Trace Of Light

Trace of Light began for me with a simple but persistent observation: Even the most solid, fixed structure feels unstable when I spend time with it.

I find myself noticing how a surface can shift completely depending on the hour—how morning flattens a façade, how midday clarifies it, how evening dissolves it again into shadow. It makes me question what I’m actually looking at.

The building is the same, but my experience of it never is.

Over time, this has become less about architecture itself and more about perception. I keep returning to the same forms and realising I’m not repeating an experience—I’m entering a slightly altered one each time. Even my attention feels different depending on what has come before it. There’s something subtle happening in that repetition, as if understanding is never a single arrival, but a gradual recalibration.

I often think about how ideas behave in the same way. They don’t resolve and stay resolved. They return, but slightly changed. There’s a kind of spiral to it, where each revisiting carries a shift in awareness rather than closure. I find this closer to how I actually experience learning and seeing than any linear progression.

It also makes me think about how the mind holds onto things—how it adjusts through repetition, how it reshapes itself over time. I don’t experience perception as fixed anymore, but as something constantly being edited by light, time, and attention.

For me, this idea is really about staying with that ongoing change — watching how nothing is ever quite the same twice, even when it appears to be.