At its center is my father. Following his death in 2021—without funeral, without ceremony—the work develops as a delayed gesture of attendance. Flowers accumulate around his image: excessive, artificial, unstable.
The images originate from a small number of photographic negatives, processed through an image-to-image generative system without the use of language, and subsequently translated back into negative material and printed in the darkroom. Distortion and return operate as a single movement: the image is broken, then brought back into physical presence.
Fragments from my father’s clinical synopsis reappear as contact-printed images. Technical language, originally detached from the body it describes, is here rendered as matter.
The book itself is conceived as a site of holding—where image, text, and process converge as a form of insistence.
