Brutal. Beautiful.
Most things are both. They change. Break. Heal. Disappear. Sometimes they leave a mark behind. The thing that hurts and the thing that makes it beautiful are often the same thing.
That's usually what catches my attention.
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A face. A scar. A grin. A smile.
A room after everyone has left.
The smell of rain before it arrives.
A storm that forms just before a perfect sunset.
It's the way the light filters through the trees.
I'm interested in the traces things leave on one another.
The quiet evidence that something happened.
I would be glad to shape an idea, create something, and get to know you.
My name is prisma.
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