Making art started for me as a process of recovery and reconciliation. It was an exercise that unraveled to me what it meant to heal, to love, to be loved, and to then pass it all on.

It taught me how to embrace the paradox of chaos being a catalyst for order—the darkness that made sense of light; the pain that helped us realise comfort. The list goes on.

The truth is that we live in a culture of inadvertent curation. It causes us to instinctively fall into grids and lines, and we end up obliterating the parts of us that don’t seem to measure up. In doing so, we rush the process of what it means to be human—sometimes abandoning it altogether.

This series is a reminder to myself and every growing person that it’s okay to not have “arrived” and that maybe we never will. It’s perhaps a stab at breaching that chasm that looms between reality and curation utopia, that rung between crushing mediocrity and the unattainable pursuit of perfection. Bringing us to the inevitable and limiting, yet beautiful and liberating truth: that we are human.

The stories you’re about to encounter are pages from my journal and collected truths I credit to the most stunning people I’ve had the privilege of encountering, especially in the winter seasons.

I hope that through these many nights of tears, of attempts to articulate, of paint-drenched fingers and redefining moments, you’ll realise that you’re the real art, the breathtaking work in progress, the one worth studying and processing, and so worth the wait to watch unfold.