Drift

Drift traces a quiet journey into seclusion from the world, toward calm, and finally inward. Across three scenes, snow becomes the language of distance: a bridge leading away, a cabin at rest, and a window looking back.

This work isn’t about loneliness so much as the strange balance between peace and detachment. It’s the comfort of being apart, and the quiet ache of realizing that comfort has replaced longing. I don’t know if I miss people, or if I miss my ability to miss them.

Drift lives in that space, where stillness feels both gentle and a little bit sad, and where being alone feels like the only honest way to be at ease.