I Am Light, Sharp and Luminous began during a time when loss, illness, and vision were all changing the way I understood the world around me. After the deaths of several close family members, I found myself standing at the front edge of my generation, carrying memories that felt both vivid and impossible to hold. I kept returning to the house of my childhood and family history in fragments: its rooms, its noise, its disorder, its tenderness. In this series, I am interested in how family history remains with us not as a complete story, but as atmosphere, gesture, and traces of attention passed from one generation to another. At the same time, a diagnosis that threatened my sight changed my relationship to light. What had always been essential to photography became difficult to bear. Reading, looking, and making images were suddenly difficult. Blur, glare, repetition, and partial vision entered the work not only as visual effects, but as evidence of a body trying to keep seeing. Rather than turning away from this instability, I began to work within it, allowing vulnerability and uncertainty to shape the images. I made these photographs at the edge of the sea and beneath the night sky, in places where the world seemed both immense and fragile. Storms, sea foam, darkness, celestial light, and self-portraiture became ways of thinking through grief, bodily uncertainty, memory, and imagination. The blur in this work is not simply the loss of clarity. It is the place where I continue to look, where the image wavers, and where something unknown begins to reveal itself.