I deliberately try to photograph what I believe to be real objects in the real world, hoping to prove to myself that I was present; instead my photos are a surrealist montage of unanticipated moments.
I yearn for a glance, a grimace, a wink, a smile – those small gestures that have the power to shape our memories and define our experiences. But as I pass through this fog of forgetfulness, I feel lost. I cannot remember where I left those eyes that once looked at me so kindly.
The memories of my travels through India have faded, slipped away like the world beneath the clouds of Darjeeling. I have lost sight of a distant place that was once so vivid, and the thought fills me with a sense of curiosity.
Once, I followed the passing of time at a British hop farm. Years seemed to pass as a flash of sunlight on water. Amidst the transformations, unexpectedly, some traditions remained.
I recall azure waves, the textures of everyday European life, en passant. Snapshots of old and new, continuity and change. Collective identities in the midst of individual metamorphosis…
