When my photographic quest came to an end 2 years ago, I fell into the familiar, yet long distant, sensation of floating in space without propulsion, direction, or aid. Floating aimlessly, hope fades of finding a solid resting place, a time to work and be filled with the heaviness of life - floating, one may as well be dead.
I kept hope alive with a deep rooted faith - a faith in something unknown, yet I could feel its presence. A day arrived when the floating began to slow, and I descended back to day to day living. A guitar had replaced the camera, sound had replaced sight.
