Fragments emerged from an unexpected act of surrender.
After four weeks in Europe, I eagerly awaited the return of my film, desperate to revisit moments that had consumed me only weeks before. Instead, I learned my vintage camera had failed, leaving behind only fragmented exposures and a referral for repair. What I expected to feel was grief, but was instead met with a quiet realization: at least I know the moments were lived before they were captured.
The loss became an invitation. An invitation to question presence, impermanence, memory, and the instinct to hold tightly to certainty. It asked whether beauty exists only in what is preserved, or whether it can also be found in what is incomplete, obscured, and left unresolved.
Fragments is an accumulation of pieces that, together, create something whole. It reflects the way we move through life—collecting joy alongside sorrow, clarity alongside confusion, beginnings intertwined with endings. Like the damaged negatives themselves, we are shaped as much by what is missing as by what remains.
This body of work is an offering to surrender: to loosen our grip on certainty, to trust the unfolding, and to recognize that wholeness is rarely found in perfection, but in the delicate gathering of every fragment that makes us who we are.
