Not Turning Away

There are moments when the distance between life and the work disappears. Not in a romantic sense, and not as an idea. But as something very concrete. Something that changes how the body moves, how time feels, what can and cannot be held.

In those moments, creating is no longer a question of intention. It becomes a question of staying.

Not escaping into the work but not stepping away from it either. Simply remaining in relation to it, because there is nowhere else to go.

I have often returned to a certain line of thought in my work. About scale. About proportion. About how small a human life can feel in the face of what happens to it, and how that smallness does not remove its value.

It is easy to approach that idea from a distance. To shape it, to place it, to work around it. It is something else to stand inside it.

Earlier this week, something in my life came to an end. I won’t try to describe it in detail. Not because it is hidden, but because words are too small for it right now. It matters. Fully. But I can’t carry all of it in language. What remains is the state it leaves behind.

There are moments where clarity is not available, where meaning cannot be produced, and where the only honest position is to not turn away and not try to resolve. This is one of those moments. And this is also where the work continues. Not as a way out. Not as a transformation of what has happened.

But as a place where it is still possible to stand, even when everything feels reduced to something very small. And where that smallness, somehow, is not empty.

2026