny Latour Lambert)

Eagle Eye.

So.  Some dude strapped a camera to this eagle.  Holy moly.

European Summer 2014.

I always get nervous when I am locked into something.  It's so strange because I am generally so organised, I'm a strategist in my working life for <insert your fav curse word here> sake. 

But I've always been a bit funny about it.  I like spontaneity, I get bored a bit too quickly.  Except when it's booking exciting trips to Europe which I have just done over the weekend.  Lock me in as tight as you want, baby.

Six weeks in Europe (Kent, Biarritz, San Sebastian, Avignon, Santorini, London, Paris) thankyou very much.  2014 is already looking super swell and bright. 

(I took this pic at the Musée d'Orsay in 2009. I looooooove this room.)

The World is Round So I'll Go Round.

I've been listening to the wonderful Oscar Lush's debut album on this sunny, springtime day.  

It has only just been released but I'm predicting big, exciting things for this young lad. 

Well worth a purchase at only $10, team. 

Smoochy Weekend.

Let's get romantic this weekend.

I'm in full decorating mode - my Brunswick haven is being wallpapered this morning and I'm busy Dymotaping anything that looks lonely.

I'm also about to book my flights to Europe for next July/August.  Yahoooooooooo!

Bisous.

A few recent loves...

Have you checked out The Brainery Store yet?

This engineer has engineered the most incredibly brilliant dream travel life ever.

I'm digging these works by Thomas Barbèy.
In celebration of my apartment decorating blitz I just ordered one of these special address stamps.
I want this entire Joie collection for summer. 

(pic: 'The Last Kiss' - WWII soldiers say goodbye to their sweethearts)

Ink Monsters.

I'm very much into this beautiful series by Fanny Latour Lambert in collaboration with Marcello Barcelo called Ink Monsters.  Oh, yes.