Day 72: grief, before we had words 🗣️
Dear Artists,
When I was ten, we moved.
Not just houses—everything. My street, my school, my sense of safety, the rhythm of how life had always felt. One day it was mine, and the next, it was gone.
I di…

Dear Artists,
When I was ten, we moved.
Not just houses—everything. My street, my school, my sense of safety, the rhythm of how life had always felt. One day it was mine, and the next, it was gone.
I di…
