“Hold still.” It was something I heard over and over growing up, as a neurodivergent kid asked to quiet my body, control my focus, and behave. This image resists that request.

Shot through a modified lens, the figure sits composed yet blurred, dissolving at the edges. This image does not represent how I see, but how I might remember a loved one over time. This person might be someone I once knew, someone I once was, or someone I am trying not to forget. Memory is not permanent. It is soluble. What appears to be a failure of focus is a deliberate act: a way of showing how recollection softens, shifts, and slips toward invention.