During the early days of isolation, I found myself overwhelmed by anxiety. It caught me off guard and I didn’t yet have language for it. What I did have was a blanket.

There was comfort in its weight. Being enclosed, held down, partially hidden. Wrapped tightly, my body felt momentarily protected from something I couldn’t see but deeply felt.

Others found solace in small, ordinary gestures. Everyday things. In this series, I used only the bare walls of my studio and minimal intervention to reflect that state of emotional compression. The images speak to weight, gravity and stillness, and to the quiet tension that settled over daily life during enforced isolation.

With our freedoms suddenly removed, I began to ask what remains. What happens when movement stops, when time stretches, when the outside world becomes distant and abstract.

This work was made possible by the generosity of close friends who stepped beyond the safety of their homes to stand vulnerable in front of my camera. Their trust and openness sit at the heart of this series.