“The Name That Isn’t Mine”
Their word was sharp and lazy,
a cold label thrown to shrink me.
But even in that small, choking space,
my fire refused to dim.









They can throw me a name,
but it won’t fit.
A woman stands in the hush of a concrete chamber, where a single blade of light cuts through the silence.The cloud drifts toward her like a soft memory returning home Inside these stark geometric walls, light behaves like a living thing — searching, touching, choosing where to fall.The woman becomes both anchor and witness, held…
She smiles on the outside while the china inside tightens into fractures. Politeness keeps the storm in check — until it isn’t.
She stands in the stillness, her thoughts dissolving into a quiet cloud.Some days the mind grows so full it becomes its own weather. This album captures the moment when identity drifts into atmosphere.A figure in tailored clothes stands motionless while a cloud forms where her face should be — soft, dense, impossible to hold. Each…
Light doesn’t just touch her —it lingers, bends, settles into the softest parts of her face.Every highlight becomes a small universe,and every freckle holds its own quiet constellation. A series devoted entirely to colour and texture:gloss, sparkle, oil-slick reflections, neon warmth,and the strange magic that happens when light slips across wet skin. These portraits are…