Between here and elsewhere lies a stretch of sun-bleached tarmac, etched with numbers, arrows, and the ghost of every takeoff.
In Runway, I look not at the sky, but the ground — the quiet before flight, the choreography of stillness.

Infrared reveals a world we rarely notice: runways pulsing with heat, lines painted like incantations, surfaces whispering with memory.

These are not just places of transit, but charged thresholds — where time holds its breath, and possibility hangs in the air like jet fuel and sunlight.

Through these images, I offer a meditation on waiting, on the beauty of almost, on the strange poetry of places meant only to pass through.