little fish
Little Fish is a self-offering, a quiet sinking into the skin of water and shadow. I made these images alone, with mud beneath me and sky above, letting the lens watch without asking. No performance only breath, only stillness. I became something half-forgotten: soft, suspended, part bloom, part silt. A body not posing but dissolving. Each frame is a whisper from beneath the surface, a hymn to the parts of me that live where language ends. This is how I vanish gently, wholly, and with grace.
Little Fish is a self-offering, a quiet sinking into the skin of water and shadow. I made these images alone, with mud beneath me and sky above, letting the lens watch without asking. No performance only breath, only stillness. I became something half-forgotten: soft, suspended, part bloom, part silt. A body not posing but dissolving. Each frame is a whisper from beneath the surface, a hymn to the parts of me that live where language ends. This is how I vanish gently, wholly, and with grace.
Little Fish is a self-offering, a quiet sinking into the skin of water and shadow. I made these images alone, with mud beneath me and sky above, letting the lens watch without asking. No performance only breath, only stillness. I became something half-forgotten: soft, suspended, part bloom, part silt. A body not posing but dissolving. Each frame is a whisper from beneath the surface, a hymn to the parts of me that live where language ends. This is how I vanish gently, wholly, and with grace.