They didn’t speak as the light changed.There was no need. The tree had seen this before —the day unwinding itselflike thread from a spool too tired to resist beauty. And the sky? It didn’t burn.It didn’t dazzle.It glowed.Like something that knew: “This is the last light,and I don’t need to earn your attention.I only need to be.” The Summilux didn’t flatten this moment.It didn’t interfere.It...
When the sun begins to retreat,it doesn’t say goodbye—it converts. Skin becomes outline.Voices dissolve into shoreline.People stop being namesand start becoming shadows that remember warmth. You see them out there—not as bodies,but as echoes in motion. Some hold hands.Some chase water.Some just stand,waiting to be translatedinto something less visible but more true. This is the hour when the...
The road bends like a thought half-swallowed.One car,its lights flicking punctuationinto the silence between hills. Above —the sky bruised in violet and ember,smudged like memory too fresh to fold away.Not quite day.Not quite night.Just the hour that never asks permission. The mountain stays still.But something watches.And the driver —seen, then unmade —rides the seamwhere memory endsand...
He stood above the rocks,a silhouette against skyburnt granite. Not alone — part of a group.But this one had the high ground.He wasn’t the loudest, or the largest.Just the stillest. While the others grazed, moved, shifted —he watched. Not tense. Not timid.Just deeply aware —of me, the camera, the heat in the air,and the invisible threshold between distance and disturbance. I didn’t move closer.He...
El Matador Beach, low tide in winter.The light was clean, the air sharp enough to taste. A wooden chair stood at the edge of the surf, legs braced in the sand,but the ocean has no respect for craftsmanship.Salt and time had already claimed the glue in its joints —the next wave was only an accomplice. One sat, confident for the first few seconds.The other crouched low, camera steady, ready for...
Two silhouettes stand before the moving code.Lines and circles shifting like tides,light speaking in patterns too old for text, too young for forgetting. David van Eyssen calls it a reflection on Cryptomnesia —the theft of memory, the misplacing of origin.In the glow, the visitor leans forward.The artist waits. I framed it through the Leica Summilux-M 35mm f/1.4,letting the lens drink in the...
There he stands at the world’s edge, camera cradled like a conjurer’s wand. The sun—sinking like a molten vow— spills gold across the tide, and the sea mirrors the hush just before night takes its first breath. In that breathless interval—between shutter and silence,between memory and forgetting—something shifts. A gull rises,wings inked against the molten sky,and for a heartbeat,the world...
The Joshua Tree doesn’t pose.It defies —roots in prehistoric dust,arms thrown wide at the galaxy like it owns the night. The Milky Way stops being an idea and becomes evidence —a river of fire and ice,sharp enough to cut,close enough to burn.Captured with the Summilux-M 21 mmits precision turns distance into proof,dragging the farthest light into reach.The glass catches everything —the rough, sun...
If memory were architecture, what would you build to mark what mattered? A field of crosses in the sand—temporary, impermanent—yet each one marks a threshold.Not only of those who fell, but of those who remained.Not a battlefield. A mirror field.Grief doesn’t always arrive with clamorSometimes, it is the silence between markers that stirs the loudest.A single light, cold and high— not the sun...
I didn’t touch the car.Didn’t need to. She spoke first. Sunset leaning in low, whispering gold through the salt haze.The Corvette sat patient, smug even—chrome polished like she remembered every mile, and didn’t regret a single one. I raised the Leica.Heavy in the hand, like truth.24–90mm, wide enough to lie, tight enough to wound. Framed the dash. Just the dash.No couple. No context. No mercy...