this above all: to thine own self be true. ~ Shakespeare
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writing . film . photography . art . dance
Bird is a beginning, born from a continued ritual that started moons and suns and seasons ago, in the form of wrtiting journals. it came to me a few days ago, from i don't even know where, in a sunshower, to create a journal to share online. i loved the feeling it gave me. the possibility of what i could do with it, and how it could serve as a place to slow down and to remember. it moved me to feel ready and inspired to share things i don't normally share - as a way to be in communion and in service to the creative message, and to be awake to the inbetween moments. this is a very humble manifesto of a multidisciplinary dreamer. somewhere i can share content, with the hope to document a sacred but often ordinary and unseen pursuit that may inspire or be meaningful in some way to others. a figuring out of how to pursue the act of following the magnetic pull of the heart, when the path is invisible.
all content is by me unless credited otherwise.
Thursday.jeudi.csütörtök ~ 29/1/26
entry #11
I could murder this film. i could dig a grave and bury it in rich black soil, pack it with compost and put a head stone above that reads, may you figure it out in the next life and become everything i imagined you would be and more. i'm not an editor but i edit all my work. partly because i've never had a definitive script when i go to shoot, or if i think i do, we end up shooting scenes and locations i hadn't planned, and then in the edit i end up with all the possibilities this story could go. it looks magical, more evocative and stunning than i could have ever imagined. but i'm caught in a loop not yet at the end - still not at the end - it's a tangle and i haven't found the thread out of here... its the love story of a love story that had no ending, maybe that's why...
Friday.vendredi.péntek ~ 23/1/26
entry #10
We have made it into another glorious beginning. like a snake eating its tail we've come back around. we think it's new, and it is, and we can't go back. but the same animal sits in front of us with a laugh in its belly and a smile on its lips. there's a horse charging towards us whether we like it or not. full of fire full of grace full chaos full on the sun it just ate for breakfast - will it hit me, knock me in its wake, and will i sink into the ground under the hoof in its stampede? you know, it's on its way to the golden land of the next thing we only dream about, and its meeting time is now. or will i catch its mane hair whipping in my face, breathless with the wind to fly with muscle and grip on its back holding on till it takes me to the next land? the next kingdom of sun drenched dusty roads above lakes that glitter in the sun. sun. sun.?
Thursday.jeudi.csütörtök ~ 25/12/25
entry #9
I haven't been here for a while, haven't found the time to sit still, in the whirlwind of family and friend gatherings and present giving and magic making for the children.
i am there, and i am here, both present, and disconnected.
if only for a scrap of time before bed, before the day breaks early tomorrow and we’re all swept off into the morning of campsite-setups.
the baby’s crying, crying
- "it's late, they should be in bed, too much excitement...”
i’m missing [something] underneath it. no one in the world would suspect it. no one except my heart, my bird, who sees it as clear as day and hears every unheard heartbeat yearning. it talks to me about it when no one else can. ‘so what are you going to do? what really is the worst that could happen? what could you break through in trying?
i don’t know, all i know is that i have a love still. unchanged. and it lives and moves, like a baby in my belly, growing i suppose, and when it shifts, pushing at my rib cage, heels and knees against my insides, i feel the ache and the pull. reminding me it has not gone away, it lives still, full and pregnant. just unseen. what does this matter if i can't find a way to give birth? like Gaia, eternally pregnant with her children…
what will i create?
when will the answer come?
how do you know when a time is right?
when does the heart and head let go of each other? in order to give life to the unknown?
when will the universe answer my inpatient soul who has been respectful in patiently waiting?
i will wait, God, if you tell me to, even when my heart is breaking, i will wait if you tell me to.
Tuesday.mardi.kedd ~ 23/12/25
entry #8
I got a roll developed! photos back from my time in ireland, july 2025. i followed a heart calling and met a land that spoke the languages of child and elder, one that offered an ancient innocence and took me by the hand. ran to dancing. walked me by the heather. showed me stones and songs. sat me in the grass, where wind, ocean rock and sky revealed a secret about coming home.
Friday.venredi.péntek ~ 19/12/2025
entry #7
I 've only just started vaguely to explore substack. my resistance to it is only that it's 'just another thing' to have to navigate, wade through with the fear of getting lost for hours. from what i've skirted around when attempting to give it my attention, i've found a feed offering another forever-list of distractions. 'you might like this, you might like this, you might like this' however, more dedicated and meaningful than the gram. but still, too busy for me right now to want to hang out there and do the deep dive into any one in particular. when i sprouted this idea for Bird, it made me look into those platforms, (briefly) such as Substack, Patreon, our old friend Tumblr, and i know that there's a good chance, when i get to really know and understand the landscape, i may choose to jump over and join. however, as it is, i want to be away from anything that i'm not looking specifically for. (so many contradictions here, since being a curious human wanting to absorb interesting, fascinating perspectives and stories i want to stay awake to it all) yet i don't want to be in constant streams of beautiful snippets. too much of that that does not help me slow down. that i can sit with and truly digest to its fullest. for now its why i like coming to this page to share, because there are no other distractions. it isn't surrounded by anything else.
i cannot wait for my film to be developed.
Sunday.dimanche.vasárnap ~ 30/11/2025
entry #6
I hate to read that poem. it's bullshit.
i wish i could understand it all. that is, i wish the pain residue on the bottom of the river would go away. i want it all to make sense and for me to be able to walk on clear stones. as clear as crystal daybreak. what i don’t know i don’t know.
i want to make art that i can understand, that flows, but i come to making it, to write down the story that started shooting stars in me, and it all gets tangled on the page. i don’t know how to do it right. i don’t know how the plot works or what i'm really trying to say. what's the throughline what's the real message - and then i remember or realise - oh shit, i'm not a writer, i don't have the knowedge or skills to know what the fuck i'm doing here. all i know is that i was hit by something and i want to make it into a film/i need to get it out of me.
... i want the painful pause to be lifted and i want it to be... it's a constant pain, more painful because there's a disappearence... left me burning in the quiet...
i can't tell you everything here, or you'll know too much...
Sunday.dimanche.vasárnap ~ 23/11/2025
entry #5
I found you. i went for a bike ride unsure of where i was going, which isn't usual you know. my only prayer for the day was that i might find a jacaranda tree still flowering. then to have the will to get off my bike and take its picture. especially to try and capture its on my film camera if it worked. to stay with the tree and the flowers long enough, not to let the time go without us knowing eachother a little... i know they're on their way out - the purple glow against dark-blue storm clouds in this humid air, won't last much longer.
it was such a relief and thrill to find you. bobbing above some stone monument at a crossroads in a tiny park. i saw your purple and brown discarded on the pavement. we swayed and nodded to eachother on the wind.
when i get the film developed i hope i'll have more to share - infinitely more beautiful, more exciting, more to tell, something closer to the truth.
Friday.venredi.péntek ~ 14/11/2025
entry #4
The Message is a short film i'm making. the writing started maybe 3-5 years ago, and we shot it in January/February this year over 8 summer nights. i'm now working on the edit with Andy one evening a week, between our day jobs and his beautiful dad life. we are in November now, and we have a 12 minute edit - with half still to go - it's ok that it's slow. i don't mind. from the misty land of ideas, to the story on the page, to the meeting of like-minded souls, to the miracle of shooting, to the magic of the edit, and the sound design still to come - each of these stages reveal another secret to me, new voices speak that weren't there before. and i understand more... anyway, why i started this post was because i wanted to share my recent poster designs i've been making for the film. just because i have so much fun doing it, and feel it's another art practice that brings me a lot of joy. i expect i'll continue to experiment and maybe get better and come up with more...
Tuesday.mardi.kedd ~ 11/11/2025
entry #3
This was our edit night on 11/11. - supposedly this date is a powerfully important portal they say, an opportunity not to be missed - messages from the feed. 'don't miss this opportunity to reclaim, rebirth, shed, cut old ties' etc. bla. it was a hot day. i was up at dawn to get to work. a rare early morning NAIDOC ceremony. honouring the morning star with the children and school. it was a long day. i had no capacity to stop for self-reflective manifestation. (isn't that what we were doing collectively in ceremony?) only my actions, i thought, throughout the day could speak to the stars. be true in them. that night our co-producer, came to see the first edit. she cried as she watched it, because she felt moved by what we were creating. we reached our crowdfunding goal 20 days early that night too... the exhaustion i felt at the end of a late night didn't take away my elation. i feel it after every edit. and on my drive home, the window open, my spirit soars.
Saturday.samedi.szombat ~ 8/11/2025
entry #2
once i used to write something every night before falling asleep. i had to grasp something from the day before i fell to dreaming, a word at the very least. sometimes it was an effort, sometimes it was ready and waiting on my pillow. still, i wrote 8 small notebooks... they began one birthday on the 8th August, with a little bird on my shoulder.
there is a seed that is germinating. the warm wet wisper of spring has got the storm clouds cracking up at dawn, over winter's sorrow.
Monday.lundi.hétfő ~ 25/8/2025
entry #1
The sun had my back all the way, and like a gentle mother's hand, held the singing bird - i was the bird and the broken heart and the mother and the sun. the tears we wept soaked the earth.
the winds blew strong in august. high sunlit purple clouds peraded by in proud fleets throwing us storms to test our spirits.
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