Night Atlas

Night Atlas is both a map and a meditation — charting the constellations above while tracing the quiet spaces within. These nightscapes hold the Milky Way not as backdrop, but as compass: guiding us through scale, through time, through the fragile threads between earth and infinity. Each frame is a moment of perfect alignment, when sky and land meet without rush, and we are reminded of our place — small, yet immeasurably connected.

Houses of the Holy: Structures stand against the night, humble yet reverent beneath the sweep of stars. The scene lacks grandeur of design, yet it conveys the quiet insistence of endurance. Rooflines meet constellations, and what seems ordinary b

Houses of the Holy: Structures stand against the night, humble yet reverent beneath the sweep of stars. The scene lacks grandeur of design, yet it conveys the quiet insistence of endurance. Rooflines meet constellations, and what seems ordinary becomes liturgy. The holy is not a place we build, but what descends when presence and vastness converge.

Content to be Consumed: A fallen tree stretches into shadow, already surrendering to time. The form is neither tragic nor triumphant, but given over, folded into the earth that once held it. Overhead, the stars trace their own cycles of decay and

Content to be Consumed: A fallen tree stretches into shadow, already surrendering to time. The form is neither tragic nor triumphant, but given over, folded into the earth that once held it. Overhead, the stars trace their own cycles of decay and renewal. To be consumed is not to vanish, but to become part of a larger rhythm that endures.

Seeing in the Dark: A listening station tilts into the void, built to catch what cannot be seen. Its presence suggests inquiry as much as defense, human hands grasping for meaning in frequencies beyond reach. Above, the stars move without urgenc

Seeing in the Dark: A listening station tilts into the void, built to catch what cannot be seen. Its presence suggests inquiry as much as defense, human hands grasping for meaning in frequencies beyond reach. Above, the stars move without urgency, unmoved by our questions. To see in the dark is less about clarity than about daring to seek at all.

Destination Unknown: The bridge extends the into night, but offers no promise of arrival. Suspended between earth and sky, it becomes less a structure than an idea: movement without certainty. Every crossing holds this truth—that we go not to ar

Destination Unknown: The bridge extends the into night, but offers no promise of arrival. Suspended between earth and sky, it becomes less a structure than an idea: movement without certainty. Every crossing holds this truth—that we go not to arrive, but to be carried into the unmarked spaces where maps dissolve and only the journey remains.

Somewhere Left Behind: A weathered shack settles into the sand, resisting and yielding in equal measure. Its tilt suggests memory more than shelter, a reminder that we leave fragments wherever we have stood. The night sky bends above without pre

Somewhere Left Behind: A weathered shack settles into the sand, resisting and yielding in equal measure. Its tilt suggests memory more than shelter, a reminder that we leave fragments wherever we have stood. The night sky bends above without preference, holding both ruin and wonder. What is left behind is never fixed; it waits to be found again in a different light.

A Line Between Hours: The vertical form divides sky and sea, not as a barrier but as a marker. It suggests the measure of time passing, one hour tipping into another. Yet in the stillness, that line becomes more than function—it is a seam holding

A Line Between Hours: The vertical form divides sky and sea, not as a barrier but as a marker. It suggests the measure of time passing, one hour tipping into another. Yet in the stillness, that line becomes more than function—it is a seam holding the world together. The hours blur, but the trace remains, connecting what would otherwise drift apart.

All That Remains: An ordinary structure stands beneath the impossible sprawl of stars. Weathered boards hold their place while galaxies tilt overhead, a dialogue of scale and endurance. What remains is not permanence, but persistence—the refusal t

All That Remains: An ordinary structure stands beneath the impossible sprawl of stars. Weathered boards hold their place while galaxies tilt overhead, a dialogue of scale and endurance. What remains is not permanence, but persistence—the refusal to vanish completely. In the dark, the simplest shelter becomes a monument, not to what was lost, but to what endures in fragments.

The Shape of Departure: At the horizon, light takes many forms—celestial, electric, constructed—all converging in a single frame. The lighthouse stands steady, yet above it the Milky Way arcs into infinity while storms fracture the distance with

The Shape of Departure: At the horizon, light takes many forms—celestial, electric, constructed—all converging in a single frame. The lighthouse stands steady, yet above it the Milky Way arcs into infinity while storms fracture the distance with sudden fire. It is less a place than a crossing: the moment when one presence recedes and another takes hold. Departure is not absence, but transition—shaping us through the forces we leave behind and those we are about to meet.