PLAYGROUND

I don’t photograph arenas of spectacle, but places where memories sigh.

Dilapidated fields, cracked concrete plains, a goal without a net, a basket without a hoop.

They aren’t empty, they are charged.

The beauty of stillness and decay. Places where dreams began, where they were left behind.

Where they vanished, where they died. What was once play is now an echo.

They breathe memories of joy and sorrow, of winning and losing, without a ball being played.

The sound of silence frames the beauty of emptiness.