I perceive the spaces where time flickers—where déjà vu hums like a distant echo, where a breath feels borrowed from another life. I press the moment into film, light folding over shadows, truth slipping between frames.

Faces dissolve—we are more than the masks we wear, more than the names we answer to. We play, we shift, we become. The lens is a threshold, a doorway—not to capture, but to remember what was never truly forgotten.

To think like a mountain is to listen—to the silent pulse beneath still stone, to the river’s slow, endless carving, to the wind that does not ask who we are. We are here, and we are everywhere.

Because existence is fluid. Because time is not a straight path but a spiral, a loop, a ripple. Because identity is not fixed—it shifts like light on water, like echoes in the wind.

I make art to step between worlds, to hold the fleeting in my hands, to trace the invisible lines that connect past, present, and something just beyond reach. The analog process slows me down, makes me listen, makes me feel the weight of the moment.

Faces are ephemeral—masks, reflections, fragments of a greater whole. We play roles, inhabit selves, dissolve and reassemble. My work is not about who we are, but that we are—moving, becoming, slipping between versions of ourselves, like a dream half-remembered.

To think like a mountain is to witness without grasping, to see beyond the moment, to understand that everything is already part of everything else.