4x5 large format film photography.

On a summer night I rig a light to my parents’ clothesline in Pennsylvania. The bare bulb, flagged and softened with photographic gels, bends the light to fall away from the lens while serving as a beacon. Then I wait. Moths arrive like small apparitions. They hesitate. They collide. They drift in and out of frame, brushing against the light-pooled air.

With my camera and timed exposures, I trace their gestures. The camera becomes a witness: not to what a moth is, but to what it does.

The images recall fei bai, or “flying white”: a calligraphic technique where gaps form in the stroke, where speed and lift reveal a spirit in motion. Each photograph records a trace of life not stilled, but moving through. Fleeting patterns made with wings instead of brushes. Ungoverned marks. Imperfect gestures that resist control and insist on being seen and felt.