(c) Light & Composition UniversityThe Rhythm of the Tide
I once sat on a pier in Marseille watching a boy practice card tricks for three hours. He wasn't performing for anyone; he was simply folding the world into his hands, over and over, until the movement became as natural as breathing. There…
(c) Light & Composition UniversityThe Weight of the Tide
I often find myself lingering near the fishmongers in the markets of older districts, where the air is thick with the scent of salt and the cold, metallic tang of the sea. There is a quiet gravity to these stalls, a reminder that the city is…
(c) Light & Composition UniversityThe Map of What Remains
It is 3:14 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am tracing the lines on my own palms, wondering if they are paths I have walked or scars I have earned. We spend our lives trying to smooth out the creases, to look as though we have never…