Mood: Photography

Mannequins. Eyes that Follow You.

Mannequins freak me out little, particularly ones from the 1930s to 1980s. Those succeeding and preceding those times seem to be fine. I’m not sure if I’m weirded out by the eyes which seem to follow me around the room or down the street, or if it’s that stupid placating almost dreamy expression on their faces.

To be honest, their proportions kind of annoy me also, for no other reason than women in today’s society are made up of a plethora of varied and equally beautiful body proportions, not just the stock standard 36, 26, 26 (or whatever it’s meant to be). Continue Reading →

Beverley Hills 1977

This candid series of photographs was captured in 1977 by a young man, Brad Elterman at a private party behind the Beverly Hills Hotel:


“I think John Rockwell invited me to this party. Behind the Beverly Hills Hotel is a huge mansion owned by David Lane. I knew many of the guests, although an older crowd for me because I was just out of my teens. It was a warm sunny afternoon. I was standing next to the bar trying to get a Seven-Up. Suddenly, this lovely girl started to strip down right in front of me. I only had a wide-angle 28 mm camera lens, not really wide enough for the moment, so I backed up as far as I could, almost knocking over the bar. You have to do the best you can in these situations.” – Photographer Brad Elterman

Marilyn Monroe. Rare Images

John Vachon only had the opportunity to photograph Marilyn Monroe once in his lifetime. It was August 1953 whilst she was off-duty due to a broken left ankle on location during the filming of ‘River of No Return’ in Banff, Alberta, Canada.

Nautical Necessities

To accompany this theme we decided to showcase one of our
more nautical inspired one-off collectible pieces.

‘Our Lady of the Vast Ocean’ is a stunning exclusive piece handcrafted in our Byron Bay studio. Featuring a vintage nautical brass pendant, ostrich egg shell disk beads from Kenya, cowry shell clusters from East Timor, solid brass cowry shell pendants, antique decorative glass beading from Nepal, with wooden and glass beading on knotted hemp with an adjustable brass chain.
AUD $369

‘After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.’
- Aldous Huxley

Underwater Love

Being a Scorpio, one of the water signs, anything to do with water entices me. From a young age I would submerge myself in the bathtub and let the sounds of my world drown out to nothingness. I even enjoyed doing the dishes and still do.

My Mum tells a great story which I vaguely have a memory of, from when I was about 4 or 5 years old. It was a weekend and in my cutest little 4 or 5 year old voice, I’d asked Mum if I could help by doing the dishes for her whilst she was outside gardening.

We had a set of tall breakfast bench seats made from pinewood, one of which she brought over to our double stainless steel kitchen sink in preparation for the task at hand. She then filled one of the sinks with warm soapy water to wash the dishes and then the other with plain warm water to rinse the dishes. Mum propped me up on the seat, put a dishcloth in one hand and left me to it.

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W O O D S T O C K…. A Weekend Firmly Planted in Musical History.

I’m not really a festival type of girl. Large crowds kind of freak me out and I seem to experience this type of over sensory sensation like a child on Christmas Day charged up on lollies, then given too many presents. It’s a cross between elated excitement, anxiety and confusion.

If I was born back in 1969, or even in the festival attending age, I would definitely love to have been a part of Woodstock. Not only was it a notable moment in history, it was so much more than that: a gathering of free spirits, wild ones, music lovers and a group of people who unknowingly would undoubtedly shape generations to come.


I’m not much of a daydreamer, other than spotting a cute guy in the fruit and vegetable aisle of the supermarket, then for the remainder of my shopping experience, I imagine we have fallen madly in love, married, raised beautiful children, fallen out of love, then into hatred, and finally amicably divorcing all by the time I’ve made it to the express checkout with my milk and bread, and perhaps two other items of necessity!

So this post is dedicated to all those daydreamers out there, the ‘real’ ones, not just the phony ones like me who only do so in the supermarket or when I see a super attractive man.

P A R I S – If the Truth be Told.

Although I love the idea of Paris, I have to be sheepishly honest and tell you I’ve never been. But what’s more embarrassingly so, it’s the tale of a lone orange which has stuck in my mind and holds me back every time the city is mentioned.

The story of the lone orange was a travelling tale told by a fellow Australian: He visited the capital almost a decade ago with his mere Grade 8 knowledge of the language (a darn sight more than I possess let me tell you). Upon entering a café where beautiful women ate egg whites all around him, he asked the waiter for an orange juice.  After several moments, and possibly a chorus of chuckles from the kitchen, the waiter returned with a glass vessel in hand holding a minuscule amount of orange juice in it. When my friend asked quite politely (in English) “where is the rest of the juice?” the waiter replied, “Sir, you asked for an orange juice… and this is the juice of an orange.”!



There is something eerily beautiful about mist; small droplets of water suspended, floating silently through the air, thickening it like a cloud of hazy nothingness. Water yet to be risen.

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Celebrating the Fro

It’s impossible not to notice a good afro, or even a bad one for that matter. I love them regardless if it’s a vintage style afro sported with a pair or bell-bottoms, or it’s a more unruly one belonging to a child.

All afros, regardless of what era they are from, seem to unequivocally demand our attention. They are like a walking art instillation, often wild and unruly. Only the brave would attempt to tame such a beast.

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Wild & Free

When I ponder the words ‘wild’ and ‘free’ the imagery that arises for me is centred around barren dusty vast landscapes, wild horses, naked bodies adorned in feathers, sun kissed skin and the odd pair of cowgirl boots.

I often wonder what it would be like to live in the desert with all its apparent limitless space to contemplate life, birds with the grandest of wingspans gracefully soaring overhead and the biggest, brightest most twinkling skies the night has to offer.



‘Life is for deep kisses, strange adventures, midnight swims & rambling conversations’


Growing up, often you are drawn to those qualities or physical attributes in people, which you don’t possess yourself. In my case, I was always secretly stealing glimpses across the classroom or the playground at the only red haired girl in our class. Her looks bewildered me; flaming red tangled hair, beautiful pale almost translucent skin and freckles on her face for every star in the Milky Way.

I was often teased at school, not for the colour of my hair, but for the dark tone of my European skin. She was also taunted fiercely about the way she looked from the other, more generic Anglo-Saxon looking students.  I can’t remember her name, but I bet she is a true beauty today after blossoming into all her womanly magnificence.

An Australian Stowaway.

An incredible image captured in 1970 by amateur photographer John Gilpin.

Testing a new camera lens he was snapping shots of aeroplanes during take off near Sydney Airport. It wasn’t until he’d later developed his film he realised he’d unwittingly captured the 200ft plunge of a stowaway.

The stowaway was 14 year old Australian Keith Sapsford. He had climbed aboard the Japan Airlines Tokyo bound flight unnoticed, and either slipped, jumped from fright, or had been dislodged by moving equipment.

His father reportedly said “All my son wanted to do was see the world”.

Fathers Day of a Different Kind…

I like to think Angels walk amongst us in everyday life silently appearing, protecting and wrapping us in their wings during our darkest moments.

I lost my Dad suddenly when I was 21 and clearly remember amongst those first few weeks of chaotic and intense grief having these extraordinary moments of beautiful reprieve where a feeling of utter serenity, peace and unfathomable love would wash over me from head to toe, lasting only moments.  I liken it to the feeling of diving under the lip of a wave, allowing it lick the skin from the head to toe restoring and soothing something within.

I truly believed in those micro moments my Dad had metaphysically wrapped his arms around me, kissed my forehead and had given me a pure and flawless dose of the love and strength I needed to go on.

This post is dedicated to all those who have lost their Fathers… speak to him in your heart today, you may just feel a reply.

x Nicoletta.


‘And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.’ – Friedrich Nietzsc


“Leap and the net will appear” – John Burroughs

Taking a leap of faith is easier said than done, but like most things in life it tends to be the thoughts we create around the event ~ let it be jumping from a height outside our comfort zone, or simply calling that boy we’ve liked for ages ~ that seem to physically and emotionally paralyse us more than the actual act itself.

There is strange feeling of freedom, liberation and almost a dichotomy of anxiety blended with excitement that exists when we face up, push our fears aside, say ‘what the heck’ and do it anyway.

For me personally the greatest regrets I’ve had in life are not from giving things a go, but rather from letting opportunities slide past me in life.

… Ray Bradbury the American Author once said: “Jump and you will find out how to unfold your wings as you fall”.


Feeling Fabulous with Floral

SPRING: The air smells different, the birds seem chirpier than usual today, as do my housemates.  Flowers undeniably add that extra splice of beauty to each day. Lift your head toward the sky, smell the air, smile at a passerby, take an evening stroll, open your eyes to the beauty of Springtime, and DEFINITELY pick yourself a small posy of natures little wonders to pop next to your bedside or your work desk.


float•ing (flō’ting) – adj. Having little or no attachment to a particular place; moving from one place to another.

From as young as I remember, I recall having the ability to float in my dreams, jumping off random cliff tops into the breeze and gently floating downwards close to the shoreline where waves crashed violently on rocks covered by seagull poop… That particular image is still so vivid in my mind and inspired me to share these dazzling images with you.

The London Blitz

War images often render me speechless.  They fill me with awe and wonder… they move something within I don’t quite understand. I feel immense gratitude for those people who have endured these times.  So when I’m walking down the street, and I see an elderly person, I always offer a warm smile because you never really know who they are, the struggles they’ve overcome, or what they have endured in their lives.

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Feathered Frocks

There is something intrinsically extravagant about feathered frocks, perhaps it’s because I live in a small costal town where people mainly kick around in super casual wear like bikinis and shorts in summer, or jeans and t-shirts in winter. On the rare occasion that you do see someone even slightly dressed up is when they are either off to a wedding or making an appearance in court!

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Urban Angels

I like the idea of urban angels, celestial city dwellers gifted with invisible wings waiting patiently around the corner, at the cinema or on the subway ready to mop up after our mistakes. They protect us from daily mishaps, or help us avoid that certain situation by intercepting a moment in time. I doubt they exist, but I like to think they do.