Held In Bone

Moments scatter and disappear. Sometimes a memory surfaces. A glance, a smell, a silence. Perceptions rise and vanish as quickly as they come. Identity shifts. What we show and what we keep hidden begin to blur.

Life appears chronological, but memory moves on its own terms. It drifts, returns, or falls away. Some moments settle quietly. Others arrive with force, vivid and insistent.

More than fifty years ago, loss entered my life without warning. The quiet that followed shaped how I learned to see. I tried to understand what was missing by paying attention to what remained.

These images live in that space. Where traces persist and presence is felt just beneath the surface.