I’m interested in the threshold of perception, the moment before a scene resolves into clarity. Using multiple exposures and in-camera movement, I let the camera see the way memory does: imperfectly, in layers, with edges that refuse to hold still.  

Each image in this series is composed rather than captured. The blur is not a flaw but a language—a way of describing what it feels like to almost remember something. 

I'm drawn to muted tones, to surfaces that mediate rather than reveal: fog, glass, water, the soft smear of motion. Under these conditions, perception becomes poetic — partial, atmospheric, and aware of its own limits. 

These images recreate the hour between light and dark, when things are still visible but not certain. That is where I want the viewer to stand: not looking at the image, but looking through it, the way we look through our own recollection of a place we can no longer quite locate.