Index
05 — Depth

Room 05

Depth

A photograph holds a place flat, on purpose.
For the length of a scroll, let it hold you inside it instead.

scroll to walk in

An empty road cutting through a steep rock gorge, a man walking away from the camera toward a distant market.

the road narrows, then it doesn't

Where the rock closes in,
the road forgets it was ever wide.

He is only passing through. The wall is not.

A turquoise lake at Band-e-Amir framed by pale travertine cliffs, ridgelines receding into haze.

the water keeps a colour the desert didn't ask for

Band-e-Amir holds its blue against a thousand kilometres
of everything that isn't blue.

Every ridge behind it is a little further from believing that.

A man leaning by a ruined window opening, framed against layered mountains and a hillside town.

he is not going anywhere. the light is.

The mountains move a little, if you let them.
He does not. That was never his job.

Photographs don't move.
For the length of a scroll, we let ourselves believe otherwise —
then we set them back down, flat, where they were always going to stay.