From Mioa, a South African photographer and poet who creates under the moniker Tiafu, we present a music-inspired project that includes a series titled ‘Anywhere, Everywhere Yet Beside’ paired with a poetic dialogue between feminine and masculine introspection.

Artist’s Note:

“This project was inspired by an EP from an artist I truly admire—Annahstasia. It is an observation and an exploration into the depths of love and incompatibility. It seeks to platform a Rashomon-kind of love. One that is inherently true yet poetically sound, despite the obvious differences in how reality and experience compound.

These images are meant to craft a picture of a connection strained and distant, yet embers and moating, masking a subtle effervescence and vitality that kept a love going. A fire that once burned bright is now stifled by the passage of time and the notion of experience. Experiences linked to realities that cloud judgment and create compounding biases, much like the kind of things that accommodate division.

Her version seeks to tell the story of a woman, distant, complacent with her Self, halfway out the door, finding reasons to leave instead of asking for more. While His version seeks to tell the story of a man dedicated, yet indifferent, his heart gentle yet asleep in his hands. These two worlds exist simultaneously with their seemingly different narratives. I sought to paint a picture of a mirrored reality. This reality, though distorted in the depths of its disdain, remains true to the heights of a narrowed yet authentic love, refrained. Much like that which exists in this day and age.”

“Her: like insomnia
His hands are sleepless nights to me
The ceiling knows my eyes, these walls a ministry
I turn,
troubled all through the night
because he loves too loud, and I love timid, and never right

Him: Like summer
Her eyes are filled with a warmth that illuminates the day
The sun knows my bias
The moon and stars all the same
I arise,
Knowing that she’s still in the midst of her dreams
Because I find that while I rest
She stays awake, reluctantly

Her: I pray
“Oh daylight, please come”
But dawn is often interrupted by this radiant son
Joyous, intoxicated, a golden spirit in his breath
He may stumble, but only does so in jest

Him: I sigh,
“Oh night, please stay”
My love knows you too well
My love calls you by name
She counts stars, then watches the sun rise through the window
I often worry that she’s lost.
I often worry she’s stuck in limbo
Expressionless, sober, dis-eased in the mind
She may laugh, but only does so, just to appease mine

Her: His shadow offers a kind of calm
Though he constantly disputes my dormant palms
But truly, I know where they ought to be
I know where I ought to stand
side by side, in an act, a fall, the crushing weight of loving a man

Him: Her radiance offers a kind of angst
One where she distances herself constantly
Then disputes the space she made as if it were done so unknowingly
Still, I know I ought to be by her side
I know where I ought to stand
Next to her
In this dance, duet, together – hand in hand

Her: His body engulfs me
in an endless wake
I cradle my desires, but they’re His to take.
At times I float, but like paper weight I drown
to the depths of my defeat, knees scraped upon uneven ground
to the heights of his fallen crown, nails and locked doors
steadily awaiting a state where distance doesn’t mean war

Him: Her body is my temple
I cherish the moments spent in prayer
Though I know this God of mine is fine, but equally never as fair
She hides herself from me
So I only see her in my slumber
Her desires, concealed
As if to prompt my incessant wonder
my thoughts, my body, my mind, my hands
And I live in a kind of purgatory
As I await deliverance, toward a foreign yet desolate land

Her: He reaches for me
My limbs quiver at the motion
He turns from me
My heart sinks at the notion
that we’re so close
Yet so out of reach
Selfishly linked, in a labyrinth of history

Him: At times I sink, but like myrrh, I rise
to the heights of arrogance, our love disguised
a love, soaked in the depths of our disdain
recklessly waiting upon white flags, distance and grace

Her: We lay beside one another
in a bellowing kind of peace,
Knowing here lies a person
You’ll never truly get to meet
It’s a kind of defeat, one you ought not to question why
because its reason cannot be judged or measured
simply with the passage of time
not inquisition, not truth, nor lies
just two people uncertain,
uncertain enough to bide

Him: I try to reach for her
Timid and in disclosure
I often pull back
My cold hands, brooding
fearful of settling in an implicit kind of closure

Him: I try,
but it often seems as though we’re worlds apart
Holding onto the one we built
the one we envisioned at the start
I only exist beside her
offering nothing more than incidental ease
a book on her shelf, the one she likes but will never read
There’s a kind of acceptance in this state of current affairs,
Of being truly lost in grief by someone who stayed but has already left

Him: Perhaps she and I only exist upon the surface,
as if to flee from its tension
Posited as a kind of prejudice against the act of realisation.

Her: Perhaps he and I only exist upon the surface and within its tension
where there’s sincerity in this kind of forbidden revelation

Him: a lack of assertion, distorting our view over time
a kind of entropy, leading us toward our demise

Her: a reason for withdrawal, a subtle shift, piquing in decline
a steady & shaping movement; the catalyst to our demise

Him: a quiet acceptance in knowing that you ought to walk away
and an inevitable gospel, in not wanting to let go, but hoping things will change

Her: a quiet acceptance in knowing that you ought to say goodbye
and an inevitable gospel, in not wanting to let go, in the name of having tried.”