I observe a scene.
Time passes, slowly—
but the moment I face the scene leaves behind a quiet weight,
and eventually leads me somewhere still.
Time passes, slowly—
but the moment I face the scene leaves behind a quiet weight,
and eventually leads me somewhere still.
I wait for these encounters.
They move something in me,
as if they carried emotion.
But they always pass through in silence.
They move something in me,
as if they carried emotion.
But they always pass through in silence.
For me, photography is the trace that such time leaves behind.
I watch, quietly. Slowly. From a distance.
In trying to hold what I cannot say with words,
I end up asking myself:
I watch, quietly. Slowly. From a distance.
In trying to hold what I cannot say with words,
I end up asking myself:
“What am I really seeing?”
