Transicions

"A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving."

— Lao Tzu

​

Movement is an undeniable constant.

It exists in every moment despite the appearance of stillness.

 

We are nomads by nature, traveling—physically or not—from one place to another. Time passes, cycles end, and at the same time, they begin. We are immersed in a great transition, leaving traces behind.

An inevitable record.

The chronicle of a journey.

Reflective, introspective characters lost in their thoughts.

Are they certain of their destination? We may never know.

What is certain is that they carry stories, recorded like a logbook in everyday objects—perhaps without us even realizing it. As if these elements—suitcases, backpacks, watches—were an extension of our emotional skin.

They hold the record of our lives.

They wear out, get scratched, and yet remain standing, despite the passage of time, of which we are both victims and accomplices.

They are the permanence of memory.