Sanjeong-Hosu Lake, South Korea, 2022

When a presence is gone, a subtle disturbance remains—a form of absence that continues to inhabit things, as though what has vanished had left behind a trace of itself in matter, a memory of having once been there.

Along the shores of that lake, water moved through the vegetation, the wind bent and unsettled its forms, and everything seemed to hover between life and dissolution. And yet something remained alive: a gesture, a trace, a presence stripped of its body.

Perhaps this is the quietest form that loss can take.