We don’t remember life as it was — we remember how it felt
Welcome to Portraits for No One — an ongoing project where short stories and black-and-white photographs meet in a quiet dialogue. The images don’t illustrate the stories; they expand them — like dreams that reveal what words can only suggest.
Each story is a glimpse into moments of solitude, loss, and rediscovery, told lightly but honestly. Each photograph, vintage and dreamlike, becomes a key to those emotions — a way of seeing beyond the visible.
Subscribe to receive one unpublished story each month, accompanied by a selection of photographs and reflections on the experiences that inspired them.
Join the journey through words and images
About the Stories
Set in the mythical town of Hometown, these nineteen interlinked tales wander through lives that blur the line between what happened and what was merely felt.
Here, truth and lies distort reality, memory and photography struggle to witness, and identity slips between transformation and disappearance.
Amid political and emotional decay, art fights to remember, and love persists despite disintegration.
Here, truth and lies distort reality, memory and photography struggle to witness, and identity slips between transformation and disappearance.
Amid political and emotional decay, art fights to remember, and love persists despite disintegration.
A clockmaker’s broken hourglass folds time back upon itself.
An apothecary bakes cakes he never eats.
A woman steps through cracks in walls to rescue strangers.
And an old lady insists that “the world is not made of locks and bolts, but of doors.”
An apothecary bakes cakes he never eats.
A woman steps through cracks in walls to rescue strangers.
And an old lady insists that “the world is not made of locks and bolts, but of doors.”
Each story might look like magical realism — but the magic is never an escape. It’s a way of expressing what cannot be said directly.
When Don Nicanor’s time splinters, it is not fantasy — it is what grief feels like.
When the photographer Eduardo cannot take a single picture, it isn’t failure — it’s his refusal to trap something that should remain fluid, like memory itself.
When Don Nicanor’s time splinters, it is not fantasy — it is what grief feels like.
When the photographer Eduardo cannot take a single picture, it isn’t failure — it’s his refusal to trap something that should remain fluid, like memory itself.
About the Experience
In Portraits for No One, photographs and stories exist in quiet conversation.
The black-and-white, dreamlike images do not illustrate the stories; they expand them — becoming visual metaphors for feeling.
Together, they form an experience that is part recollection, part reverie: an invitation to remember not what happened, but what it meant.
The black-and-white, dreamlike images do not illustrate the stories; they expand them — becoming visual metaphors for feeling.
Together, they form an experience that is part recollection, part reverie: an invitation to remember not what happened, but what it meant.
To move through Hometown is to wander your own past — recognising the taste of regret, the warmth of longing, the ache of remembering someone who may never have existed beyond feeling.
Why Subscribe
Each month, I share one unpublished story from Portraits for No One, accompanied by a selection of photographs and reflections on the real experiences that inspired them.
It’s a personal letter from the heart of the project — an intimate way to stay connected to the emotional landscape behind the art.
It’s a personal letter from the heart of the project — an intimate way to stay connected to the emotional landscape behind the art.
If you’ve ever closed your eyes and realised that the past you carry is made of sensations, not dates — that the truest photograph lives inside you — then this is a space for you.
Join me on this quiet journey through words and images.
Subscribe below to receive monthly stories, unseen photographs, and insights from behind the lens.
