Slowing — seeing
“We are constantly stringing our observations together, creating a continuity of time and space—an internal film we rely on to catalogue and define our past. But this continuity is a construction, a selective and incomplete view of reality.”
The relationship between photography and sculpture is central to my work. Photographing is not merely a means of documentation, but a way to stop time—an act of pausing, of observing and articulating qualities of the sculpture that might otherwise slip past perception. Angle, light, weather—rain, movement, or the subtler presence of atmospheric density—are held in suspension for a moment. Without the photograph, it becomes difficult for us to truly see that moment.
When we deliberately slow down—observe, breathe—we edge closer to stillness, to a present that resides at the intersection of heightened perception and meditation. What is that space? The more visually complex a work becomes, the more elusive that moment may be. We live in a culture that accelerates image consumption—media, television, film, urbanity—the “Disneyland effect.” This pace pulls us away from direct experience, urging us instead to engage primarily through thought. Thought is essential, but seductive—and often imprecise.
Can the condition of water, glass, and light serve as a counterbalance? Can it amplify presence, focus attention, and slow down the moment?