Drawing from both personal and public encounters, my photo series “Home is not a house but it can look like one” explores how comfort, memory, and identity imprint themselves onto otherwise everyday settings or objects.

Cherished objects and domestic corners such as a space divider placed at the bottom of the stairwell or a view of my koi fish pond, speak to the rhythms and memories of my private life beyond the physical husk of a house. In streets and public spaces, subtle signs — a pair of caprisun left on a gas pump, an unanswered question graffitied on shoddy construction fencing — suggest fleeting moments where people have shaped impersonal environments/objects to meet personal needs.

By omitting the human figure, the photographs invite the viewer to imagine the unseen lives behind these traces. Home here is not defined by architecture or ownership, but by gestures, rituals, and the emotional resonance we leave in the spaces we pass through.

In a world of rapid mobility and ever-growing precarity,

I ask

What makes a space feel like home, even if only for a moment?

How do we carry home with us?

AND

How do we leave its imprint behind?