Welcome to the last year of this textual/visual diary. Exploring words, spaces and aesthetics. 

VOIX

VOIX

Somewhere along my path I thought my voice disappeared, that I didn't know who I was. Slowly I'm beginning to see that it's not true. Who I am has so far transcended my nationality, that I have become a mesh of the places I have lived. My voice is not lost, no.  It is powerful, stubborn, resilient, bruising, yet soothing like honey. It's a voice that speaks of the tenderness of aching, the relief of pain and losing oneself trying to be found.

A paradox? Perhaps.

Real Talk: Part 1.

NOTE TO SELF

NOTE TO SELF

HOURS

HOURS