Echoes

Echoes is about memory as it comes apart. The houses are places without people — rooms laid open, tables set for no one, blue drained almost to white — that have become emotional spaces: memory no longer recognises the houses it once lived in. A seashell fitted with an NFC tag repeats a childhood gesture: you hold it to your ear expecting the sea and hear only your own blood, returned by a web application. The estrangement is the point — a body listening to itself through a machine. Silence is the material; the image is where it settles.