Chalk sign I did for the restaurant/brewery I work at.—
Much Loved - Mark Nixon
Award winning Irish photographer Mark Nixon has created Much Loved, a collection of 65 “loved to bits” teddies along with their owners’ stories.
When everything was unknown, they were there.
Where anything could happen, they were there.
These repositories of hugs, of fears, of hopes, of tears, of snots and smears.
Alone at night, they were the comforters, when monsters lurked in darkened corners, when raised voices muffled through floors and walls.
These silent witnesses, these constant companions, defenders of innocence.
Their touch, yes, but their smell, that instantly calming, all embalming musk, unique to each, soothing and smoothing the journey from consciousness to un, from purity to im, from infancy to adult-terre.
Sworn to secrecy, unconditionally there, unjudgementally fair and almost always a bear.
Some days it’s easy to Hope. It’s like, on those days, Hope curls up next to you like a quiet, happy cat and you can feel good because Hope is there. It’s like there’s something about the air; like even the air wants to have that Hope that you get to be snuggled with.
But then, not every day is like that. Some days, Hope is nowhere to be found. And you can’t even find a trace enough to think it’ll ever come back. Every once in a while, on those days, someone will try to point Hope out to you, but you’re too afraid to scare it away so you don’t say it’s name, or look at it, or dare to call out for it. You simply turn over in bed, remembering what it felt like when Hope was near. On those days you can’t even hope that Hope will return. You just wait. Wait and feel sad, but also very empty, as you look at the spot where Hope used to lay.
That’s what depression feels like.