Everything is Broken
When I go on walks alone, I sometimes take photos—not to capture grand scenes or picture-perfect moments, but to pause and reflect on what I’m feeling in that space.
The photos may not seem particularly interesting at first glance; they might even feel a bit lonely or out of place. But for me, that’s part of their meaning.
I often see things as “broken,” but not in a way that implies they’re damaged. Broken, in my view, just means they’re different, set apart from what surrounds them. It’s a quiet kind of existence, one that might seem sad but also holds a sense of strength and resilience. In these moments, I’m reminded that there’s a dignity in things just being as they are, without needing to fit into a pattern or meet a standard of beauty.
There’s a strength in accepting things for what they are, even if they don’t fit perfectly into their environment. Sadness, solitude, and difference can have their own kind of presence—a way of saying, “I also exist.” Through these images, I want to explore that presence, the resilience that comes from simply being.
Each photo is a piece of how I felt in that moment, a way of expressing something without words. They don’t need explanation or definition; they’re meant to be felt more than understood. I hope that they allow viewers to find their own sense of quiet in the stillness and to see that even what seems broken or different can hold its own beauty
