@monroequiller
The light flows like a river on the film, and each crack is the trajectory of the falling stars. The moment the lens opens, the wind freezes in the viewfinder. The wrinkles of dusk, the dimples of a child's laughter, and the sighs of an old wall peeling off are all sewn into the warp and weft of the film.
We gaze at eternity with the eyes of metal, yet let the rain cast rust in the dark room of memory. Those out-of-focus dazed moments and overexposed palpitations are actually the lines of poetry left behind by the world - the instant of pressing the shutter is not about plundering time, but about imprinting the fingerprints of the soul in the passage of time
Ukrainian photographer Masha Raymers
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