Bali

Bali doesn’t announce itself. It seeps in — through the smell of incense at dawn, through the geometry of rice terraces that have been carved by hand for a thousand years. I arrived in October, when the fields turn from green to gold and the mist sits low over Tegalalang like a held breath.

I spent most of my time above the terraces, waiting for the light to break through the clouds in a single shaft. It happened twice in ten days. Both times I was ready. Both times the camera felt like it was only partially telling the truth.

These images are about geometry and patience — about the way human hands can shape a landscape over centuries until it becomes indistinguishable from nature itself