A girl looks out a window of a car towards a line of trees on a hill.

DANIEL

SPECTRE

There's something about the way light remembers the rooms it leaves behind, how certain faces hold the weight of every quiet goodbye, how beauty and loneliness arrive in the same breath; that feels like a language older than words.

My work finds itself in these moments: the blue hour between waking and sleep, the tenderness of things worn by time, the particular ache of beautiful spaces learning to be empty. Each image is a meditation on melancholy as its own form of grace, on the romance hidden in what's fading.