There is a kind of noise that feels like velvet. I find it in city rain, in the shimmer of midday heat, in the way a crowd blurs into a single organism. I call it quantum mottle: the texture of chaos when it is gently held.
A photograph is a negotiation between chaos and clarity, and light is the mediator.
Some days the world is uncooperative, offering only fragments. But fragments are honest. They reveal the seams. I lean into that. I let the edges blur and the frame breathe.
Letting the frame widen
When I widen the frame, I stop chasing perfection. The story becomes the sound between the notes. That is where the infinite lives.