30/09/2026
I recently had the privilege of sitting down with Sebastian and hearing him talk about an experience that shaped him deeply.
At just fourteen years old, Sebastian walked the Kokoda Track with his dad.
He told me about the relentless rain on Brigade Hill. The mud. The exhaustion. And his dad pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket and reading Marianne Williamson's words to a group of fathers and sons.
But it was what happened afterwards that really stayed with him.
Walking into the silence of Bomana War Cemetery, Sebastian came across the grave of a soldier who had been just fourteen years old.
The same age Sebastian was.
That moment changed his perspective.
It made him realise that the freedom and comfortable life he had always known hadn't simply appeared. Others had paid an unimaginable price for it.
And from that experience came a philosophy that Sebastian still carries today:
Don't let the fear of not being enough stop you from stepping into your potential.
As he spoke, I could hear how much this experience had shaped the man he has become — his responsibility to others, his resilience, his commitment to community, and his desire to use his own strength to help others find theirs.
And then came the photograph.
After our conversation, I noticed an art installation made from the names of fallen soldiers.
I immediately knew I wanted to use it.
Those names — the names of people who gave their tomorrows so that others could have theirs — became shadows across Sebastian's face and body.
And suddenly, his story was physically written across him.
The shadows aren't just light and darkness.
They're history.
They're sacrifice.
They're freedom.
They're the weight of the stories we inherit from those who came before us.
And they're a reminder that sometimes the most powerful photographs aren't created by the camera.
They're created by conversation, connection and understanding.
Sebastian gave me his story.
The installation gave me the visual language to tell it.
And together, they created something I couldn't have planned.
They gave us their tomorrows.
What will we do with our today?