Posted on Posted in life

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It’s Saturday afternoon. I was up early on a few hours of sleep to work overtime all weekend so I can save for adventures and shoes but mostly so I know I’ll be able to pay my rent. Last night was my work’s summer party, where I drank way past my 1-drink-sober limit and laughed for a solid 20 minutes about a dropped donut. When I finally pulled myself away from the Spice Girls and Biggie soundtracked dance floor to head home, I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pile of pillows (I mean, after a decent intsa-scroll and some strawberry-champagne jam on toast).

A couple of hours or a couple of minutes later I woke with a kiss as Rian slid into bed, showing up in that special unannounced way that he does which reminds me that everything’s better when you don’t have any expectations (and also that I’m perfectly content star-fishing and meticulously laying out all the pillows just how I like them but also that curling up in to the nook of his arm, which holds my head so perfectly, breathing him in, entwining all my legs with all his legs puts a soft smile on my face as I drift back to sleep, thanking the stars for this heartbeat beneath me).

I snoozed my alarm 2 or 6 times. Too snug to move. Missing our mornings. Now here I’ve been, from 8.30 until 6pm, in this building with pink chairs and grey walls and rose gold features and peach roses that only have a few days left in them. Long hours to do a little work but mostly to write and drink this smoothie and these cups of tea and write about life and all these things I want to do that have been hibernating within me.

The blog doesn’t look how I want it to look. I don’t go for brunch every day so I can’t flood Instagram with those photos. I don’t have the time or energy to curate to the same standards as the big guns. My mirror is too dirty to take outfit photos in and I really don’t want to force my boyfriend to be an Instagram Husband. My life isn’t shiny and dotted with all-expenses paid trips and photogenic make-up bags.

I can’t compete but I still kind of want to.

I want to document my life.

I want to write and speak and create these things that I spend the majority of my days thinking about. I want to talk about how excited I feel to just be alive sometimes and also about how sometimes it feels impossible to live in this expensive city and how lonely it can all feel. I want to create art with all of these colours and textures and make sounds with layers and stories. I want to write about how high I feel on love when I let myself feel it, and how somedays I wake up and it’s as if I can’t feel anything at all.

I want to write about night terrors and crying myself to sleep and feelings that feel bigger than the world. I want to write about how I’ll look around and all I can think is how lucky I am. I want to write about how to actively create a life you love even when you feel overwhelmed with just staying afloat. I want to write about trying and caring and loving endlessly even when, and especially when, it feels completely impossible.

There are people far more qualified than I. There are people who are better at this and that and people who are a hundred steps ahead, who are funnier and prettier. But just because I’m not this way or that way, it doesn’t mean that I’m not relevant.

If for no one else to read but me, a month from now, years from now, tomorrow, I want to document snippets and parts of me and my life. I want to do it all because I can’t get the words and the pictures out my mind so I might as well make something of them. I want to do it because why the fuck not?

This is not an anti-thesis. This is not going against the brunch-and-butts grain of social media. This isn’t me saying how bad that all is. That’s even more boring than the source of it all, anyway. This is me recognising that we are all relevant, in the truest, messiest, most annoying versions of ourselves.

5 Things To Do On Your Commute

Posted on Posted in how to

 photo 5 things to do on your commute - PIXIE and PIXIER_zps62opmiaz.jpgCommuting is usually straight up balls. It can be crowded and long, making a pretty gross sandwich to start and end your work day. But, for a lot of us, it is inescapbale. Girls gotta pay the bills, ammirite?

There are ways to make your commute less balls. Here are 5…


Having a book with you all the time is the best way to actually make a dent in your ever-growing reading list (no shit, Sherlock!). I’ve been consistently reading at least one book a week and the only way to do this is to have it as an option. Carry a book with you and you’ll realise how much time every single day you really have to read. Austin Kleon wrote this cool post about how to read more. Time flies so much when you’re engrossed in some sticky pages (careful though, I have missed my tube stop way too many times after being a tad too engrossed!).


Probs the most obvious and what the majority of people already do, but take the time to listen to music. This is maybe the easiest and most passive option but I recommend making some conscious mood-altering playlists (I’ll all for a bit of Lovely Day in the morning).

Podcasts are a magical way to feel productive by not really doing anything. The library of podcasts available now is inspiring. Dude, you can learn a language on your commute! (I’ve been listening to Italian lessons lately). These are some podcasts I’ve been digging as of late: Elizabeth Gilbert’s Magic Lessons, Girlboss, and Art for your ear.


Maybe best to save the chanting but your commute can be the perfect opportunity to squeeze in some meditation. You don’t need an alter, a floor mat, or the whiff of incense, after all. Sit and be still with yourself for a while.


This can have you feeling a little uncomfortable with the of fear of The Over The Shoulder Reader but take comfort in the fact that nobody really cares what you’re doing. If your handwriting gets as scribbly as mine can no one will even be able to read it and if they can, well, hey, they’ve just received a free insight into how totally fucking rad you are. Write lists, morning pages, ideas, sketch out ideas you’ve been toying over, write a freaking book if you want!

Put On Your Make-up

I consistently leave my apartment at least 10 minutes later than I ever should (a burden of holding those extra few minutes between the cosy sheets ever so dearly) and thus surrender myself to the challenge of The Tube Beauty Club. It’s an actual skill. Not only will this vastly improve your hand-eye co-ordination but you’ll also provide much-appreciated entertainment to fellow travellers (why is it so mesmerising to watch other people put make-up on? I will straight-up stare with unfaltering eye contact any anyone putting their face on. It’s pretty much Youtube Live).


Commuting can be a bit like a mini flight. You know where you have this stretch of time where you can’t really do much else except what is in front of you so you end up actually making pretty good strides? Take advantage of the time and use it well for yourself.



How To Be An Artist

Posted on Posted in art, how to

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This is a question I’ve asked myself a lot and just couldn’t quite figure out.

The world of art can feel so impenetrable. I always loved the idea of being an artist, spending my days painting and making stuff, and living out all my magical creative dreams. But how could I make that happen?

People get pretty sketchy around the word “artist” (pun totally intended). The terminology, and the art world at large, can be grossly elitist. After all, it’s people paying a fair bit of money for pure beauty. We don’t need art. It’s brilliant and it’s magic and it sets my heart on fire, but art is a complete luxury. And, maybe even more than money, art is a luxury of time. Art can only really be practiced by those who have time (or those who diligently make time) and, haven’t you heard? – time is money. So, art is this thing for the rich. Art is a luxury to be attained and pursued. We don’t need art but we want it. Oh, how we want it.

I didn’t go to art school. I thought about it. A lot. I still do. I’ve imagine alternate lives where I spent days in the studio instead of the labs. I think about how far along I’d be with my art practice now and how my life could be different. But mostly, the reasons I wish I’d have gone to art school comes down to the literal time that I would have spent deeply immersed in art.

Sure, people told me that I shouldn’t go to art school but they are not to be blamed. I was the one who listened. For whatever reason I wasn’t ready and I wasn’t brave enough to simply listen to my own wants and desires.

I think I might be ready now. I think that now I’m ready to commit to making art. I mean, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t making art but it’s been largely passive. It’s been bound to stuff I was making to make money. It’s been art where I was a bit distant from the subject because I kept thinking “I’m not a real artist, I didn’t study art, so I don’t know how to do it like that.”

For the past few months I’ve just been making. I’ve painted more this year than in the rest of my life combined. I’ve been completely content with my gaze at the end of a paintbrush for hours and hours and I’ve been entirely enraged that my skills aren’t up to the level I want them to be just yet. But I’m getting better. Everything I paint is better than the last. As these paintings are coming together and I take a step back, from what’s been inches from my face for so long, I feel so very proud of myself.

Something that feels really truly lovely is that with everything I create, I’ve been feeling more and more like myself. Isn’t that amazing? I feel like I’m re-aligning myself to who I am and I’ve never have it feel so obvious and literal. It’s pretty surreal. It’s like looking through old photographs and recognising yourself, except the photographs are brand new and happening all around me.

Here’s the thing:

I didn’t study art professionally. I don’t have an expansive portfolio or even much history of work I’ve made. But then, isn’t that the problem? I wasn’t classing myself as an artist because I wasn’t making art. I wanted the title but wasn’t even working towards it!

I remember a few years ago my nephew introduced me to his friends as his “aunt, the artist.” It is, to this very day, the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me. As a kid, he didn’t need to see my CV to see me as an artist. He just saw me making art. It’s that simple.

So, make your art. Pour your heart and your soul into it. Wake up early and go to bed late. Commit to a life of paint stained hands and clothes, an obsession with fonts, and a constant stream of ideas that it is your absolute right and purpose to put into fruition.

So, you want to know how to become an artist?

Make art.

Fucking do it.



5 Reasons Why I Stopped Blogging For 2 Years

Posted on Posted in blogging

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Over the past two years my blog has been a disjointed series of apology posts and promises to myself to start again and get in the flow.

So I’d get amped up, write excited lists and get deeply involved with Pinterest and Instagram. Then the time would somehow quickly pass between posts. I’d post once or twice then never again for a few months before inspiration started to twinkle again and I’d feel the familiar influx of ideas. This cycle and been going on and on for 2 years now and this could just be another chapter of that or this could be me publicly stating that I want to make shit happen and I will.

In an attempt to start on a different track I’m gonna hone in, look my shortcomings in their squinty little eyes, and call bullshit on myself.

Here are the 5 reasons why I stopped blogging for 2 entire years:

1. Life.

Ahhh life man. So, I moved from the Gold Coast, Australia (Goldie, mate!) all the way to London. I brought with me 2 bulging suitcases and I knew one person here. I totally flipped the switch on my entire world, leaving my routine, shop workspace, and way of life behind to form a completely new one. This took away any form of routine I’d had and allowed me to create a new one and I didn’t make blogging a part of that.

2. Living.

Now this is to say that this new form of life is by no means a hindrance. I am so pleased with my past self for being so brave and allowing me the freedom to create a life for myself here. I am surrounded by more love than I can ever imagine, I live in a city I love with a home, and a job, and these friends, and so much goodness and i’ve just been soaking it all up. There’s been so much newness in my life that figuring out how to be online simply hasn’t been a priority for me. 

3. Slothing.

London is freaking expensive and a girl has gotta pay her rent. I work a 9 to 5 for the first time in my life and that, alongside having a life and my Netflix schedule, is pretty draining. I’ll have every intention to work on this growing list of projects when I get home but then I’ll go out after work or my bed will look deliciously cosy and i’ll accidentally fall into an hour long nap followed by eating all the foods and re-watcing The Office. Most of the time, though, I’ll be watching videos or reading articles about the things that I want to do which bring me to my next point…

4. Overwhelm.

There is just sooooo much. I refer to this clearly lazy part of my life as my hibernation. I’ve been piecing together all these ideas and plans and knowing that one day I’ll bring them into fruition. But do you know how overwhelming that is? Letting everything build up has brought me to the point where I feel almost immobilised by the amount of work I want to be doing. I’ve had no where I should begin so I haven’t! when you’re consuming so much there is little space left to create and the thoughts and ideas gets built up, where they could be combining and crystallising, but, more often than not, they’ll get flooded out by the constant stream of scrolling.

5. Feeling Gross.

This is a chicken and the egg kind of situation. I’ve been going through some sucky patches of not feeling so great about myself. It’s not at all self-hate but it’s definitely not self-love. One minute I’ll be straight up feelin’ myself and then i’ll just constantly be rolling my eyes at the unproductive sea urchin I’m allowing myself to become. Now, because I’m mad at myself for not being active with my passions and my dreams, I’ve been feeling crap about my ability to make anything of value which has made me give up almost entirely. It goes round and round and is so very boring!

None of these reasons are all-encompassing. None explain why I simply had to quit or I had to take a break or stop working on something that I do really love. That makes me kick myself because it’s 100% me and not circumstance, however, this means that I can 100% fix this shit. I can start making again, just like that.

The moral of the story, my sweet honey bees, is that it simply does not matter if you stopped, or why, or how long ago, or even if you never started.

All we ever have is now. So do now what ever it may be that makes you happy or makes your heart sing.

Do the stuff that makes you feel like a boss and do it for yourself.

For the most part these 5 reasons have been lifestyle based. They’re ways to hold myself responsible for why I haven’t made the time or effort to blog but there’s a much larger reason as to why these even accumulated: I didn’t have a purpose to blog. 

When something requires time and effort, which blogging definitely does, you need to have a drive behind it that forces you to get to work. I didn’t have that. I lost the point to why I was blogging. I lost interest with running a typical lifestyle blog and I lost interest with the kind of work I was creating. So why bother? With no motive and only a loose target to “keep blogging” there isn’t much hope.

Right now, the reason I’m writing this post and the reason I’ve been scribbling ideas in notepads, on my phone, and countless text documents, is because I’m getting really close to figuring out exactly what it is I want to be talking about.

So, you want to blog? You want to commit to creating and producing and putting stuff out there? Well, just figure out what it is you want (need) to put out there and it will flow. You won’t struggle for ideas, you’ll struggle with too many ideas, which is a lovely problem to have.

Figure out your why, my pretties.