I did not mean to write a page about Bex.

This was not the plan.

In fact, by the time I realized how often her work was appearing in my notes, I had already been following her on my personal TikTok for months. Possibly longer. Which makes what happened next considerably more embarrassing.

I would bookmark an image. Then another. Then another.

Eventually I realized I wasn't collecting individual pieces.

I was collecting a pattern.

The images felt familiar. Not because they were telling the same stories I was exploring elsewhere, but because they kept circling the same territory. Bodies becoming permeable. Boundaries behaving badly. Something entering. Something leaving. Something changing.

The details varied. The questions did not.

As I continued building this archive, I kept finding myself returning to those same questions. Questions about identity. Questions about devotion. Questions about becoming. Questions about what remains after contact changes you.

Not because the artwork was illustrating the same conclusions. Because it kept activating the same parts of my brain.

Then I read her bio.

That complicated things.

Up until that point, I had been thinking about the artwork. Suddenly I found myself thinking about the artist.

Bex describes spending years pursuing a more stable life while quietly setting aside the thing she loved most. The charcoal. The pencils. The sketchbooks. Twelve years.

Until music woke something back up.

That was the moment this page stopped being about the artwork.

Because while our stories are not the same, I recognized the shape.

The moment where art stops being something you consume and starts becoming something you create in response to. The moment where something you thought was dormant turns out to have been waiting. The moment where following a thread becomes impossible to stop.

If that sounds familiar, well. You are currently standing inside the evidence.

What I appreciate most about Bex's work is not that it provides answers. It doesn't. The images linger. They provoke. They leave space. They create questions large enough for the viewer to enter.

That is a rare skill. And, if we're being honest, a slightly dangerous one.

Questions have a habit of leading places you never intended to go.

So this page exists partly as appreciation. Partly as acknowledgement. And partly as a record.

Proof that another artist kept appearing in the margins of this archive long before I consciously realized she was there.

The connection existed first. Recognition arrived later.

Pictured, left to right: Ascensionism, Calcutta, The Offering, and Thread the Needle.