Celebration of Experience

To acknowledge the act of remembering and collective archive of experience is to engage within space I live: where memory settles, lingers, and shapes me. Legacy is somthing constantly evolving every day what we have been, what we are, and what we make of ourselves. Within a space, a place that embrace and anchor those many selves.

My Medusa Feeds on My Mirror Reflection

I’ve offered myself on this raft 

chew and rip at me

Take me apart and graft me to yourself

The more she feeds the more she needs

Meek as I crumble like stone

To the guilt she makes me feel

My medusa kills me slow

She seeks me out to stab me 

Oh but she didn’t mean to

Tells me that she loves me 

While holding the knife she wishes to kill me

To steal 

Peel me apart

Wear my semblance like a suit 

Because she can’t stand her own

She’s tried it on and won’t give it back 

She hates me because I won’t let her be me 

I won’t let her feed

I can’t let her swallow me whole

And she is getting hungry

She is hungry

A Memory faintly glows In the Velvet Gloam

As I recall the events of January 13rd 2025,

The night was crisp and unforgiving, the air sharp enough to pierce through layers of clothing. The dock beneath my boots creaked with every shift of the breeze, while the distant sound of water lapping against the wood seemed swallowed by the chill. Bee Bredbenner stood still for a moment, her silhouette framed by the fading glow of my camera’s last exposures. These final shots of the evening, the ones I had chased through the night, now felt like a fragile memory, the cold pressing against me with increasing intensity.

My fingers, numb from the chill, instinctively reached into my jacket pocket—an absent gesture that should have been familiar. But then, the emptiness. It was as though something had evaporated from the space between my hand and the fabric. The weight was gone, without a sound or indication. Turning, I caught a glimpse of light slipping through a crack in the dock, right beneath the water. It was too late. My phone—silent, resigned—had disappeared, swallowed by the icy depths below.

Time stretched, suspended in that frozen moment. My phone, the lifeline to the world and the photos I had just captured, now lay out of reach, its faint glow a fleeting reminder of its quiet escape beneath the dark water.

Despite the loss, the photos I had taken were breathtaking, each one a testament to the cold, the stillness, and the fleeting beauty of the moment.

Dear Diary

March Twenty eighth , 2025

Welcome to my public diary…

This is where you will find insight into my creative process—a space where ideas take shape, evolve, and transform into tangible works of art. Here, I document the journey from inspiration to execution, revealing the techniques, influences, and experiments that fuel my creativity. Whether it’s the spark of an initial concept, the meticulous refinement of a piece, or the unexpected discoveries along the way, this serves as a window into my artistic mind. Expect a fusion of visuals, reflections, and behind-the-scenes glimpses into the methods and materials that bring my work to life.