As 2011 comes to a close it’s time for some reflection, after all this is Reflections From a Red Head after all! I started dedicating every Monday to photography way back in March 2011, really as a prompt for me … Continue reading
Tag Archives: Perth Western Australia
Photos of Kalgoorlie
Gallery
This gallery contains 13 photos.
On the weekend of the 2nd of December, my partner Denis, my dog Kahlua, and Den’s kids – Chelsea and Mason, and myself hit the road for the 8 hour drive to Kalgoorlie. It was the kids first trip to … Continue reading
The Red Heads Homage to Photography: Nature
5
Today’s photos come to you courtesy of my partner, Denis Defontaine. They were taken on a ‘family walk’ last weekend (family consisting of our pooch, Denis and I).
It truly is amazing what you can find when you get out in the open air and open your eyes to what is around you!
If you are interested in seeing more of Denis’ artwork, you can find him at http://ArrogantOne.deviantart.com/
Simple really is best
Today’s post for ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series comes from yours truly 
Janine, The Bogan Teenager
Wikipedia defines the term bogan as:
‘Australian slang, usually pejorative or self-deprecating, for an individual who is recognised to be from a lower class background or someone whose limited education, speech, clothing, attitude and behaviour exemplifies such a background’.
Interesting.
I’ve never quite thought of myself or my family that way…I mean, we wore black Faberge jeans and flannelette shirts. My Dad rode motor bikes, wandered around with a pack of Winnie blues up his sleeve, and loved to drink rum. We all loved rock music. And yes – we didn’t have a lot of money.
In the 80′s we lived in a mining town called Kalgoorlie, populated by men with tattoos who road large, loud motor bikes, and came home every day from working in the mines – and having stopped at the local TAB to place a bet on the races – grotty and smelling like oil and beer. The women, well, half of them did it tough looking after their families, and rarely themselves. The other half worked in the infamous Hay Street brothels or as ‘skimpy‘ (scantily clad) barmaids.
I spent a lot of time riding my bike on the big, wide roads or gravel tracks, ‘growing’ frogs in the steel drum at my friends place, staging dance concerts to Mum on the wood pylons lying on the back yard (notably to the Bangles ‘Manic Monday’), and freaking out at the site of a monster red/orange centipede.
As kids, my brother, sister and I hung out at the pub with our folks and their friends, listening to Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin and The Doors, trying to imitate the adults by playing pool and darts, or wishing we could get lucky on the used bingo cards lying around the place. We also sat around the open fire in the bush at night, listening to music, the reverberations from the sounds of the motorbikes going through your chest, pretending to sleep, but really waiting for the spuds (potatoes) to cook under the ashes – only to be slathered by butter and salt and devoured.
Sure, it wasn’t paradise, and it certainly wasn’t all good, but I’m grateful for growing up the way I did. It taught me the value of money – especially thinking back to Mum skipping meals so that she could feed her three kids baked beans on toast – and then worrying about what to feed the three dogs.
It taught me not to not judge people by appearances – ‘scruffy’ people, or people who rode bikes, wore black or looked rough, well they can turn out to be the most funniest, lovely or most philosophical people.
It also taught me to care for every living thing – so much so that I can’t even kill an ant. Mum and Dad brought home injured birds and lizards, we had horses. Mum tried to resuscitate a chicken once because it accidentally drowned.
But, most of all it taught me to be grateful for what I’ve got, for the family I have, to not be embarrassed of my roots, and that simple really is best.
A Red Heads Homage to Photography
Gallery
This gallery contains 2 photos.
Today brings with it a new name – A Red Heads Homage to Photography. I threw away the name “Monday Photo-day”. I never liked it much anyway – it was just a name I chose as a temporary title for … Continue reading
Monday Photo-day: Glorious Spring
Gallery
This gallery contains 4 photos.
For those in my home town of Perth, well, we all know it’s been a pretty horrendous week for the dreaded hay-fever. I mean, even people who have never suffered – even slightly – from hay-fever before, well, they are … Continue reading
This is Me and I’m Not Ashamed
Today’s post in ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series comes to you from Piriye Altraide, whom I had the pleasure of meeting in 2010. We connected over a common love for writing and the dream of one day doing what we love for a living. I will let Piri tell you the rest.
 Piriye Piriye Altraide is an African-born Aussie, who was mostly raised in Perth but classifies herself as ‘a child of the world.’ In Piri’s words: ‘I love to travel, write and experience culture and the arts. Currently occupying my days is accountancy, but I’m hoping to eventually write full-time. Rotaract and volunteering are also a huge part of my life. Not so secretly, I’m toying with the idea of the ‘great move’ to Melbourne, lured by the suggestion of greater culture and passion. There’s only one way to find out!Finally I believe you only live once, so one must ‘Carpe Diem’!” |
When at first I took out my hair extensions… The long ones I had in before the beginning of this year, well, I expected to feel this sudden sense of freedom. Like “Yes, go civil rights! Time for a return to the *natural* woman.” That kind of thing you know, rah di rah. Instead I felt strangely the opposite. So burdened. A slave-like person reflected back at me from the mirror.
It was like I was weighted down and encumbered by this hair. This hair that seemed to hold us back. Back to this imposed position of “lower than thou”. Not beautiful enough, says the Western world. So meagre. So plain. So “slave”.
I tried to then think how to focus on the face. The eyes, the lips… to be brought to focus. So that people wouldn’t notice the hair. A challenge for me. Something a little different for me. Which was good. It was forcing me to think outside the box.
For those who haven’t had the dilemma of “good hair” this may seem… strange. “What would help is understanding…” Because then it wouldn’t be awkward or weird to try and describe it. Because then there would simply be an understanding. Without the need for any words…
And yet, from this single moment I felt more words pouring out of me. Forming within me. Something I always wanted to say, and express. As the new year dawned on me, as again I attempted to tackle this recurring demon of ‘identity’. Discovering who I needed to be. And so as usual I let the thoughts flow. Tamed, for your convenience, but not fully unrestrained…
“I want to be an interpreter of diversity,
An investigator of human psychology,
Philosophy.
I want to document the “ways”, and “why’s” and “how’s”.
The “if’s”, the “buts”, the “now’s”.
Why people think the way they do,
The mysteries of the human view.
To BE
To SEE
To DO.”
“No, I don’t want to do anything more. Go anywhere.
I just want to sit down and write… Write about expectations.
Write about what people expect of me.
Write about what should and shouldn’t be.”
I truly believe you should see a person for who they are, hold them accountable for who they are, before you even see what colour you are. Expect from me based on the person I am, and not based on any background. Any creed. Any race. Or, not expect at all.
Whether I should be expected to like African guys, or not like African guys?
Whether I should like hip hop, or not like hip hop?
Whether I follow more post rock,
Indie,
Punk,
Jazz,
Blues,
Pop,
Soul…
Or any other genre.
Or whether I don’t.
Whether I dress classy,
Or whether I chuck on some high-top sneakers.
Or punk chains.
Whether I do or not…
(I finally realised)
Is up to me.
It’s up to… me!
So whosoever would try, stop putting me in a box.
Whether I bounce to Raggamuffin,
Or rock out to Big Day Out.
Just because you see my skin
There is suddenly a list of expectations
Of what I should do,
Or be?
Instead I’m sorry- I’m just me.
And whatever I choose to be, I be!
And so accept that… Accept that that is me!
Finally, I stop feeling guilty about it. I don’t have to be static in one genre, taste or image. I can be whoever I like, whenever I like, and that’s it. And that’s me. If one day I want to put on the African hat – fine. That should be accepted. Another day I become European, then fine. No crap about it. No qualms. Only be broad-minded.
To accept that people are influenced by so many cultures in all. That really, we are children of the world. Not one race or another, but a wonderful fusion of whatever we choose to accept and grasp and love as our own. And let each one be to whatever part of that he or she so-ever chooses. Leave them be. And let them take. And let them love. For their own.
***
Then, well, it was at that point – I had to look in the mirror and accept what I saw. I had to look in the mirror and say: “This is me… and I’m not ashamed.”
We all need to do that, every once in the while. To look in the mirror, and accept you. To look in the mirror and finally say, with overwhelming relief: “This is me… And I’m not ashamed.”
You Inspire Me
Whilst I was at University in 1997 I dated a Chinese boy. To me, he was just a guy who had the same interest in creative writing as me, and was studying Radio Broadcasting with a good friend of mine. We hit it off. He made me laugh. He also wanted to read my writing. No one had ever wanted to read my writing before. It was terrifying. And then he asked me out. That was even more terrifying, as I’d never had a boyfriend before. I decided to take the plunge and said yes.
For our first date he took me to dinner at a quaint little restaurant. I think it was Italian, as back then Italian was my favourite food, and it was all about me : ) I don’t remember much else, apart from one thing – the looks we were getting, from most people. A pale red-head girl and a tall, lanky Chinese boy sitting at the same table in a romantic restaurant – how so?
Those looks continued throughout our brief relationship, and I couldn’t quite understand it back then, as to me we are all people. Even when I met his mother and she called me an ‘evil Western girl’ who would ‘corrupt’ her son – well, I couldn’t understand that either.
We didn’t last, but it wasn’t because of those ‘against’ us. It was because I wasn’t ready for a relationship, and had issues to deal with (plus I preferred him as a friend, minus the complications of intimacy and all that guff).
So it was a surprise when, whilst out at lunch with Denis on Monday (in the year 2011) – enjoying my first official day of unemployment at a cafe on the coast – we got looks. Denis had gone up to the counter to order, and I was sitting in the sun, soaking it and my new-found freedom up. I looked over to Denis, glowing with this strange feeling (happiness?), and there was a woman looking from me, to Denis, back to me, to Denis, back to me, to Denis. She had a look of confusion combined with slight distaste on her face. I caught her eye and gave her a look that hinted at the following: ‘Yes – a pale, red-head woman AND an Anglo-Indian man TOGETHER at lunch…’ Now I’m not usually a smart-ass, and that wasn’t the ‘look’ I was going for, but in this day and age, in the world we live in – especially in Australia which is as multi-cultural as they come – you would think we wouldn’t get these looks still.
I could think about it this way though, which is what Denis tells me to think on occassion – we are just one good-looking couple…
Denis & Janine
Yes, that’s it!
On a serious note though, it is moments like these that have spawned me onto starting ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series. And so, to all of those onlookers, I say thank you. You are my inspiration.
Have you experienced anything like this? Why? How did you feel?
If you would like to be a part of ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series, please contact me at janine.ripper@gmail.com.
I would love to share your story.
Monday Photo-day: Featured Photographer Julissa Shrewsbury
Gallery
This gallery contains 4 photos.
From this week on I’m opening up Monday’s Photo-day feature on Reflections from a Red Head to other lovers of the art-form, and other budding / up-and-coming uber-talented photographers (Please contact me if you are interested in being featured). This … Continue reading
An Exert from a Travel Journal: Embarking on a European Adventure (2008)
This is in exert from the start of a travel journal I wrote in 2008. I have many travel journals and hope to use them to create my own book one day.
The countdown is on – only two sleeps until we fly out.
It’s been exactly three years since I returned to my home town, Perth, from my 9 1/2 month adventure in Europe and UK – the stress of running out of money in Europe, the insanity of working and living in a crazy English pub which at times was cut off from civilisation due to floods, meeting some not-to-nice people, whilst also making some fabulous long term friends and getting to know my beautiful English family.
I ended up skulking home not really wanting to return to Perth - but knowing that I needed to come home, and that I was doing the right thing (damn my conscience!). I hadn’t planned to be ‘home’ long, I know that much. I had come home to see my family, and to deal with what I had left behind – a lovestruck boy whom had waited patiently for me whilst I had gone off ‘to find myself’.
The strangest things happen when you least expect it…life, love, living…
Us near Wembley Stadium, England
Three years later and I am FINALLY heading back to Europe, be it only for 4 1/2 weeks. This time I’m heading over there with my sister, Eloise, and my ‘new’ partner Denis in tow. What makes this really exciting is that they are ‘virgins’. Denis has only been to Bali, and Eloise hasn’t even been out of the country. It’s so very exciting.
I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when we land in Roma (after we have initially gotten over the jet lag, over-tiredness, and the wanting to kill each other stage).
I also can’t wait to see my English family again. I miss them so much. And my friends…It’s really hard having your best friends scattered around the world, and not within reach in the same town. It does give you even more of a reason to get out there and see the world though!
But most of all I can’t wait to walk the streets of Roma, rediscovering the ruins, losing my breath viewing ‘la pieta’ and the Cistine Chapel once again. And then exploring the food, art and people of Paris – the one place in the world I have felt most alive.