Rain
Rain changes everything. Visibility shrinks, outlines blur, colors melt into one another. The world outside becomes soft and fragile, caught between reflection and dissolution. Surfaces turn into mirrors. What used to be transparent turns opaque. What was distant seems suddenly close.
Through the window, rain transforms motion into rhythm. Drops slide, merge, split again — a constant act of creation and disappearance. The landscape becomes a liquid composition of light, speed, and distortion. Even the most ordinary scenes gain a fleeting kind of poetry.
In the Rear Seat Diaries, rain acts as both veil and revelation. It hides and uncovers, interrupts and connects. The photographs are not about the rain itself, but about how it alters perception — how it reshapes the familiar into something momentary, almost abstract.