At Fondation Louis Vuitton in Paris, the architecture plays with perception. In this image, a hallway splits into two mirrored paths, both curved, both enveloped in yellow glow, and both leading somewhere just out of reach. The blur is not a flaw but a feature—a gentle reminder that clarity is often a fleeting guest in the passage of time.
There is something humbling about the idea that every decision, like each step taken down these hallways, branches into its own timeline. The person walking in the distance is also split, just like the path, caught in both frames and yet belonging fully to neither. Our lives move the same way—mirrored, duplicated in memory and intention, never perfectly clear.
Impermanence is hidden in these lines. The soft light and distortion say more about transience than any sharp focus ever could. What we hold onto today—places, people, thoughts—may shift tomorrow. But there’s a kind of peace in knowing that nothing stays exactly as it is.
I’ve felt myself over the past year suspended in this same kind of transit space—between what was and what might be. I can feel change happening around and inside me, but like this image, the path ahead is still somewhat blurred. And yet, with that uncertainty comes an unexpected sense of acceptance. Maybe it’s not always about seeing the way clearly, but about learning to walk it anyway.