The moment I knew: as two pythons writhed above us, I realised our lives would always be intertwined | Australian lifestyle

° СReg and I looked at each other on a Sydney street a few days after the gay and lesbian Mardi Gras in 2001. I was 23, new to Australia from Peru and still shaking off the cobwebs of a conservative Catholic upbringing.

To me, Craig looked like someone from another planet: a lean, strong figure, curly beach-blonde hair, and a smile that seemed to light up the whole town. My English was basic, but our shared sense of humor transcended the language barrier.

Craig dropped me off at home in his hippie van that night. He told me he works as a graphic designer but has aspirations to be an artist. Before I got out of the van he kissed me so gently it felt like a seal of love.

Days later, I moved into Craig’s shared rental apartment in Tamarama. He had a fondness for nature and I often found him talking to insects as they crawled up his arm. The Pacific Ocean was on our doorstep and he loved surfing away from the surfers. He encouraged me to overcome my fear of the ocean, taught me how to read the currents and get under big waves.

Although an introvert himself, Craig didn’t mind me bringing streams of new acquaintances back to our apartment, and together we began to build a soul family.

It was around this time that Craig decided to quit his job to pursue art full-time. While Craig worked to make a name for himself, we subsisted on white bread with Vegemite, cheese and tomatoes.

In 2002 Craig held his first solo art show and in 2004 he won the Archibald Award – Australia’s most prestigious portrait award – for his charcoal drawing of Yolŋu actor David Gulpilil. It changed our lives. We managed to buy the apartment next door and in 2008, when the financial crisis hit art sales, we moved to South America for a while, living in Rio de Janeiro and Buenos Aires. Despite the crisis in South America, people continue to create art, go out, gather and enjoy life.

When we returned to Sydney in 2012, our relationship was at a crossroads. Craig longed for a life closer to nature, while I, the city person, wanted to return to Buenos Aires. We discussed the possibility of long distance, but this potential separation weighed heavily on my mind, so I agreed to accompany him on a research trip to the Northern Rivers region of New South Wales.

One afternoon after we arrived we left the coast and drove inland through the Byron hinterland to look at property for sale. We got out of the van on a ridge that overlooked the mountains. Craig was stunned by the sight. The yard was full of old car parts, bottles and overgrown lantana. The red brick house was small, with low ceilings and battered walls. But Craig was smitten and declared that this was where he wanted to live and die. I could see the challenge it presented through his artist’s eyes, so I decided to cautiously trust his vision.

We moved into a tent under an open shed on the property. One night we awoke to find a large rat had chewed through the netting and was feasting on the bread bag. It didn’t impress me. I confided in Craig how isolated I felt living there. Ever the optimist, he reassured me, “Don’t worry, my love. People will follow.”

One day soon after, I heard Craig calling from inside the shed. I ran inside to find two fat gray and white pythons on the top beam, wrapped around each other, moving sideways, writhing violently. “They’re fighting,” I gasped. Craig replied, “They’re making love!” We laughed. The snakes were so oblivious to us that I forgot to be scared, even when they fell to the floor and continued to thrash about. Whatever the cheeky couple did, there was something sensual, passionate and wonderful about it. As Craig and I stood together, mesmerized, I realized with absolute certainty that I wanted our lives to always be intertwined.

Then I began to see the beauty of our village life. We cleared out the lantana and replaced it with a vegetable garden. The perforated house became our home and a magnet for friends and family. During the day, Craig would paint in the converted shack, and at night we would gather around our campfire, share food in the kitchen, and dance. The isolation I feared melted away.

In January 2022 Craig passed away at home from covid complications. He was 53. The loss still feels overwhelming. But Craig left me the greatest gift—a life intertwined with nature and a community that helps me deal with grief every day. I see it in the colorful sunsets, in the rustling of leaves and in the kookaburras whose soft laughter echoes around the bush. I believe that Craig’s spirit remains in the natural world that surrounds me.

Portrait of lovea documentary by Molly Reynolds about Roberto and Craigrelationship, is screening at Dendy Newtown in Sydney on June 10, in the Nova cinema in Melbourne on June 11, c Lounge cinema in Darwin on June 21 and Byron Theater in Byron Bay on June 22