can one single phoograph to change the world? we will see about that. this was one of the best days of my life. and definitely the worst. this is the risk of not using ai. was it worth it? what does tom think or feel? what went wrong? i will show you everything by next sunday.
i love you.
#photography #art
“She Who Chose The Cut”
A tale made for you, in which finally, the thing that has been hurting you is no longer mistaken for who you are. Type “Cut” down below to get this Mirror hanged in your home. Only 500 will ever exist, less than 35 untethered remain!
Yes, it might hurt to cut.
But when the tears are done, what remains is only ever you.
You are not broken. You are entangled.
The horn was never your nature,
it was only something that grew while you tried to survive.
This is the farewell to what you carried too long. Thank the pain for shaping you.
And leave it behind where it belongs.
Because you... you are She Who Chose The Cut.
The one who finally separated truth from habit.
The soul who stopped confusing endurance with life.
So speak without shrinking. Choose without fear.
The blade in your hand is not your destruction.
It is your freedom. It is your Self.
Let this artwork, this photograph, this Mirror be your symbol of remembrance. It is time to be YOU, not the wound, not the waiting, YOU.
Thank you for your openness to receive this part of me. I love you.
#art #photography #reels
so… tell me. or rather, finally tell your self. will you choose the cut? for the sky is clear, you have seen kt. the hand is open and the dead flowers are falling. you grip your key, your blade, your freedom. so will you let go of the horn?
“she who chose the cut”
a tale made for you, in which finally, the thing that has been hurting you is no longer mistaken for who you are.
type “cut” down below to get this mirror hung in your home.
only 500 will ever exist.
yes, it might hurt to cut.
but there are pains that end,
and pains that become your whole life.
this mirror is for the woman who has been calling survival peace.
who has been carrying something inward for so long
that she forgot life was not meant to feel like this.
the horn grows quietly.
in the job that drains you.
in the love that no longer sees you.
in the endless ways you abandoned yourself
just to keep everything else alive.
but look at her hand.
she is already bleeding.
not from the cut,
from the grip.
from holding the instrument of her freedom
for far too long without using it.
and still, the sky opens.
because truth does not arrive to punish you.
it arrives to free you.
the waves behind her are not the end.
they are the breaking of the old world.
the dead flowers are not tragedy.
they are proof that something is already over.
and that is a mercy.
because you are not your suffering.
you are not your endurance.
you are not the years you gave
to what could never hold your soul.
you are what remains
when the false thing is finally cut away.
so if your chest tightened when you saw this,
if some ancient part of you whispered
yes, it is time,
then maybe this mirror is yours.
let this artwork, this photograph, this mirror be your symbol of remembrance.
not of what broke you.
of what you finally had the courage to stop calling home.
thank you for your openness to receive this part of me.
i love you.
#art #photo
“she who chose the cut”
a tale made for you, in which finally, the thing that has been hurting you is no longer mistaken for who you are.
type “cut” down below to get this mirror hung in your home.
only 500 will ever exist.
yes, it might hurt to cut.
but there are pains that end,
and pains that become your whole life.
this mirror is for the woman who has been calling survival peace.
who has been carrying something inward for so long
that she forgot life was not meant to feel like this.
the horn grows quietly.
in the job that drains you.
in the love that no longer sees you.
in the endless ways you abandoned yourself
just to keep everything else alive.
but look at her hand.
she is already bleeding.
not from the cut,
from the grip.
from holding the instrument of her freedom
for far too long without using it.
and still, the sky opens.
because truth does not arrive to punish you.
it arrives to free you.
the waves behind her are not the end.
they are the breaking of the old world.
the dead flowers are not tragedy.
they are proof that something is already over.
and that is a mercy.
because you are not your suffering.
you are not your endurance.
you are not the years you gave
to what could never hold your soul.
you are what remains
when the false thing is finally cut away.
so if your chest tightened when you saw this,
if some ancient part of you whispered
yes, it is time,
then maybe this mirror is yours.
let this artwork, this photograph, this mirror be your symbol of remembrance.
not of what broke you.
of what you finally had the courage to stop calling home.
thank you for your openness to receive this part of me.
i love you.
#photography #art #reels #photo
Titled “She Who Chose The Cut” because…
there is a horn growing inside of you and you have been tending to it. protecting it. oh yes...
the job you hate but stay in. the partner you love who has not truly seen you in years. the family that needs you so desperately that you disappeared entirely inside their need. oh you know what horn im talking about.
yes. do not look away from me now.
the horn that grows inward my love. it does not announce itself. it simply turns. slowly. into the very center of you. and the most devastating part is not the pain. but that you convinced yourself the pain was normal. that this is what life feels like. that everyone walks around with this pressure behind the eyes this quiet scream in the throat that never quite becomes a sound.
they do not.
that horn is yours alone. and it has a name. and you have been refusing to say it out loud because the moment you do you cannot unsay it and then what. then what do you do with all the years you gave it?? all the mornings you woke up and chose it again. and again. and again.
yes the horn grows inwards, look at her, look at you...
but look at her hand.
A blade. already bleeding. not from the cut. from the grip. from holding the instrument of her own freedom so tightly for so long without once using it.
you are not your suffering. you are not your endurance. you are not the years you “wasted”. you are not the love you gave to someone who buried it in the yard and forgot where.
you are what remains when all of that is cut away. When the Horn is cut away!
the cut will hurt. i will not lie to you. it will hurt like birth. like the first breath of a child who screamed not from pain but from the shock of being finally completely terrifyingly alive.
yet you will be free. free like a woman who looked at the thing that was killing her and said
“i loved you. but you are not me. you were never me.
for I am She Who Chose The Cut.”
(Only if you felt it in your heart! know the following)
To Claim this Artwork for your home Comment “CUT”! Only 500 will ever exist! Good luck!
#art #photography
this time let your heart tell you what they mean.
.
last day to join my mailclub “Avalon” for this month edition you would be receiving “the girl who burned” to your home! type “Mail” down below and i will send all the info.
forever yours,
benjamin
#art #photo
“The Girl Who Burned” A tale made for you, in which finally, your inner flame is boldly embraced. Type "Burned” down below to get this Mirror hanged in your home. Only 500 will ever exist, less than 35 untethered remain!
Yes, it might hurt to thaw.
But when the tears are done, what remains is only ever light.
You are not too much. You are too enclosed.
Your flame was never dangerous,
it was only waiting for you to embrace it.
This is the funeral of your frost. Thank the ice for protecting you.
And leave it in the snow where it belongs.
Because you... you are the Girl Who Burned.
The one who finally surrendered to her own heat.
The soul who stopped apologizing for being alive.
So laugh without shrinking. Cry without shame.
The fire within you is not your punishment.
It is your home. It is your Self.
Let this artwork, this photograph, this Mirror be your symbol of remembrance. It is time to be YOU, not the mask, not the ice, YOU.
Thank you for your openness to receive this part of me. I love you.
#art #photography #photo
a photograph to change you. and this is what it all means:
before we begin know that you can get this Mirror for your home. BUT please, there are less than 10 left of the original 100. if you are to claim one, let it be ONLY because it moved your heart. To Get one of the pieces left simply comment: “Mirror”.
Here is the meaning of “Letters To The Subconscious”
You are not broken. You are not behind. You are not
too late. You are simply, buried. Under years of
fear, of forgetting, of trying to survive a world that taught you to shrink. But still, you are here.
And yet, you feel trapped, not by walls, but by the storm inside you. A storm made of thoughts you
didn’t ask for, patterns you didn’t choose, and stories you’ve believed for far too long.
The waves crash, the winds scream, and you sit inside a cage. Not locked. Not sealed. But familiar. Safe,
even. A cage built of old memories and self-protection. But today, something stirs.
You look down. In your hand is a brush, shaking, but still yours. Covered in colors that whisper of pain,
of hope, of truth. And still, you paint.
Why? Because something deep inside you remembers: The world outside mirrors the world within.
And if the storm began within you, so too can the calm.
Every moment of insecurity, every heartbreak, every self-sabotage, it wasn’t punishment.
It was a reflection. A letter from your subconscious, begging to be rewritten.
You’ve told yourself,
“I’m not enough. I’m too much. I’ll always be alone.“
And so, life mirrored those beliefs. Not because they were true, but because you believed them.
But you’re allowed to change the script. You’re allowed to stop writing letters soaked in fear, and start
sending messages of love, of power, of possibility.
Today, you pick up the brush again. You paint not the storm, but the sunlight after it. You paint the
version of you that’s always been waiting: bold, beautiful, whole.
And day by day, stroke by stroke, the cage dissolves.
Until one day, you see it clearly: You were never the storm. You were always the artist. You were always
the light.
So breathe. Stand tall. Paint a new beginning.
I see you. I Know you. I Love you.
#photography #art
down here is the written whisper of this mirror:
before we begin, you can claim this piece for your home simply by commenting the word “orchard”. i love you.
Once someone told me the definition of Hell: On your last day on Earth, the person you could have been will meet the person you ended up being.
And day by day, you water your Orchard.
With every Habit, Every Vice.
So now, close your eyes and ask, what things am I doing in my daily life that I KNOW will ruin it in the long run? The answer is instantaneous. You always knew. Maybe it’s what you eat. Maybe it’s the hours on your phone before sleeping. Maybe it’s attitudes. Maybe it’s people who surround you. But you asked, and consciously know what is keeping you from reaching greater happiness and experience!
But do you change?
No.
You keep watering Your Noxious Orchard of Vice. And you continue. And continue. And the days pass. The months pass. And suddenly it’s 2025.
What happened? With the gym? With that course? How much did you water the Tree of Habit? It grew a lot. The rope is tightening. This time you realize. You have to stop watering it. You know it is ruining you, but still, you keep succumbing to it.
But do you change? Do you stop watering it? No.
And years go by. Each day taller, more rooted, your Noxious Orchard of Vice. And the rope already cuts off your air. And as time is, the years go. You are 80 and all this time you watered it. You are dissatisfied, you grumble at life. And how can you not grumble if there’s a rope cutting your air?
It’s your last day and you are already hanging by the neck.
You see someone approaching. how much they look like you. But no. They smile, stand taller, walk with an air of love.
Who knows what that person achieved to walk like that?
You envy them. You hate them.
They look you in the eye and you understand. That person you could have been. But you decided to water Your Tree of Vice.
And with a tear of regret,
you leave this world.
(Or, take one last look at this photo and pleaase just stop watering the tree. watch it die in the drought!)
i love you.
#photography #art
yes this photograph is about you. can you feel that resonance in your chest? before we begin, YES, you can acquire “The War Within” for your home. But only, if you feel it in your bones, if your soul knows it belongs with you. If you are looking for quick resells once it solds out, not for you. To claim one simply comment “Choose” and check your dms.
there is a war inside you.
you already know this.
not the kind that shouts.
the kind that waits.
that bleeds quietly.
that you carry everywhere, even when you smile.
the mind always speaks first
“stay here.”
“be smart.”
“stay where applause is guaranteed.”
it makes sense.
and god, how much you’ve tried to make sense.
but sense is not the same as peace.
and you know that too.
then comes the beat
it doesn’t speak.
it burns.
it aches.
it asks if you remember.
“is this really it?”
“is this the life you promised yourself?”
you hear it.
but it doesn’t come with proof.
only a pulse.
a rawness.
a pull.
but fear is fluent
“you don’t have enough money.”
“they’ll leave.”
“you’ll fail.”
it’s convincing, isn’t it?
how it sounds like your voice.
how it uses your mother’s tone.
your father’s silence.
your culture’s shame.
do you choose the voice that kept you safe
or the one that never stopped shaking?
do you honor the traditions that built your prison
or the feeling you’ve buried beneath decades of being “reasonable”?
you already know which one you’re avoiding.
and maybe it’s time to ask yourself why.
choose now.
because if you don’t
you will wake in ten years
and not recognize your own reflection.
you will hear a voice laugh in your chest,
and it will not be joy.
it will be grief.
grief for all the songs you never sang.
grief for all the oceans you never swam.
grief for the self you exiled
in the name of being acceptable.
but if you leap
you will not land where you think.
you will land where you’ve always belonged:
in the center of your own becoming.
raw. unplanned. infinite.
not a product of perfection,
but a testimony of truth.
so go.
not because it’s easy.
but because your soul is already halfway there,
screaming at the edge of your ribcage:
“i didn’t come here to watch.
i came here to burn.”
i love you,
bv
“The Winter Between Us” Comment “Winter” to get this artwork to your home where it belongs. I love you. This is what it means:
There you are.
And the winter is between you.
Not between lovers.
Between you and Love itself.
Two good people, inches apart, miles away.
You learned your roles and called them love.
Both of you said I’m fine. Both of you froze.
You freeze bare-chested in the storm.
And you freeze wrapped in furs.
It makes no difference for numbness does not come from the cold,
It comes from the structures within.
You have mistaken structure for safety.
You have called performance love.
You have followed the script so tightly
that your heart forgot how to speak.
As a man, you were taught the myth:
“I will suffer for her, and that will make me worthy.
”
“I will endure, and in my pain I will prove devotion.
”
So you tighten your jaw and call it strength.
How long will you keep dying in the name of being dependable?
How long will you confuse pride with love?
As a woman, you were taught a softer cage:
“I will be calm. I will not need. I will wait to be asked.
”
“If I smile, he will feel better, and that is care.
”
You call your distance grace.
You freeze, and tell yourself, I’ll turn when he asks.
How long will you keep pretending composure is compassion?
How long will you freeze in politeness,
while your hands ache to turn and hold him?
He mistook endurance for devotion; she mistook silence for grace… and both called it peace.
You both stand in a storm of shoulds
You kept your vows, but not your warmth.
You learned to perform love so perfectly you forgot how to feel it.
The saddest part is, you both wanted the same thing: To turn. And neither moved first.
You have been lied to.
Love does not demand suffering.
Love does not require permission.
Love does not live in roles…
It lives in truth.
So let it burn through the scripts.
Let it tear through the etiquette.
Let it melt the distance you’ve built in the name of dignity.
Turn.
Not forward, toward.
Move the umbrella. Share the coat.
Do not wait to be asked.
It was never about enduring the cold,
it was about building a fire… together
in this photograph, you see two worlds separated by a single wall.
on the left, a man sits at a desk. old computer. clock above his head. face buried in his hands. he is not working. he is enduring.
on the right, the wall ends. and beyond it, a sky bleeding gold. mountains. open land. and a figure pulling with everything he has. ropes wrapped around his body, straining away from that office, away from that wall, away from everything that world represents.
this artwork is called Deadweight.
you see, the office is not just an office. it is every opinion you were handed before you could choose for yourself. it is the classroom. the dinner table. the voice that said study something real. the desk. the clock. a slow death dressed in a salary.
and the ropes that he holds. they are voices.
what will they say? weight.
what if i fail? weight.
who am i to want more? weight.
opinion by opinion. pressing into your spine until you forgot you were ever meant to stand upright.
yet look at the right side. he chose the pain of freedom over the comfort of decay. his body strains against everything he was told to be. and behind him, the sky is on fire with everything he is pulling toward.
and you know which side of the wall you are on. you feel the desk. you feel the deadweight growing heavier.
for the greatest risk in this life is not failure. it is condemning yourself to exist without living. to arrive at the end and weep for the life you were too afraid to choose.
so drop the rope.
for the weight was never real. the weight was fear wearing the mask of responsibility.
and on the other side of that wall, the sun has been waiting for you.
it has always been waiting for you.
i created this Mirror to find you. and if it found you, there is a place i built for people exactly like you. people who are done dragging. people who felt the rope burn long enough. people who are ready to drop everything that was never theirs and finally stand upright beneath their own sky.
comment “LIFE” below if that is you. and i will personally send you the door.
#art #photography #reels
