With so many grandchildren, the farm was a place of fun for us kids; we would always be jumping around in the hay shed or running off into the farmhouse to see what was cooking. The house was old and rickety, full of smells, comforting as well as pungent. We had a love/hate relationship with the cheese room - we would always hold our breaths as we ran in to get a bottle of soft drink and fizzy water for the table, the hanging salami gently swaying as we rushed in and out.
New Zealand seems a far cry from my Italian family in Kinglake Melbourne Australia. When visiting my family in Melbourne, I experience a sense of belonging I have never really felt in New Zealand. Maybe because it is okay to be an excited extrovert with my Calabrese family the Sirianni's, to be myself. Or because my face is recognised as Italian and not anything else.
Photographing my Nonna and Nonno for 18 years became a signature in all my work, capturing ideas of belonging and connection. Where language failed me, my camera opened the door to the delicious tastes of my culture. My family saw me with my camera as a treat almost, being completely supportive of me snapping away. When I tried to talk with her, my Nonna used to say, "No no, no English darling," but she understood me. She lived until 93 years of age and I was in Melbourne the week she passed away. I cuddled up with her for the last night on the farm. We slept well, I had no worry in the world when I was with her. She was a rock for many of us. A mother of 10 who migrated from poverty in Southern Italy to Melbourne, Australia after WW2. A story of many. With it they brought not only themselves but their culture, so when I think of the farm, it holds a piece of all of us.
My favourite times in life have been at the long table all the way up the hallway in the farmhouse, with food coming from all directions, my Nonno Erminio sitting at the head, with us all reaching for the food. Everything tasted wonderful and you could tell it had been prepared and cooked with great care and love. There was no organising, it just happened ― like life itself.
New Zealand seems a far cry from my Italian family in Kinglake Melbourne Australia. When visiting my family in Melbourne, I experience a sense of belonging I have never really felt in New Zealand. Maybe because it is okay to be an excited extrovert with my Calabrese family the Sirianni's, to be myself. Or because my face is recognised as Italian and not anything else.
Photographing my Nonna and Nonno for 18 years became a signature in all my work, capturing ideas of belonging and connection. Where language failed me, my camera opened the door to the delicious tastes of my culture. My family saw me with my camera as a treat almost, being completely supportive of me snapping away. When I tried to talk with her, my Nonna used to say, "No no, no English darling," but she understood me. She lived until 93 years of age and I was in Melbourne the week she passed away. I cuddled up with her for the last night on the farm. We slept well, I had no worry in the world when I was with her. She was a rock for many of us. A mother of 10 who migrated from poverty in Southern Italy to Melbourne, Australia after WW2. A story of many. With it they brought not only themselves but their culture, so when I think of the farm, it holds a piece of all of us.
My favourite times in life have been at the long table all the way up the hallway in the farmhouse, with food coming from all directions, my Nonno Erminio sitting at the head, with us all reaching for the food. Everything tasted wonderful and you could tell it had been prepared and cooked with great care and love. There was no organising, it just happened ― like life itself.