The highway in Waiting for the Unseen slashes through geologic time. Captured at the margin of dusk, the car dissolves in a shimmering haze, not moving fast, but decaying. This is not about where it’s headed, but the way presence splinters in transit. The desert is ancient and immovable and doesn’t remember passage or contain any traces other than the shadowy paths left behind by the fugitives before it.
In Between Worlds, the hallway is a rhythm of disappearing. Arches are replicated in a rhythmic manner like a heartbeat, and figures flash in and out of readability, recollections frozen mid-inhalation. There is something somber in its symmetry, as if the architecture itself would serve to accommodate the void as readily as the fullness. The observer travels with the specters and not behind them.
Together the panels chart a psychology of departure: the one pushed outward through velocity and the other pulled inward through erasure. They don’t grieve the lost moment but celebrate the trace left behind.
BASSEM H. BOUSTANY Photography 
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