I recall the thrill of clicking the shutter for the first time, ushering in an era of dreams, obsession, and confinement. Christian Logan, my alter ego, wears many masks, each one a deliberate choice, designed to navigate the treacherous waters of my profession. Behind the camera lens, he exudes confidence, leveraging the intoxicating power of a flawless smile and piercing blue eyes to disarm even the most discerning subjects.

But beneath the surface, the façade cracks, revealing the stammering words of a socially inept individual desperate to preserve the fragile relationships he’s managed to cultivate. The overwhelming desire to document perfection becomes an addiction, as I bound through the concrete jungle in pursuit of fleeting moments of truth. My subjects, too, wear masks, remade in their own reflections, seeking validation through my gaze.

Consequently, we form a symbiotic bond – each one mirroring the other, our needs subsiding into an artificial harmony. They willingly submit to the sprawl of my obsessive lens, trading small parts of themselves in exchange for perceived permanence. But there’s an unspoken price they pay for each individual photo shoot. The irreversible price of sharing essential parts of their being – something fragile enough to sustain yet dire to destroy.

Yet we enable each other to preserve that equilibrium, punishing our vulnerabilities, shielding a pursuit perpetually conscious of – paradoxical in being.