Empty Roads & Broken Bottles;
in search for The Great Perhaps
The Glass Child
The story about the girl who left everything she had and knew to create a life on her own terms.
What does it mean to be an artist? What is home? And where does freedom turn into emptiness?
"I believe in writing your own story, and that’s what I’m doing here. I wanted to turn my life into art. My very existence into a poem. This is my journey. It might not always be easy, but it will always be beautiful.“
“I thought that if I owned nothing, had nothing, was nothing, I would have nothing left to lose, and I wouldn't be scared anymore. Because my whole life I’ve been so damn scared. Scared to live because I was scared to die. But at the same I was so scared of living, so I wanted to die. Or maybe so scared of dying that I refused to live. You don't have to be afraid to fall, when you're already on the ground. You don't have to be scared to lose someone, when there's no one around to lose.”
“I packed light and spent 18 months on the road, homeless but at home. Lost but unable to be lost because I had no destination. I arrived in new cities every morning, scraped coins to afford coffee and then tried to find the busiest venue in town where I begged to get to play a set or two. If I was lucky I sold albums enough to afford the train the next day. If I was luckier I could afford whiskey and if I was a god damn star I got some tip from the sound-guy. You read and write and sing and experience, thinking that one day these things will build the character you admire to live as. You love and lose and bleed best you can to the extreme, hoping that one day the world will read you as the poem you want to be. One day, things will change and you will not have to struggle every day to convince people that you and your art is good enough. One day, you will simply be able to be you, and be okay with that ….
But somewhere on the road I started to feel drained. There I was with no belongings but my guitar and a few pair of clothes, ripping my heart out in every single way, but no one seemed to understand what I was saying, what I was singing about, what I tried to do. I screamed my heart out every night, and no one seemed to care. I pushed and cried and fought and struggled my way through the days, with nothing in return but the so called blessing of getting to do it the next day again. A constant fever from sleeping on floors, cheap instant coffee and if I’m lucky a little tip under the table from the bar-staff. I loved living like a wanderer, not owning keys, new beginnings every day, but I started to get scared. You’re never really relaxed, you’re always watching your back, always worrying. Will things ever change?
I learned more than I ever thought I would this year, and I learned it by the ruthless life itself. I’m ready to use my struggles, the strength I’ve grown and the lessons I’ve learned to tell the world about the artist, the person I’ve come to be. I’m not doing this to get the world’s approval anymore. I know what I want now. For so long I let my life slip through my fingers, like water. I’m holding on to it now, and I’m not letting go. “
Signed Books + Book Bundles
"You smoked another cigarette and we shared another coffee and it was just another morning that made me realise that this is all it takes to be happy."
"Love isn't a Sunday morning with roses and wine. It's the stealing of your breath and insecurities and uncertainty and it hurts and I'm scared but still… still I've read Rumi's Book of Love ten times over and I think I'm falling in love with love a little more every time because it makes my heart beat.
It makes my blood flow and I don't feel like throwing myself out of the nearest window, anymore,
at least not right now, tonight."