I have been so busy with work and then upcoming study, that i totally forgot about my blog. Not that it matters…

And so we went on our camping holiday in the Western Australian bush…quite remote. A challenge to get there…but oh boy, so worth it!

The Gibb River road has been kind to us this time… we reached our destination, Bachsten Camp, WA. Stunning location, remote which means no too many people with us.

Seriously, i think swimming in those natural rock pools is one of the most amazing thing, even though I remain always uncertain of the underneath world…

I came back energized and refreshed.

and the dry season is so lovely right now…



I haven’t been very present on the blog lately…
I’ve found myself between places in my creative journey… As I’m learning, I experiment all sorts of things…I learn, get some ideas, try, process, try again and so on…

While doing this, I am experiencing this push-pull kind of internal conversation, some sort of yearning, a hunger to create. Great, isn’it?! well… not so much! I try to express this desire…and that’s where I get stuck and very frustrated!!!

I am looking for my own voice, my own style. I am aware that my style is, right now, developing; this is part of the process. But my impatient self would like to know what kind of art I want to do…

As an apprentice, I get influenced by many, renown, established and emerging artists..a wonderful flow of inspiration…But at times, I’d like to turn off the flow of information that I’m getting…to just tap into my own flow.

a work in progress;)

I did this sketch on a background. I was happy with her pose and expression..

She turned out very different and no matter how much I worked and reworked her, I couldn’t get her nose right. So she got a clown nose for it!


Not happy with her!

Then I tried some collage with a Rumi poem and some bold marks which was fun to do. The initial sketch was fun and kept the boldness….


But then I kept working on it … And was so disappointed of loosing the initial drawing! 

This one was inspired by my friend Anne and her challenge A Face A Day for this year. Check her out, she’s amazing!


Oh well…. This is the process of all things😉 

I am full

A few weeks ago, my husband and I went on a discovery day trip to find a camping spot outside of National Park, so that we can take our boxer with us. The Northern Territory is immense and the possibilities of excursions endless. With the end of the wet season, the roads and tracks start to dry out, open for adventure. We found this 4WD track that lead to an amazing spot near a crocodile-free creek…Heaven!


So we went back for a camping trip and spent three days by ourselves in this little paradise…
The waters had gone down drastically since our last visit but was still magnificent…


We walked in the river bed, where the water was once flowing fast and high…



We sat and listened…


the colors, the shapes, the birds…what a bliss for the soul…












Dare I

Since the beginning of this blog, I have been asking myself if I should make this blog public or should I keep it private.

To understand why this question keeps popping up into my mind, I think I need to look at my origins, where I believe the source resides. It is necessary to reflect on where I come from, and to deconstruct who I am and the way I act.

I come from a little tiny village in the Prealpes Vaudoises, the little Alps I call them. It is a scenery made for post cards, wooden chalets with geraniums on balcony and windows in summer, the cows with their bells, the top of the mountains with a slight touch of snow… It sounds a bit cheesy..and it is! Yet it is truly beautiful and peaceful. If you have travelled in Switzerland, you would know that driving through the country isn’t that easy. Despite the size of the country, half the size of Tasmania, it is not easy to travel through. Windy and narrow roads, up and down the valley, through the pass, a tunnel here, a precipice there! It’s quite something. And it tells about how we, as villagers, have built our identity. Tough weather, secludedness, hardship needing hardwork. A community made of farmers, carpenters, timbermen, cheesemakers, the village life, its values, its cycles, the seasons. Humble, faithful, with a humble ambition. Of course, I generalise. But I think humility is more likely to be present in a villager’s identity.


I remember my grandfather and my father, telling us stories about the old-time, where they had to ski down the village in winter, and walk back up, with food and skis on their shoulders, walking their way up through deep snow. The time when the traders were meeting every Thursday at the Market place, to sell their best milk cow.


Perhaps my reluctance to go public with this blog comes from my village experience of humility, which I am proud of.

Obviously my issue of wanting to keep this blog private has several sources. As well as inheriting beautiful values about humility and hardwork, I think, at a more internal level, both my parents have inherited their lot of shame, which were transmitted to us, my sister and I…and intrinsically part of me.

Both my parents are from Rossiniere. They were born there and will probably die there. My dad’s mother was a strong Swiss woman, hardworker of course, caring and welcoming, but also controlling, opiniated and stubborn. She had a sharp eye, ready to judge and shame, and wouldn’t miss an argument. You had to be strong to argue with her. I think my dad had to work pretty hard as a young boy to grow into a confident man who could dare grabbing his own life. His passion for nature, his artistic sense and his gentleness must have been his way of becoming his own self. For my mum, being born a girl instantly gave her certain status. Not the flamboyant one. Instead, being a girl in my mum’s family was more about being a good servant, dedicated to help and work hard, humble (that word again), certainly not allowed to any ambitions. On the other hand, being a boy in her family would open doors to certain privilege, like accessing higher education or learning music. My mum’s brother was treated like a little prince, with favors and privileges, while my mum would have to work in the family restaurant, serving men. What saved my mum to become submissive was her strong personality, rebellious, energetic and bold, with a strong integrity.

When my mum announced to her father that she was getting married to my dad, he strongly disapproved. My dad was not good enough. When my mum announced to my dad’s mother that she was pregnant, my grandmother answered that it was not possible, as she knew better about her son and refused to discuss further. My mum felt diminished and ashamed, doubting her own truth.

I know where my humble self, the doubtful one, the justice seeker come from. All of those identities that I still carry are telling me to make this blog private. No need to share with the whole wild world… it’s only my little thoughts after all.

And yet, there was still something niggling at me…

It was during a conversation this week that I realised this blog could be a great process to get rid of my petiteness.. my sense of unworthiness and shamefulness.

Also, reading Brené Brown’s book, I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn’t) has brought some great light on shame and vulnerability, and the impact on our identity development, and on cultural and social norms. Shame is like having some kind of lid over our head or our heart, which deny our rights to grow. Daring to be

I am looking forward to read Brené’s last book Daring Greatly You can read more about Brené Brown’s work on her website. She explains that the phrase Daring Greatly is from Theodore Roosevelt’s speech,Citizenship in a Republic. Here is the end:

…at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly . . .”

Daring to be me.
I Am Daring Greatly