Palimpsest

The Blue Ridge Mountains have been a part of my life for nearly twenty years. I return almost every year, and each visit feels both familiar and changed. Over time, the place has become a record of memory itself, layered, altered, and rewritten.

The word Palimpsest comes from old manuscripts that were scraped down and written over, yet traces of the original handwriting remain. Memory works the same way. It rewrites itself, but never completely erases what came before.

This project is not about documenting a landscape. It is about how memory transforms what we see. The fog, the far horizon, and the quiet light are not descriptions of place but reflections of time passing and perception shifting. Each image holds the residue of what remains after memory has touched it too many times.