Found a box of slides, someone else’s skies and landscapes, thirty years old or more. No names, no stories. The original photographer repeatedly captured the sky, much like a child exploring through repetition, an act of pure observation unburdened by meaning.
Over time, these images grew on me. Their consistency became a language, a quiet meditation on looking. In their persistence, I saw both a child's wonder and an adult’s need to hold onto the fleeting.
By projecting these slides onto my body and the snow, I shift their original intent. The past meets the present, and the act of rephotographing them transforms their purpose, infusing them with new meaning shaped by my presence.
