I organize them carefully, creating a narrative flow. The portfolio tells a story that death is sacred, suffering is truth and darkness is beautiful. It's everything I've been working toward. Everything I am.
The next day I decide to run an idea past Dom.
"Maybe I should show some of these to a few people in the art community. Get some early feedback before submitting to galleries."
Dom's response is immediate and sharp.
"No."
I look up from the portfolio. "No?"
"The gallery is a risk on its own, it’s better not to raise interest before we know if they want to represent you, baby."
"I’m just excited to share these," I say softly.
"And you will."
The next day I write the email to Sarah Vance at Void Gallery. I've researched her carefully. She's a curator known for showing transgressive work, boundary pushing photography, artists who document the underbelly of society. It’s the best match for me.
I attach a selection of images from the portfolio, excludingToxic Devotion, as that one stays private for now, and I write a brief introduction.
Dear Ms. Vance,
I'm a photographer and artist working in dark subject matter of crime scenes, environmental decay, human suffering. I believe my work aligns with Void Gallery's aesthetic and would love to discuss potential representation.
Please find attached a selection of images from my current portfolio.
Best.
I don’t use my name or identity. Nothing that connects back to the old Roxy who's supposed to be lost in the world.
Before I send it, I show Dom. He reads the email carefully, studying the attached images, then nods.
"Send it," he says.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah. This is good. Professional. Anonymous enough to be safe."
I hit send and we wait.
That night, we stand in the darkroom surrounded by the twenty-six pieces of the portfolio. The photographs, the drawings, the story of our journey that’s now a memory that is detailed forever.
Dom's arms are around me, his chin resting on my head.
"People are gonna see our story through your eyes, baby. She better understand exactly what she's getting and treat this work right."
"She will. I can feel it, Dom. This feels right."
“You’re legit, baby,” he says, and I laugh as I wrap my arms around his neck. Everything is finally falling into place.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DOM
The news alert hits my phone three days after Roxy sends the email to Void Gallery.
I'm at a job site in La Tesa, framing out a kitchen remodel when the notification buzzes. I almost ignore it as I've got alerts set for specific keywords, things that might indicate someone's looking for us, but they rarely trigger anything useful.
