Twinkle’s Journey was my gift to everyone, a guided journey through a new way of dealing with the inevitability of loss in all its forms, using the developing art of personal machinima as the medium. In all the recent swirl around Twinkle’s Journey, this gift of a personal journey is lying unopened on many tables.
There are so many ways to lose a child, and we all are touched by at least one of them during our lives, from the extreme of a child who dies, to one who is taken away, or who grows up, or who grows apart from you, one who never had the chance to be born, or one who simply goes to sleep at night.
Twinkle’s message is that inside all these losses, if you look, you will find that person―not lost to you at all, but very much alive and present in your heart and in all the memories, things, joys, and dreams you shared. Your heart was, and will always be, that person’s real home. A heart in this sense is not a poetic metaphor. It is a real place you can build and build upon.
If you look at Twinkle’s Journey and think, “This is about Bay dealing with her sadness,” or Loveshadow dealing with his loss, you are looking at this video from the outside. You are a spectator. But this isn’t about me. This is about you. My art comes from my own personal experience, but it isn’t about me. Among the incredible flood of people who have written and commented on Twinkle, only a few have found a way to engage personally with it, and one wrote especially elegantly about his own journey here.
Twinkle’s Journey is a safe space. I made it just for you. Come visit, come stay, come live here even. You don’t need to be afraid here. You can explore your own loss, whatever it is and whenever it may come, without feeling the need to distance yourself. This machinima speaks directly to you. That’s why this machinima musn’t be about me.