(c) Light & Composition UniversityThe Weight of Being Seen
There is a specific exhaustion that comes from being a landmark. It is the hollowed-out feeling of a person who has become a destination, a living monument to someone else’s expectations. I remember the old oak tree at the edge of my grandfather’s…
(c) Light & Composition UniversityThe Sticky Residue of Noon
The memory of summer is never a sight; it is the sudden, frantic stickiness of sugar drying on the back of my hand. It is the smell of melting vanilla—that cloying, artificial sweetness that hangs heavy in the air, thick enough to coat the…
(c) Light & Composition UniveristyThe Weight of Salt
I keep a small, smooth stone in my desk drawer, pulled from the tide line of a beach I haven't visited in twenty years. It is worn down to a soft, matte grey, its edges rounded by the relentless, patient friction of the sea. There is a specific…