I don’t photograph what I see. I photograph what hides. What awaits at the end of light. What appears when the world forgets its name. I believe in the image as an echo, not a mirror. I believe in blur as truth. In grain as the breath of the image. In movement as the voice of stillness. My camera doesn’t capture—it asks. It doesn’t crop—it leaves space. It doesn’t explain—it suggests. I work with the minimum. A simple camera. And the fading light unraveling the presence of night. I trust in chance. In spontaneous impulse. In mystery. I don’t seek what is. I seek what could have been. I believe in black and white as a fall. As a surrender to silence. As a prayer. Photography is not my craft—it is my way of listening… and speaking. My way of walking through the world without touching it. Of remaining in the invisible, the incomplete, the uncertain. And from there, to suggest a pause to anyone willing to stop with me— to contemplate. To imagine what has always been there, waiting to be seen differently.