The front is trauma, that shapeless frontier line when you are at war with yourself, the nostalgia that traps your soul, condemns your dreams, confines your growth. That bed of nettles where rest is a privilege too far from your hand to grasp, that green light you feel like you might never reach again, the forbidden dimension you made inaccessible, even to your loved ones, unless... Unless they were there with you... Unless the silence of a world without you, your energy, your spirit, it was so deafening, they chose to face their shadows to come and find you. The front is the Imaginary line, where everybody feels and looks the same and there is only one soul, that door in the wall, when the only way out is but to whisper the word... Love.
36 pages, 14.8 × 21 cm, softcover, PhotoIreland (Dublin).