WEEKEND WALKS
I often carry a camera on my walks, making photographs only when a moment feels completely aligned—when disparate elements settle into a quiet coherence. Each image marks a fleeting convergence that cannot be repeated.
The scenes I encounter are not constructed, but found—yet they often carry the weight of metaphor. A cracked mirror might suggest a fractured world; a contained pool set against the expanse of an open ocean can evoke the tension between limitation and freedom, between what is chosen and what is given. These moments, discovered rather than made, reveal a kind of unintended symbolism embedded in the everyday.
These photographs function as tokens of presence and absence at once. They hold traces of lived experience—of connection, separation, and the slow passage of time—while also pointing to their eventual erosion. The act of photographing becomes a way to return to these moments, not to preserve them, but to acknowledge their impermanence.
