When I press the shutter, various things are forgotten.
Form of nature, form without the intention, time creates it.
Each fragment which I seem to gather in some one big form.
Some kind of important fragments which I became an adult though I gathered it in the days of a child carefully, and have broken up.
The thing which does not come out and the scenery which chance and time weave.
I draw it, and I may be going to entrust slight light to come in through
a building and a window with various things.
All photographs are “fractal” for me.