All that has light

It began with a portrait — a printed image of me, plain and quiet. I decorated it with glitter. I didn’t want to destroy it. I wanted it to shine. I wanted the person in the photograph to shine. So I took it into the sun, photographed it again. But it didn’t sparkle as I had hoped. Then the photo whispered: “burn me.” I hesitated. Burning meant destruction. And I didn’t want to harm the person in the picture. But I came to understand that burning is also a form of shining. Sometimes, light only comes from burning. So I set it alight. And in the moment the flame touched the paper, the face ignited. The light that failed to come from the sun emerged from fire. The still body became combustion — a spiritual spark, a silent cry, a trace of illumination. Each image documents a stage of this private ritual: the attempt, the resistance, the fear, the surrender. The once pristine portrait now glows in ash. I did not erase anyone. I revealed what was already burning.