The Darkroom

March 24, 2026

People ask how long I spend in the darkroom. I tell them: however long the print needs.

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Forty-five minutes before the doors opened. The work makes a different kind of sense when nobody else is in the room.

When something can be replaced, it will be. I only collect what cannot.

Removing one element did not simplify the piece — it clarified the intent entirely.

At 1:50 scale, the entrance is exactly large enough to be humbling.

Three years underground. Whatever is bottled there is currently no one's business but ours.

People ask how long I spend in the darkroom. I tell them: however long the print needs.

Concrete remembers what happened to it. Stone forgets nothing. This is why they cannot share a wall without an argument.

Three thousand names on the waitlist for something made in a room I can barely stand upright in.

No windows, no clocks, no interruptions. Three days of work that will last a decade.

Light from the west window coloured every swatch in the same shade of gold. We stayed until the building told us to leave.

The most difficult thing to design is the seam that nobody notices.

You cannot compose what you do not understand. I spent three years learning to hear nothing.