I am Antüpewma.
Sunlit Dream. The light within the dream.
The one who walks with fire and remembers in the dark.

I carry the memory of the grandmothers in my blood—women who knew how to pray with their hands, who knew the language of leaves and lullabies. I was not raised in the language of my people, but I was born with the ache of remembering.

For years, I searched for home in places, people, and purpose—until I realized my body was the altar, and the land was always speaking.

Now, I walk as a ceremonialist, photographer, and storyteller.
I walk as a daughter of the South, where the Earth is still sacred and the silence still sings.
I create portals—not performances.
Images—not to brand you, but to unbrand you.
Rituals—not to fix you, but to call you home.

This is not about how you look.
It’s about what’s ready to be seen.
And what’s been waiting to be remembered.