FOTOBUDZ

The Chair Movement

What began as a quiet act of personal reclamation has become a visual manifesto: a collection of empty seats discovered in their places of abandonment—silent witnesses to survival. These literal seats mark the genesis of The Chair Movement—born when I chose to stop hiding, and began finding.

I don’t bring chairs to be posed; I go in search of them. In abandoned tunnels, derelict lots, silent backyards, sun-flooded porches: I track the frames still in place, left behind by someone who once sat. A plastic seat cracked and half-buried in weeds whispers isolation; a rust-speckled stool bathed in afternoon light hums of hard-won hope. Each chipped armrest, each shaft of light, each decayed backdrop becomes a silent portrait of resilience.

As each chair joins the gallery, the narrative widens: more voices, more fragments of lives reclaimed. These are not merely chairs; they are witnesses to what was endured—and to what remains alive. Images born from absence, rooted in recovery.

Each new piece asks: Who once sat here? What held them upright? What was the untold story of this chair’s occupant? Together these chairs form a collective testimony—a reminder that no survivor’s story should remain unseen, no voice unheard.

Take a seat. Be seen. Stand with the movement.

Arrow Lane

Walking through Arrow Lane trailer park after all these years feels like stepping into a ghost story I once lived. The place is more forest than trailer park now—overgrown grass swallowing the lots, roofs caved in and walls collapsing, everything being slowly reclaimed by the woods. I remember being nine, running through these paths, never imagining they’d fall silent and empty. Now every broken window and rusted car frame holds an echo of that little boy I was, lost and searching for safety.

This is the place where my world fractured when I was nine years old—I first learned to disappear here. My mind floated away while something unspeakable happened, splitting me into pieces I wouldn’t understand for years. I can still feel the outline of that absence, like a hollow space in the air. These photographs are my way of facing those ghosts: each overgrown weed and shattered door is a memory, every frame a confrontation. The trailer park may be abandoned, but I refuse to abandon what happened here any longer.

I write this as a witness to my own history, my own survival. Coming back to Arrow Lane is like time travel through a nightmare, but I walk through it awake and unafraid. With each step and each photo, I take back a piece of what was lost to me here. The trees that have grown in these ruins and the sunlight that now falls on broken floors both bear witness that life continued. I stand here, broken and whole at once, and I know: I survived, and I am reclaiming this place as part of me.

Empty seats. Unearthed stories.

The Chair Movement

Arrow Lane

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