FLAMABLE MATERIAL

 

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For years, I thought part of me was gone—the part that could create deeply from that tender, vulnerable place just beneath the daily grind. Life had worn me down to something blunt, leaving me disconnected and numb. Photography and painting used to be my sanctuary, my way of anchoring myself in the insane beauty and tragedy of the world. But somewhere along the way, I lost the ability to grab hold of that chaos and make it into stories. 

 

And then, like a bolt from the blue—a brief, torrential monsoon to rehydrate the deserted parts of me—he appeared. Another one just like me. Rare, problematic, and bound to create a bloody mess. A horrible, yet strangely reassuring mess.

 

The story was a storm with a calm eye—that’s where the work got made. All the other parts of it tore holes in everything, and it didn’t have a happy ending. Extreme weather rarely does.

 

But even in chaotic circumstances, someone can leave a profound, motivating impact. He stirred hope I thought was dead. His presence became the starter fluid that reignited a spark, reconnecting me to my body, my creativity, and the belief that there were still stories worth uncovering.

 

Through capturing him in raw, unfiltered moments, I began to feel glimpses of myself again. I realized how much I love and miss me. My greatest comfort has always been myself and I thought I'd lost her. I really know how to look after myself better than anyone else on earth. 

 

The work we created is more than just art; it’s evidence of a life stirring back into motion. It’s a reminder that I exist—that I’m still here—and that I can see beyond the surface light again.

 

Within the space of a month, the whole situation lifted me up and spat me out. It left me feeling absolutely everything. But I’m okay. The whole package happened, and I’m still here. I thought I’d built enough defenses to never have to feel like that again. The last one almost took me out. And yet shit happened...I'm fine. 

 

This isn’t a romanticized goodbye; it’s an honest one. I’m moving forward now, carrying what I’ve learned. It lightened the load. What we created, and what I rediscovered about myself. Our time was 4,000+ miles from perfect, but it was meaningful. And for that, I’m grateful.

 

Here’s to unexpected, blinding sparks, to messy beginnings, and to stepping back into life—with myself as my hero—an open mind and body, and my camera and brush fully loaded in my arsenal.