This project began in the aftermath of loss, during a season when the world felt unbearably loud. I started walking with my Yashicaflex — a camera older than I am, slow and deliberate in the way it sees. Through its ground glass, the landscape softened. The noise inside me softened too. Trees, marshes, forgotten trails… they became places where grief could breathe, where I could breathe.

Working with film requires patience. You advance frame by frame, choose your moment, wait for the light. In that slow ritual I found a kind of therapy — not a cure, but a rhythm that steadied me. Each photograph is a small step forward, a conversation with memory, and a reminder that even in the quietest places, something inside us is still alive and moving.

What I set out to document has changed along the way. At first it was one park. Then it became a handful of places. Now it’s an ongoing exploration of stillness, healing, and the landscapes that held me when I needed somewhere to rest. This project evolves a little every time I pick up the camera.

You’re invited to explore what exists so far — a growing collection of images, field notes, and quiet moments made with the same camera that helped me find my way back to myself.

This project began in the aftermath of loss, during a season when the world felt unbearably loud. I started walking with my Yashicaflex — a camera older than I am, slow and deliberate in the way it sees. Through its ground glass, the landscape softened. The noise inside me softened too. Trees, marshes, forgotten trails… they became places where grief could breathe, where I could breathe.

Working with film requires patience. You advance frame by frame, choose your moment, wait for the light. In that slow ritual I found a kind of therapy — not a cure, but a rhythm that steadied me. Each photograph is a small step forward, a conversation with memory, and a reminder that even in the quietest places, something inside us is still alive and moving.

What I set out to document has changed along the way. At first it was one park. Then it became a handful of places. Now it’s an ongoing exploration of stillness, healing, and the landscapes that held me when I needed somewhere to rest. This project evolves a little every time I pick up the camera.

You’re invited to explore what exists so far — a growing collection of images, field notes, and quiet moments made with the same camera that helped me find my way back to myself.