MOMENTS
Four years ago, I began taking photos more intentionally, printing them, and collecting them in an album. Not for social media, not for display, but simply to preserve moments for myself and the people I love.
In an age of digital photography and endless smartphone galleries, memories have become abundant yet strangely disposable. We capture everything, but remember less. I currently have 34.603 photos on my phone. Images I will likely never scroll through again, and may never even find in forty years. But these prints will remain.
I wanted to recreate that same feeling on my website: the quiet intimacy of pulling printed photographs from an album and scattering them across a desk.
The code behind the experience is intentionally designed so that the photographs arrange themselves randomly every time the page loads. Never the same twice, just like memories surfacing in unexpected order. They also cannot be enlarged, by design. A 10x15 print cannot be zoomed in, and neither should these. Some things are meant to be experienced as they are: finite, imperfect, and real.
Photos mostly taken on my Fujifilm X100T
In an age of digital photography and endless smartphone galleries, memories have become abundant yet strangely disposable. We capture everything, but remember less. I currently have 34.603 photos on my phone. Images I will likely never scroll through again, and may never even find in forty years. But these prints will remain.
I wanted to recreate that same feeling on my website: the quiet intimacy of pulling printed photographs from an album and scattering them across a desk.
The code behind the experience is intentionally designed so that the photographs arrange themselves randomly every time the page loads. Never the same twice, just like memories surfacing in unexpected order. They also cannot be enlarged, by design. A 10x15 print cannot be zoomed in, and neither should these. Some things are meant to be experienced as they are: finite, imperfect, and real.
Photos mostly taken on my Fujifilm X100T
