I’m Hannah.

I work in the space between perception and memory.

My photography lives in the tension of what’s seen and what’s felt—the way light lingers on a wall long after the sun has moved, the weight of a glance held a moment too long. I’m drawn to the unfinished stories, the frames that breathe with their own quiet pulse. There’s poetry in the almost-forgotten, and I try to hold it still before it slips away.

Film, to me, is more than a medium—it’s a way of seeing. The grain, the imperfections, the way time folds into itself between exposures. I like the patience it demands, the way it teaches you to wait for the right moment rather than chase it. Some images fade before they’re fixed; others stay with you like a half-remembered dream.

Beyond the lens, I trace patterns elsewhere: in the shapes of language I study, in the rhythm of streets and histories, in the quiet logic of design. They’re all ways of asking the same question—how we give form to what moves through us.

This is where I keep the ones that remain.