The Chair Movement

These first gallery chairs mark the beginning of The Chair Movement — a project born from my decision to stop hiding and start speaking. What began as a private healing exercise has become a growing exhibition of empty seats standing in for survivors who, like me, used dissociation to endure the unendurable.

I search for these chairs in abandoned tunnels, forgotten lots, and quiet backyards, drawn to the scars they carry. A cracked plastic seat half‑buried in weeds whispers isolation; a rust‑spotted stool on a sunlit porch hums with hard‑won hope. Every chipped armrest and shaft of light becomes a silent portrait of resilience.

Each new Lost Souls image asks you to pause and wonder: Who once sat here? What kept them alive? Together, these chairs become a collective testimony — a reminder that no survivor’s story should remain unseen, and no life should go unheard.

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.

Friendly Ambassadors

I lose myself in winding streets and forgotten corridors, drawn to rusted warehouses and weather‑worn doors that whisper stories most people walk past. The true magic happens when someone—a groundskeeper who’s swept these floors for decades, or a neighbor who remembers brighter days—pauses to share a piece of their history: a sunlit stairwell, a sealed vault, a mural hidden behind crates.

In tougher neighborhoods, a single greeting can dissolve invisible walls faster than any map, opening paths to abandoned factories, silent switchboards, and graffiti‑lined alleys. Each clue, each shared memory, becomes part of a roadmap — turning solo exploration into a living dialogue between me, the space, and the people who carry its memory.

As I frame peeling paint and fractured light, I’m not just documenting places. I’m bearing witness to resilience — weaving together human survival, creativity, and the echoes of community etched into every forgotten corner. When I leave, memory card full, I carry not just images but fragments of their world — and a piece of healing I didn’t know I was searching for.

The Chair Movement

Juxtaposition — Fractured Chairs

Arrow Lane

Calm in the Chaos — Quiet Storm

Friendly Ambassadors

The Chair Movement

Juxtaposition — Fractured Chairs

Arrow Lane

Calm in the Chaos — Quiet Storm

Friendly Ambassadors

Stand With the Chair Movement – Join the Circle

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