Wingspan begins in transit, in those in-between hours when terminals blur into runways and every window becomes a moving frame. The work follows motion more than destination, tracing the quiet choreography of departures, crossings, and returns.

These photographs were made across separate trips, but they share the same impulse: to hold onto brief alignments of weather, light, and distance before they dissolve. Aircraft, streets, and open sky each become different ways of measuring time.

What interests me most is the tension between scale and intimacy. A plane can dominate the horizon one moment, then vanish into a line of cloud, while a face in a station or a reflection in a window can carry the same sense of vastness.

As the sequence moves forward, the images shift from grounded scenes toward wider air and city views, building a rhythm of lift, drift, and return. Together they read like fragments of one long route, stitched from places that were never meant to stay still.

November 2024, January 2025, June 2026, January 2026