It is a slow ascent. From a place without contour. From the blur inside of limbo. Something brushes the surface, like a half-formed thought, an image rising from the depths. Not quite a dream. Not yet reality.
There are, in everyday life, infinitesimal breaches. Interstices where light lingers, where the shadow slips without any noise. That is where this series takes root: in these instants where reality wavers, where something undefined invites itself, silent.
Shadows are born there, discreet. But quickly, they liberate themselves from reality. They twist, stretch, invent an identity for themselves. They become thresholds, edges as it happens, where the world changes its density, where what is visible begins to lie.
Each image is an advance toward this fragile point: where the dream takes shape, where we cease to seek control. It is a slow march, an almost imperceptible shift. We move forward, without knowing yet if we want to come back.
Reaching the edge is touching this precise moment where the world pulls away, just enough for us to hesitate to find it again. It is feeling that we should maybe wake up, but preferring to remain there another instant. In this chosen blur. In this soft border. In-between shadow and light. Between reality…and what could be.
