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Liminality2024 - Present I am weightless, suspended midair—adrift between places, between selves, between the hard edge of reality and the soft, feverish blur of something almost real. Reality is porous, a thin membrane that quivers at the edges, dissolving into something less certain, less whole. I listen, and the sound is everywhere—an echo that does not belong to any single moment but lingers, seeping into the bones of the earth, into the quiet spaces between memory and forgetting.

My memories of the past remain as events. Each city exists as an objective fact—I was there, I went to those places. But only recently, through a shift in perception, have I begun to recollect subjective experiences: the weight of afternoon sunlight on my skin, the texture of air, as though my fingers were brushing lightly against the very edges of them, tracing their shape in the softest touches.

It is in these moments that I feel alive. I need them—need to touch them, need to experience them fully. My body is the only thing that anchors me, the tool through which I press against the membrane that keeps me separate from the world.

There is something fragile in the act of perceiving, as if the world itself exists only in the instant it is noticed. I reach for it through the lens of a camera, an instrument meant to capture, to fix reality in place. And yet, what I see is always shifting, always on the verge of dissolving. A lamp stands, but the soft halo it spills is faint, dissolving softly into the shadows. It is there—only just—but slipping away, unsteady, suspended, in that liminal space where all things hover before vanishing.

This series is not an attempt to preserve, but to witness—to step into the uncertain, the ungraspable, and meet it without resistance.It is a disintegration, a shedding of certainty, a dissolving of definition. In this suspension, I find myself face to face with the world before it is named, before it is understood. It is Husserl’s epoché—a bracketing of all assumptions, a stripping down to the pure experience of being. To see without judgment, to listen without the need for meaning. To exist in the quiet tremor of things just before they disappear.