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Sydney Morning Herald
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
‘A baby-shaped hole': When creativity clashes with the call of motherhood
This story is part of the July 26 edition of Good Weekend. See all 15 stories. Summer. A group of us trudges down the steep, narrow path to Wattamolla Beach in Sydney's Royal National Park – a haunt we loved in our 20s. Those of us without kids arrive early, claiming a patch of shade. Eventually, we spot the new parents making their way down, laden with bags like Bedouins, a grandparent trailing behind. The new mum – whose husband I've known since we were 13 – has that post-pregnancy glow. Her limbs are soft, supple. Beneath a pink sunflower hat, the baby is perfection. A miniature of her father. The grandmother asks when I'm planning to start a family. As a married woman in my mid-30s, it's a frequently asked question. I hedge, joking (though not really) that we already have a cat. She sighs, taps an imaginary watch, and retreats to the shade. Motherhood has been on my mind for a long time. Partly because of my age. My mother gave birth to me at 33, and when I crossed that line two years ago, something in me started ticking. Audibly. I find myself drawn to fictional women like Janina Duszejko in Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead, Aunt March in Little Women and Lily Briscoe in To The Lighthouse: childless, older (or old souls), and unapologetically themselves. Women who no longer care what people think. My Instagram feed is filled with #childfree women celebrating their choice. These days, my mum raises the topic only after we've settled into a good rhythm. Over coffee once, I told my husband, 'It feels like I have a baby-shaped hole inside me, and the only thing I can do is either have a child or make something child-sized.' And I meant it. He reassured me it's my choice whether or not we have kids. But what I heard was: 'It's your choice whether or not I get to be a father.' He's the kind of person who, without blinking, can say, 'We're too selfish to have children,' if his dad brings it up. As an artist, I tap into something maternal when I paint. I've even joked that I go through labour – metaphorically – bringing a work to term. But I'm not deluded. I know that raising a child is different. And the fear sits heavy: that I can't be both a mother and an artist. One American artist told me she had to put her art aside when her kids were little. She didn't have the energy. But eventually, she returned to her work: smaller pieces, baby steps. An Australian artist said the same. One friend only started making art after having children. I admire these women deeply. But I'm not sure I'm cut from the same cloth. When I developed thoracic outlet syndrome, and experienced a pain that felt like being burned or electrocuted down my arm and the right side of my face, I had to stop painting altogether. I thought I was going to lose my mind. I did, for a bit. And through it all, that baby-shaped hole made itself known. It whispered: maybe this is a sign. Maybe I should stop this (hard, unstable, unforgiving) art thing and do what I'm 'meant' to be doing. The thing the world expects of me. At a recent pap smear, the doctor asked questions. Were my periods regular? Did I get pain? How often did I check my breasts? (Never – I still took them for granted.) Did I plan to have children? I felt a twinge, low in my belly. Something like guilt. 'I'm not sure,' I said quietly. The doctor didn't flinch. 'Well, if you do want to, you'd better get onto it soon.' Like she was reminding me to take the bins out. I told her that my fears run deeper than biology. That many of my generation feel overwhelmed – not just by the physical demands of parenthood, but by the world we'd be bringing a child into. A world that feels like it's accelerating toward something brittle and irreversible. Where climate change is no longer theoretical, and the window for action is closing. Where decency is eroding, and nuance is flattened by false binaries and the pace of technology. Where everything is louder, faster, but somehow less meaningful. My friends feel it, too: the dread, the paralysis. The question: Will the world even be hospitable by the time our kids are grown? Ultimately, I feared the world didn't think I was enough on my own – that I needed a child in order to be whole and worthwhile. Loading The doctor nods. She says more young women are choosing not to have children at all. Back at the beach, the new mother tells me about postpartum depression. How real it is. How, sometimes, she fantasises about returning to work just to escape this version of her life. But she adores her daughter. As she says it, her face softens. Later, I watch her partner crouch beside his daughter on the picnic blanket, offering her morsels of the foods his mother has made. He grins as he narrates each of his favourites, hoping she'll share his tastes. Instead, she scrunches her nose and reaches for something else. He bursts into laughter, mock-offended, then kisses the top of her head. On the car ride home, I have a very clear thought: I do not want a child. I follow it up – my reflex, my loophole. For now.
The Age
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Age
‘A baby-shaped hole': When creativity clashes with the call of motherhood
This story is part of the July 26 edition of Good Weekend. See all 15 stories. Summer. A group of us trudges down the steep, narrow path to Wattamolla Beach in Sydney's Royal National Park – a haunt we loved in our 20s. Those of us without kids arrive early, claiming a patch of shade. Eventually, we spot the new parents making their way down, laden with bags like Bedouins, a grandparent trailing behind. The new mum – whose husband I've known since we were 13 – has that post-pregnancy glow. Her limbs are soft, supple. Beneath a pink sunflower hat, the baby is perfection. A miniature of her father. The grandmother asks when I'm planning to start a family. As a married woman in my mid-30s, it's a frequently asked question. I hedge, joking (though not really) that we already have a cat. She sighs, taps an imaginary watch, and retreats to the shade. Motherhood has been on my mind for a long time. Partly because of my age. My mother gave birth to me at 33, and when I crossed that line two years ago, something in me started ticking. Audibly. I find myself drawn to fictional women like Janina Duszejko in Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead, Aunt March in Little Women and Lily Briscoe in To The Lighthouse: childless, older (or old souls), and unapologetically themselves. Women who no longer care what people think. My Instagram feed is filled with #childfree women celebrating their choice. These days, my mum raises the topic only after we've settled into a good rhythm. Over coffee once, I told my husband, 'It feels like I have a baby-shaped hole inside me, and the only thing I can do is either have a child or make something child-sized.' And I meant it. He reassured me it's my choice whether or not we have kids. But what I heard was: 'It's your choice whether or not I get to be a father.' He's the kind of person who, without blinking, can say, 'We're too selfish to have children,' if his dad brings it up. As an artist, I tap into something maternal when I paint. I've even joked that I go through labour – metaphorically – bringing a work to term. But I'm not deluded. I know that raising a child is different. And the fear sits heavy: that I can't be both a mother and an artist. One American artist told me she had to put her art aside when her kids were little. She didn't have the energy. But eventually, she returned to her work: smaller pieces, baby steps. An Australian artist said the same. One friend only started making art after having children. I admire these women deeply. But I'm not sure I'm cut from the same cloth. When I developed thoracic outlet syndrome, and experienced a pain that felt like being burned or electrocuted down my arm and the right side of my face, I had to stop painting altogether. I thought I was going to lose my mind. I did, for a bit. And through it all, that baby-shaped hole made itself known. It whispered: maybe this is a sign. Maybe I should stop this (hard, unstable, unforgiving) art thing and do what I'm 'meant' to be doing. The thing the world expects of me. At a recent pap smear, the doctor asked questions. Were my periods regular? Did I get pain? How often did I check my breasts? (Never – I still took them for granted.) Did I plan to have children? I felt a twinge, low in my belly. Something like guilt. 'I'm not sure,' I said quietly. The doctor didn't flinch. 'Well, if you do want to, you'd better get onto it soon.' Like she was reminding me to take the bins out. I told her that my fears run deeper than biology. That many of my generation feel overwhelmed – not just by the physical demands of parenthood, but by the world we'd be bringing a child into. A world that feels like it's accelerating toward something brittle and irreversible. Where climate change is no longer theoretical, and the window for action is closing. Where decency is eroding, and nuance is flattened by false binaries and the pace of technology. Where everything is louder, faster, but somehow less meaningful. My friends feel it, too: the dread, the paralysis. The question: Will the world even be hospitable by the time our kids are grown? Ultimately, I feared the world didn't think I was enough on my own – that I needed a child in order to be whole and worthwhile. Loading The doctor nods. She says more young women are choosing not to have children at all. Back at the beach, the new mother tells me about postpartum depression. How real it is. How, sometimes, she fantasises about returning to work just to escape this version of her life. But she adores her daughter. As she says it, her face softens. Later, I watch her partner crouch beside his daughter on the picnic blanket, offering her morsels of the foods his mother has made. He grins as he narrates each of his favourites, hoping she'll share his tastes. Instead, she scrunches her nose and reaches for something else. He bursts into laughter, mock-offended, then kisses the top of her head. On the car ride home, I have a very clear thought: I do not want a child. I follow it up – my reflex, my loophole. For now.
Pink Villa
23-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Pink Villa
All of Us Are Dead Season 2 begins production: Lee Min Jae joins cast with Park Soloman, Park Ji Hu, more reprising roles
Good news for All Of Us Are Dead fans! Finally the first update about season 2 of the popular series is out. On July 23, Netflix announced its production commencement and cast lineup. Some of the last season's actors are set to reprise their roles. After impressing fans with their memorable roles in dramas like Hyper Knife and Little Women, the actors are back for filming of the popular zombie apocalypse show. Besides them, some new faces will also be seen in the 2nd season. All Of Us Are Dead Season 2 cast confirmed Netflix announced the cast lineup of All Of Us Are Dead Season 2 through the release of the actors' script reading pics. It includes the survivors of the zombie outbreak in season 1, namely– members Park Ji Hu, Yoon Chan Young, Cho Yi Hyun and Park Lomon. Besides them, the new actors who joined them in the gripping drama's next instalment are Lee Min Jae, Kim Si Eun, Roh Jae Won and Yoon Ga Yi. The cast announcement was made in a unique manner. A man was seated in the center of a long table dressed as a zombie, and the first season actors came and sat beside him. Watch the video here: All Of Us Are Dead Season 2: Character details of new cast Weak Hero Class 2 star Lee Min Jae will feature as Ma Ru, Nam On Jo's (Park Ji Hu) senior in college. Kim Si Eun, known for Squid Game Season 2, plays Ju Ran, a popular and charismatic college student. Roh Jae Won, Squid Game Seasons 2 and 3's breakout star, takes on the role of Han Du Seok, the leader of the National Intelligence Service team. Yoon Ga Yi, previously seen in Undercover High School and Love Scout, portrays Jong A, a lively college student known for outspoken personality. All Of Us Are Dead Season 2: How will the plot advance? After barely escaping the zombie outbreak at Hyosan High, the survivors of season 1 will face another threat as a new wave of infection will hit Seoul. Director Lee Jae Gyu and writer Chun Sung Il are set to collaborate for the second season as well, bringing more intense action and emotional depth.
Daily Tribune
17-07-2025
- Daily Tribune
Emma Watson Banned from Driving After Speeding Offence in England
Actress Emma Watson, best known for her role as Hermione Granger in the Harry Potter film series, has been banned from driving after being caught speeding in southeast England. The 35-year-old was recorded driving her blue Audi at 38 miles per hour (61 km/h) in a 30-mile zone in Banbury. Watson, who is currently studying at Oxford University, did not attend the court hearing but was fined £1,044 ($2,143). The case was heard at the High Wycombe Magistrates' Court, where her lawyer confirmed that although she is a student, she is able to pay the fine. On the same day, actress Zoe Wanamaker, 76 — who played Madame Hooch in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone — was also banned from driving for six months after being caught speeding at 46 mph in a 40-mile zone on the M4 motorway last August. Both actresses were dealt with in separate hearings and received identical fines. Watson's most recent film appearance was in Little Women (2019), directed by Greta Gerwig.
Time of India
17-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
Throwback - When Emma Watson revealed the reason for her acting break: "The thing I found really hard..."
Emma Watson , the prolific actress, has been avoiding being in front of the screen since she wrapped Greta Gerwig 's 2019 hit, 'Little Women.' While she still stands as a fan-favourite persona, the 35-year-old once expressed her reasons for stepping away from acting. Emma Watson's hiatus from Hollywood... In a 2023 interview with the Financial Times, Emma expressed that she wasn't very happy with the profession. Not only did she feel caged, but Watson also felt discontent with how little she had control over something she had to sell to the audience. 'The thing I found really hard was that I had to go out and sell something that I really didn't have very much control over,' she said, before adding, 'To stand in front of a film and have every journalist be able to say, 'How does this align with your viewpoint?' It was very difficult to have to be the face and the spokesperson for things where I didn't get to be involved in the process.' Furthermore, Emma opened up about being accountable, which caused frustration as she didn't have a voice or didn't have say. She continued about wanting to not hate herself, 'And I started to realise that I only wanted to stand in front of things where if someone was going to give me flak about it, I could say, in a way that didn't make me hate myself, 'Yes, I screwed up, it was my decision, I should have done better.'' Will Emma Watson ever return? While the wall between acting and Emma Watson still stands, it begs the question of her return on screen. The answer would be yes; however, the 'Harry Potter' actress is happy to wait until the next project aligns with her values. The British actress said, 'I love what I do. It's finding a way to do it where I don't have to fracture myself into different faces and people. And I just don't want to switch into robot mode any more. Does that make sense?'
