Adjacency

This image is quiet in a way that feels deliberate.

Two structures sit close to one another, but they don’t merge. They remain distinct—separate forms sharing the same weather, the same ground, the same silence. Snow removes distraction. The sky offers no horizon. What’s left is relationship: scale, spacing, proximity.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately—the space between things.

In photography, we’re often taught to focus on subject. What is it? What does it say? What story does it tell? But as my work continues to shift, I find myself less interested in explanation and more interested in balance. In how elements coexist without needing to justify themselves. In how meaning can emerge without narrative, simply through placement and restraint.

This scene doesn’t ask to be decoded. It doesn’t offer drama or resolution. It just holds.

The snow flattens everything equally. Age, function, and purpose dissolve into form. One structure doesn’t dominate the other. Neither demands attention. Their relationship is defined not by action, but by presence—by being near without touching, aligned without symmetry, connected without interaction.

That feels important right now.

As this year unfolds, I’m learning to pay closer attention to what exists quietly alongside me rather than what demands forward motion. Growth doesn’t always require separation or change. Sometimes it’s about recognizing adjacency—what has been there all along, sharing space, shaping the frame without calling attention to itself.

This image is part of an ongoing exploration of landscapes where restraint matters more than description. Where stillness carries weight. Where the absence of information invites reflection rather than confusion.

Nothing here is happening.
And yet, everything feels settled.

Sometimes that’s enough.