Hi, hope that you are all well.
This is my flyer for my upcoming exhibition which I have got this coming Friday with Urban Arts Stoke here I am hoping to promote myself as well as also my work as well as hopefully sell some of my photos
@SeanArmstr85 Wanted to sent this to you as I have no dealings in cryptocurrency and wanted to expose you as the fraud that you are I want my account back
Sean Armstrong on X:" / X
@SeanArmstr85 This is a warning to all of my followers that this account has been hacked do not have anything to do with this person as they are not me
@SeanArmstr85 This is a warning to all of my followers that this account has been hacked do not have anything to do with this person as they are not me
@SeanArmstr85 Wanted to sent this to you as I have no dealings in cryptocurrency and wanted to expose you as the fraud that you are I want my account back
Sean Armstrong on X:" / X
After I finished writing Rainbowfire, I realized how much of the book had been shaped by the quiet space around my glass door. That door watched me through every chapter — early mornings, late nights, moments of doubt, and bursts of inspiration. It became part of the story’s birth.
I wanted to honor that place.
So I decided to create a stained‑glass window for the door — not just as decoration, but as a way to let the world of Rainbowfire live where it was written.
In the glass, I imagined a house glowing from within, its windows lit like embers. Above the door, I placed the word RAINBOWFIRE, as if the story itself were stepping forward to greet anyone who entered. Flames rose from the roof, not in destruction, but in the same creative fire that kept me writing.
On the right side, I added a waterfall flowing from an open book — the balance of fire and water that runs through the heart of the story, and through me as I wrote it.
Around the house, I set flowers and crystals in impossible colors. They represent the small joys that carried me: Buddy’s mischief, Cosmo’s calm presence, Mary’s humor, my daughters’ voices, my wife’s steady encouragement. Every petal and shard holds a memory.
When the stained glass was finally set into the door, the morning sun lit it up in reds, golds, greens, blues, and silver. My writing space transformed. It felt like Rainbowfire had come home.
Now, whenever I walk past that door, I don’t just see a piece of art. I see the place where I wrote Rainbowfire — and the world that rose up to meet it.