Continuum is a chain of quiet collisions: water and weather, bodies in motion, and the odd tenderness you find in places that look like they’ve been left behind. From frantic water to still marsh. The x-rays and the coverless books are the same gesture: two ways of seeing inside, two skins removed, one body and one story laid bare.
Small dramas inside the larger current: a woman asking for change folds into exhaustion beside a formidable Princess Leia, an elderly couple slow-dancing like they’re keeping time for the room. Dogs are a parallel language, held close and running through frames, riding alongside a cyclist, love and loyalty rendered as documentary fact.
A judo flip lands like a thesis statement: life keeps turning, sometimes gently, sometimes by force, and the photographs insist it all belongs to one long, unbroken river.