A Ghost Story

(gouache on a photograph)

"You said it was a ghost story. It isn’t. It’s a love story."


"Same thing, really."


Hand in Glove

Yes, we may be hidden by rags, but we've something they'll never have. 

ps: thank you again, now today tomorrow and always, xoxo



Because the night belongs to lovers.

Love Letter

“[…]lovers who touch each other with words, whose contact with each other is made of words, and who can thus repeat themselves without end, marveling at the utterly banal, because their speech is not a language, but an idiom they share with no other, and because each gazes at themselves in the other’s gaze in a redoubling which goes from mirage to admiration.”

— Maurice Blanchot, from The Writing of the Disaster

Little Deer

This is my friend Sophia, and her little deer.


Stay with the one who loves you as a whole 
when you think you are in pieces.

The Wretched of the Earth

We only become what we are through the radical 
and deep-seated refusal of that which others have made of us.

— Jean-Paul Sartre