Introspection

Moments scatter and disappear. Sometimes a memory surfaces. A glance, a smell, a silence, flash perceptions that rise and vanish. Masks form as identities bend.

Life seems chronological, but memories are often unstuck, slipping backward or forward without warning. There is honesty in what lingers when the rest has been stripped away.

More than fifty years ago, loss first entered my life. It arrived abruptly, and with it, the quiet began. I tried to understand what was missing by studying what remained.

Within these traces are threads carrying what we hold inside and spaces where presence once lived. What remains is the self beneath the performance.