Before The Day Goes

Growing up as a half-caste Australian, my Italian heritage was clear – the language, the food, the rituals. But understanding what it meant to be Australian felt elusive. These photographs are my search for that other half of myself, an exploration of where I belong in this country.

My father's story from the 1950s stayed with me. In the fruit shops, signs would read: "Get in before the day goes." Day goes meant Dagos. The slur for people like us, people of European descent. That racism shaped how my family moved through the world, always slightly outside.

I turned to the ocean, seeking what felt authentically Australian. At Freshwater Beach, I found my vantage point. A cliff where I could watch unnoticed as the sea transformed daily, crystal clear one moment, brown like a river the next.

From this distance, I wait for the quiet moments between the waves. A mother bringing her child to the water for the first time. A lone figure surrounded by endless blue. These are the intimate rituals that define the Australian relationship with the coast, moments I observed from the outside, hoping to understand them from within.

The work is about closing that gap: the space between my lens and my fellow Australians, between myself and my country. An intimate distance, growing smaller with each photograph.