Becoming Part of the World I Created

Becoming Part of the World I Created

For years, the Lines of Ruin and Etchlands existed in fragments — verses etched in ink, art steeped in shadow, relics imagined but not yet forged. I built gods and ruins, landscapes and symbols, each belonging to a place apart from this one. But lately, I’ve realized something: I don’t just want to create the Etchlands.

I want to step into them.

The art, the poetry, the relics — they’ve always been invitations. An open door to a place where beauty and shadow coexist, where every scar tells a story, where objects are not just made but found. But an invitation means little if I never walk through it myself.

That’s why I’m reshaping how I present my work. Not just in style or theme — but in the way every element of it feels like it has lived in the world it comes from. Each poem will feel like it’s been carried through storms. Each print, like it’s survived centuries. Each relic, like it was pulled from the ash.

This is more than making art. It’s becoming a curator of my own mythos — someone who can hand you an artifact and tell you, without hesitation, where it came from and what it means.

In doing this, I’m not blurring the line between art and life. I’m erasing it.
Because the Etchlands aren’t just something I made.
They’re something I’m becoming.