If you’ve followed this blog for a long time, you’ll remember it as peace photography — a space for stillness, beauty, art, and a little bit of rebellion.
I’m Robin Boardman — and I’m slowly finding my way back here.
In the time since I last posted regularly, a lot has changed. I’ve been living with chronic illness and long COVID, navigating a world that feels like it’s constantly on fire, while still finding pockets of tenderness, resistance, and art that keep me breathing.
I’m still drawn to beauty. But now I’m writing more — about pain, protest, slowness, climate collapse, joy, grief, and the fragile threads that hold us together.
This blog is shifting.
It’ll still hold images and moments that move me. But it’ll also carry:
– reflections on chronic illness and healing
– fragments of writing and essays
– protest stories and photos from the frontlines
– and the art that helps me stay soft in a brutal world.
If that speaks to something in you, I’d love for you to stay.
If not, thank you for the years of being here. Truly.
Hustle culture hurts. It pushes us beyond human limits, to heights we were never meant to reach. But real work, the kind that nourishes and endures, begins with love, connection, and acceptance.
We are imperfect. So too will be our work, our routines, our care for ourselves. And that’s okay. I’ve learnt this the hard way, as striving drowned out softness and purpose became pressure, I fell into burnout and chronic pain.
But our intrinsic beauty, our calm, our capacity for play, these shine brighter than any to-do list or accolade. Even when the task is as momentous as changing the world, I want to begin with the simple tools: gentleness, presence, joy.
Sometimes, our greatest achievements begin by being still, together. Holding hands, offering company, or lending an ear to someone in trouble. As Schopenhauer said, you never know, particularly in our epidemic of loneliness, who is on the edge of suicide. Every kindness, every invitation to slow down, could just save a life.
The death cult leading our world to oblivion is addicted to producing bullshit — more oil, more plastic, more junk we don’t need — and forcing others to follow suit. Forests are flattened, oceans poisoned, communities sacrificed, all in service of a machine that can never stop. This isn’t just an economic model. It’s a spiritual sickness. In that light, rest becomes an act of quiet resistance. A refusal to be a cog in their chaos. A pause before the real, meaningful work begins — the work of healing, reconnecting, and reimagining how we live on this Earth.
Thank you to all the unknown heroes who have supported me with this reflection as I recover from a breakdown. You’re all my guiding lights.
And as I rush, I risk missing another truth Pooh knew so wisely: that doing a lot of something can sometimes lead to nothing at all.
My first time sharing something like this. I wrote about what it’s like inside a migraine flare—an attempt to describe what pain feels like from the inside.
Not to escape it, but to stay with it. To even befriend it. Dive in if you want experience my cavernous mind too.
