Putting my friends in frame
Every time I’m with friends, something quiet stirs inside me. I frame them, not just in photographs, but in memory. Sometimes once, sometimes twice in a lifetime, I capture them without even realizing, as if my soul knew this was art. A part of me preserved in light and shadow, layered through time. Multiple exposures of laughter, stillness, stories told over a beer in a quiet pub. These aren’t just images, they’re pieces of me, fragments of moments that felt eternal, stitched into the canvas of who I am.
Putting my friends in frame
Every time I’m with friends, something quiet stirs inside me. I frame them, not just in photographs, but in memory. Sometimes once, sometimes twice in a lifetime, I capture them without even realizing, as if my soul knew this was art. A part of me preserved in light and shadow, layered through time. Multiple exposures of laughter, stillness, stories told over a beer in a quiet pub. These aren’t just images, they’re pieces of me, fragments of moments that felt eternal, stitched into the canvas of who I am.