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My mom said I started walking at the age of nine months.
I have never been good at asking for what I want. I have always been someone who communicates through movement. My mom said I got sick of my brother tripping on her. So the last time he tripped on me, I stood up and walked away.
I was looking through some photos I recently took and these memories came flooding back. I was standing in the shower thinking about my body; thinking about how every time I view it through the lens of photography, I have so much more respect and love for my body. Only in these moments, do I see my beauty. In everyday life, I always think I’m not beautiful.
From the age of 13, I was an athlete. I competed as a state swimmer, national water polo player, and international runner in Australia. I was at the top of my game for all of them and I was as fit as a fiddle…but I hated my body.
I only loved that it could move—that was where I felt most free and alive. Now at 37, I can handstand, bend and not break, and pull a few fun moves on the pole. Only when I am in motion, do I hold the most freedom and truthful communication with the world—and love for my body.
Photography and my art have helped me develop a true sense of self-love that no fit or “ideal” looking body could ever give me.
No matter how fit I’ve been or how beautiful I am in someone else’s eyes, the only time I have felt beautiful is when I see myself through the lens of a camera.
Art, for me, is about coming home to my body and finding love, respect, and wisdom from it. Art allows me to communicate and heal in spaces I have no words for.
I hope one day more people will understand what I feel and see when I choose to create and share my art. Art-making has the ability to move people along in their journey of healing, grief, loss, and body acceptance, into a more balanced place of light and hope.
In face of tragedy, the creative process can help recalibrate us as humans.