Trees are poems that earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness – Kahlil Gibran

Cambodia has some of the most intriguing, prehistoric jungle. I stood beneath roots that spanned the height of three story houses, then atop of this a tree that blows open the most vivid imagination. Equally fascinating is the ancient world buried beneath this jungle, its secrets held captive by these towering forms.

I spent an amazing amount of time exploring, wandering, sitting, contemplating and writing with both pen and camera; and I had the pleasure of stumbling across other artists tucked away from the world, in the bowels of this vast and truly remarkable landscape, writing with ink, brush and paint.

These artists were both locals and travellers like myself, all of us with similar goal in mind: to sit still enough, quiet enough, long enough, to capture a sense and feel for the stories hidden within this jungle; and I got the sense that, lingering here, were stories wanting to be told.

I believe that hidden within each of us, like these ancient tombs and temples, are stories wanting to escape, and I believe we are born to tell them.

There is a writer inside us all, waiting for permission to come out and play. In every moment of living, we tell a story in some shape or form – the way we dress, the way we conduct our business, create relationships, form community, play sport, paint, photograph or sing. In everything we do, we are writing.

The way we live and the way we die, is our story told.

Within us all are fabulous, amazing stories waiting patiently to be crafted and brought to light.