Introspection

Moments scatter, rearrange themselves, disappear. Sometimes a memory surfaces. A glance, a smell, a silence, flash perceptions that surface and vanish. Masks form as identities bend. Solitude, memory, and time leave traces.

Life appears chronological, but memories are often unstuck, slipping forward or backward without warning. There is a quiet 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.

In the traces, there are threads that carry what we hold inside and spaces where presence once lived. What survives is the true self beneath the performance.