Presences

I’ve never claimed to see ghosts in the conventional way—no spectral apparitions floating through doorways or cold spots that demand explanation. What I encounter in centuries-old buildings is quieter, more intimate: a palpable density in the air, as though the walls, floors, and arches have absorbed the breath, footsteps, and unspoken emotions of everyone who has ever occupied them. I feel them—not watching me, but coexisting. Layers of lives brushing against mine like faint perfume trapped in old fabric. These paintings aren’t about fear or the supernatural in a dramatic sense. They’re about recognition: the humbling realization that no space is ever truly empty.