I wasn’t hiding—I just hadn’t been seen clearly yet.
This image came from a day I needed distance—from work, from disappointment, from feeling unseen. I had recently been overlooked at work despite putting in real effort. It wasn’t a dramatic event—just the quiet sting of being passed over, again, because of office politics. I took a sick day, my first sick day in five years. I didn’t go far—just to a nearby garden with my camera, hoping stillness would offer something I couldn’t name yet.
That’s when I saw the magnolia—one bloom turned away, its petals partly obscured by another. It looked like it was hiding. But when I moved, the light shifted. From a new angle, it revealed itself fully—soft, glowing, and quietly radiant. And in that moment, it echoed how I felt: I wasn’t hiding—I just hadn’t been seen clearly yet.
The composition breaks with tradition. The focal point sits low in the frame, within the blossom’s core. I avoided placing it along conventional thirds because this image isn’t about perfection or clarity—it’s about emotion. Much of the frame is blurred by choice. It invites stillness, rather than spectacle.
Technically, it’s a two-image focus stack—each frame captured at slightly different focal planes. This wasn’t about sharpness, but about gently revealing more of the flower’s hidden depth. I disclose this because I believe photographic technique should serve feeling—not the other way around.
I wasn’t hiding—I just hadn’t been seen clearly yet.
This image came from a day I needed distance—from work, from disappointment, from feeling unseen. I had recently been overlooked at work despite putting in real effort. It wasn’t a dramatic event—just the quiet sting of being passed over, again, because of office politics. I took a sick day, my first sick day in five years. I didn’t go far—just to a nearby garden with my camera, hoping stillness would offer something I couldn’t name yet.
That’s when I saw the magnolia—one bloom turned away, its petals partly obscured by another. It looked like it was hiding. But when I moved, the light shifted. From a new angle, it revealed itself fully—soft, glowing, and quietly radiant. And in that moment, it echoed how I felt: I wasn’t hiding—I just hadn’t been seen clearly yet.
The composition breaks with tradition. The focal point sits low in the frame, within the blossom’s core. I avoided placing it along conventional thirds because this image isn’t about perfection or clarity—it’s about emotion. Much of the frame is blurred by choice. It invites stillness, rather than spectacle.
Technically, it’s a two-image focus stack—each frame captured at slightly different focal planes. This wasn’t about sharpness, but about gently revealing more of the flower’s hidden depth. I disclose this because I believe photographic technique should serve feeling—not the other way around.