A House Reborn from Silence
For two decades, I lived the impossible.
Chained, burning, buried, suspended —
I escaped what should have held me.
World records came whilst cities watched.
For a time, I believed myself unbreakable.
Then came 2020, the lights went out, the stages closed.
The world fell silent. In weeks, everything I had built disappeared. The weight of that silence hit harder than flame or steel.
Fire could not break me.
silence did.
When the world went quiet, everything vanished — the work, the purpose, the man I thought I was.
The silence was not rest.
It was suffocation.
I was surrounded by love — my daughters, and Jane at my side — yet all I felt was failure.
The weight of absence.
The hollow ache of losing who I had been.
In that darkness, I found myself disappearing.
Not in fire, but in silence.
Slowly, in the quiet, something returned.
Not ambition — but purpose.
Through the brokenness, the first ideas emerged.
The first fragments.
The first forms.
Domus Noctis began there —
in silence, in shadow, in patience.
One piece at a time.
In rebuilding, I returned to the room where all my plans had been drawn —
where escapes were mapped, and risks imagined.
But I had overlooked the most important room:
The kitchen.
Not the stage.
Not the workshop.
The kitchen.
The first room of the house.
The room where family gathers.
The room where stories live.
For years it had been a space of compromise.
Unseen.
Unimagined.
Domus Noctis began by changing that.