A quiet house on a Tuesday evening. The air smells of rain. A door is left slightly ajar. Inside, a nightlight hums. A seven-year-old’s crayon lies on the cool tile floor. The cartoon on the screen is frozen in place; a chair is still warm to the touch. The reconstruction of a final moment always begins with these textures… the small, ordinary details that become haunting clues.
Elsewhere, a t...
