A summer strange

The summer of ‘25 was the first summer ever I didn’t go back to my childhood home. My dog had a tumor removed, she turned ten and I genuinely feel like a part of me is missing when I’m not with her. I had ice cream in the sun, read some books in the shade, went swimming in my favourite lake and tried really hard not being jealous of everyone going to Arles. A lot of time was spent watching my dog, other dogs, deer, ducks, cats, squirrels and thinking about Ed Panar’s books “Animals that saw me”. I went to the office a few times and tried to work on my own book, but it’s hard keeping faith in longterm, highly personal projects. The fear that people won’t find it as meaningful as you do, I guess.

I saw some art, bought some art, made some art, even worked at an art gallery, joined a community kitchen and helped my neighbour bury her cat. Then I co-hosted a poetry workshop, protested genocide, missed my nieces and nephews immensely, tried several new meds, cried cried cried

and realized:

a bad camera can still catch good things.

Unedited pictures from my phone, taken june-august 2025.