In the autumn of 2025 when I was losing someone very close to me I went to the marshes in search of vanishing moments — a ripple on the water when a turtle feeds just below the surface, or a drift of fog disappearing with the rise of the sun. There is something about the forgotten feeling of wetlands that reminds me of sumi-e painting, an ancient art depicting natural subjects in black ink and gray wash against the emptiness of white paper. I made these images in the same spirit, as minimalist expressions of essence, absence, and mood.

The title of the series comes from a quote by Guillermo del Toro, “Presence is fleeting. Absence is eternal,” spoken about the passing of a loved one. His observation relates as well to our subliminal experience of photographs. Things or people that appear present in a picture are in reality not there, reminding us of inevitable losses in life. A photograph is a mystery — absence becomes an enduring presence, as in grief. Why do I find this paradox oddly comforting? Is it because loss puts us in touch with something eternal, something beyond ourselves? This is the question this body of work contemplates, as does ink painting, in impressions of nature at once vanishing and everlasting.