I found a letter today tucked behind a stack of prints, its paper yellowed to the exact shade of a spring sunset in the

Cleaning a forgotten corner of my studio during this blue evening, I pulled a handwritten note from the shadows. The ink has faded into the fiber, creating a soft gradient that feels remarkably like the motion blurs I chase in the Veluwe. It is a strange, mooi realization, that this physical aging mirrors the digital lichtspel I try to preserve in my files. Whether it is a stroke of a pen or a sensor capturing a photon, we are all just trying to fix a fleeting moment before it vanishes. This scrap of paper feels like an old friend reminding me that even the most abstract work needs a soul to ground it. How do you hold onto the light as the seasons change?