When I wrote *"I Remember"*, it became more than a melody from Wesley Maul's blog

When I wrote *"I Remember"*, it was never just a tune—it became a map to the parts of my past I still carry. Each verse drew me back to the forest-farm of my childhood, and to the scars of those years.

*"I Remember"* is a musical act of remembering. Not just laughter and light, but all of it: the chaos and the calm. It captures the the sound of trees creaking at dusk.

This piece is a lifeline that ties me to my roots. And in singing it, I give breath to those who shaped me.

That's why I became an artist. Not through some career ambition, but because I had to. Healing required expression. And that's what sculpture became: a still, silent prayer.

Sculpture taught me patience. Unlike a song, form stays. I learned to sculpt story, to take what was fractured and give it breath. Each sculpture is a way of saying: *I survived this, and I remember*.

My creative journey isn't about perfection. It's about connection. Different mediums, same truth. When I can't carve, I sing. When I can't sing, I write. And when all I can do is breathe and be still—I listen. That, too, is art.

There's a whakataukī that anchors me through it all:

**"Because of you, I am; and because of me, you are."**

That's what *"I Remember"* means to me. It's not just my voice—it's a bridge forward.

When I sing it, I think of my brother's laughter. I think of the ancestors whose breath I carry.

I remember.

And in doing so,

I live.

So when you hear the song, you're not just hearing me—you're hearing a whakapapa of survival. It's not performance—it's a return. A healing. A remembering.

And that's what my art is always trying to do.

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