Wonderful things happen when we allow seeds to bloom in our hearts.
A few months ago, a dear friend shared an invitation - a gentle seed planted in passing.
I didn’t know where it would lead, but I followed the quiet pull.
What unfolded was nothing short of magical.
Tucked away in the Wychwood forest, I stepped into a space of creativity, care, and connection - a residency held by the most incredible group of artists,
each one bringing something beautifully their own.
What made it truly special wasn’t just the art being made,
but the people who co-create this space with such openness, curiosity, and kindness.
I felt held, inspired, included.
As if I had always belonged.
Five days that reminded me of the power of saying yes and the beauty that grows when we do.
It was within this space that Words to Hold began to take shape more fully.
There is something about the way certain conversations unfold,
how silence holds meaning,
how connection finds its shape through both spoken and unspoken words.
Words to Hold is an ongoing exploration, not only of what words mean,
but of how they move through us before becoming language.
I’ve long been drawn to that in-between space,
where words are still feelings, sensations, or half-formed thoughts,
floating, waiting to be held.
With my typewriter as both tool and companion,
I began shaping words as images, scattered, drifting, fading across the page.
The page became a space where language and image meet.
Photography entered as a way to make the unseen visible,
to add atmosphere, texture, and a quieter kind of storytelling.
Inclusiveness has always been important to me personally.
For this project, I invited local artists to share a word that held meaning for them.
Their responses became part of a small, tactile installation,
layered with paper textures, typewritten fragments,
a gathering of many voices held gently together.
Because words don’t just define.
They carry memory, emotion, and possibility.
And what we choose to do with them -
that’s where meaning truly begins.
Forever grateful.
Beautiful!
The writing--that hovers tantalizinly between prose and poetry (a good place to hover!) is forgivably gaga sometimes. I often find myself resisting its pull towards a deranging buoyancy. But it's better to err on the side of drownung loveiness, in this coarsening world, I guess, than beig flatfooted;y reasonable all the time! Yoir photographs strike me as unfaiingly exquisite, GMD