Rowland Reyes Martinez

The red

I’m usually out at night during the ripe hours of the city’s silence. Passing non existent footsteps, gracing street lights with no weight, pushing nothing but air and dust sparks from day old construction workers. The weight of the lens moves heavy on my shoulders with nothing to capture but the shadow I hear as I walk on light. Crossing street poles, cracks on the floor, visualising a future on naked mountain scapes overlooking colours of Barragán to keep the night interesting.