Morning After
Dawn is a peculiar no-man’s-land. The excitement of the night begins to fade, and the audacity of only a few hours earlier suddenly seems to belong to another era, another place, perhaps even to different people we once were.
The polish disappears. What remains are tiredness, vulnerability and a few stubborn traces of magic still caught in our hair and circulating in our bloodstream. We walk slowly back towards ordinary life, although for a while that life seems just as unreal as the night we are leaving behind.
I wanted Morning After to inhabit this brief state of transition: between excitement and withdrawal, performance and vulnerability, night and day. It is the moment when we are too tired to keep acting, yet not quite ready to return to ourselves. We are alone, but somehow alone together, temporarily inhabiting a world of our own that will disappear as soon as the day properly begins.
Rather than constructing a literal narrative, I approached the series as fragments of that state of mind.
Process
I photographed the series in black and white using a mixture of digital and analogue cameras: a Nikon D810 + Lensbaby, Nikon F3 + Lensbaby, Rolleiflex and Holga. I deliberately allowed their different visual languages to coexist rather than trying to make the photographs technically uniform.
The clarity of digital photography gradually gives way to film grain, softness, imperfect exposures, reflections and the unpredictability of the toy camera. For me, these variations became part of the narrative. As the sequence progresses, the image itself seems increasingly uncertain, as though the camera, too, were struggling to hold on to the person and the remnants of the night.
Morning After is less about what happened the night before than about those few fragile hours when it is already over, but the new day has not quite begun.
London. September 2026
