If I’m being straight with myself, the real climb isn’t the making — it’s the being seen.
The words, the images, the quiet little fragments I gather… those come naturally enough.
It’s the next part — holding them out to the world — that feels like standing on the edge of something high and uncertain.

The next six months are going to test me more than the work ever has.
Not in the writing or the photography, but in the courage it takes to let them go.
To place them in front of the people whose opinions actually matter to me,
the ones who can spot the difference between something honest
and something merely tidy.

I’ve been trying to catch the small stories most folks step over —
the stillness in a doorway,
the echo of a day that didn’t quite go to plan,
the emotional dust that settles when no one’s looking.
But none of it truly breathes until it’s met by another pair of eyes,
another heart that recognises the shape of it.

So this season is about stepping out from behind my own hesitation.
Sharing the work with intention rather than apology.
Finding the rooms, the circles, the people
where these pieces might actually land and not just fall.

Visibility isn’t vanity.
It’s the simple, stubborn hope of connection.
And connection is what I’m after —
one photograph, one poem,
one small act of bravery at a time.