We are backyard witches.
We are the wrong ones.

The silent survivors.

Chameleons with no flags, no home. And this space is a ritual. A spell.

We are the witches with no sabbath. No master. No forgiveness.

Nowhere to be found, nowhere to be seen.
But we’re all around, whispering to your shadows.

We remember. And we remain.

This work has no beginning, no arc, no ending. It offers no explanation, no thesis, no intent to convince. It’s a fragment. A gesture.
A visual act that came from somewhere older, slower, heavier.

Meminimus et Manemus : we remember, and we remain.
In Latin By ancestry. The language of what precedes us. Of what still presses on us.

This fragment comes from long-standing questions, about how women were once guardians of birth and death. And how that guardianship was taken, through medicine, through dogma, through power. About how language itself became a tool to strip body from care, life from gesture, spirit from voice.

This video just stands there as a trace, a residue, a splinter of something that couldn’t stay inside.

And it talks of the present. Of a climate where nuance is seen as betrayal, and complexity as threat. Where taking sides seems like the only way to exist.
But many of Us doesn’t take sides, we resists, like witches do: at the edges, in gardens, in kitchens, in politics, in arts, in veins.