HOME






Through Crying Windows

2024 - 2025

This series began with something simple. A window covered in condensation during a quiet morning. I was inside, looking out,
and realized that the window was not just a surface. 
It is a medium for memory. A filter between the world and the one observing it. 
The glass holds onto breath, temperature, and time as if it had been quietly recording the presence of someone within.

These photographs were taken through windows in various states of distortion.
Fogged, wet, stained.But that visual distortion felt familiar. Because we, too, see through filters.
Through our own windows. Our eyes. And through the residue of everything we have felt. Especially when we cry.
Tears do not only distort what we see. They reveal what we carry and change the light.
They soften the sharp edges of the world. When we cry, we look outward, but we see inward too.

In that sense, these images are not about what lies beyond the glass. They are about the moment when perception becomes emotional.
When clarity gives way to feeling. When the world becomes impressionistic, shaped by both light and longing.
I am not trying to document events. These are not moments with explanations. They are states of being.  
Like memory trying to form an image but stopping just before the outlines harden.
There is a strange truth in what we see through water. Perhaps because the world is never quite objective.
We see it through the weather of our own lives.

“We do not see space directly; we sense it through images that speak to our inner being.”

- Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space