The images themselves are aggressively unspectacular. Domestic corners. Travel detritus. Friends mid-gesture. Pets being themselves. Accidental compositions. Awkward discoveries that only exist because I happened to be paying attention that day. None of it is edited into importance; the point is volume, proximity, and accumulation. Meaning emerges through adjacency, not curation.
The ritual is partly about touch—returning images to a physical state where they can age, scuff, and be misremembered. It’s also a practical gesture, a way of reclaiming space from the soft tyranny of the hard drive. The phone gets lighter, the year gets heavier, and memory stops pretending it was ever meant to live forever in the cloud.
2022 One-Sided Documentation
Three Books
Over 1200 pages
Edition 1/1
2021 One Sided Documentation
Two Books
Over 750 pages
Edition 1/1
2020 Pandemic
Two Books
Over 700 pages
Edition 1/1