In the space before dreaming fear cannot find me. I lean open-palmed into the darkness, and snap pictures with my lids – bursts of black thrown against the light. Everything I make in the space before dreaming is right. Because only my heart is there to judge. Every image, a husked memory, woven tight. Nothing less. Nothing more. Captured not because it needed to be beautiful but because it is part of a story meant to be told. In the space before dreaming, I knit my worries wings and push them thru the cracked sill over my head. Their escape leaves me empty, and whole. Here, every beat and sound and sob and shout can find it’s way through the finest needle hole of my heart. They fit without splitting me open, printing images on the underside of my soul. In the space before dreaming, I am immune to the noise. I am a wide open window, within a tightly clamped safe. I make no mistakes. I define imperfection. I take pictures with no mercy.

So very honored to join a lovely group of photographers, sharing a monthly post on “What ____ looks like.” Please continue the blog circle to drink in the amazing, amazing work of Lindsey Bergstrom. You will not be disappointed.