Close-up of a person's hand with visible wrinkles, holding an object in a dark environment with low lighting.

roads

The body as terrain. The choice to walk it.

We carry our life within us — written into skin, mapped in lines, recorded in the texture of what we have lived through. Seen close enough, the body stops being a body and becomes terrain. Lines become roads. A single mark becomes a point on a map someone has carried their whole life, unaware.

Roads moves through three ways of seeing this — from above, where the body is a continent; from the ground, where skin holds the weight of every step; and from within, through the eye and breath that return us to the present.

Life is a road. It doesn't move on its own — you have to decide to walk it. These fifteen images are my life: not a story about arriving somewhere, but about what it means to be on the way.