These moments are undoubtedly social gatherings for them, but they alter my relationship to my space entirely. I have felt uncomfortable in many spaces before, but never so literally. I no longer step outside at night. Actually, stepping outside is a stretch — I do not even turn on the light in my living room past midnight so as not to make this group of men aware of my existence. And when I do come back after the window of 12, I try to rush into my house and opening the lock on my latch seems like a war of its own. The last time it happened, there was huge flood light on me and they all went quite. As someone who lives to pick fights, I have had nothing to do about this situation. And so everything has been altered - the way I move, the way I listen, the way I leave the house, and the way I return to it.
No one asks them to lower their voices at 1 a.m., yet I remain aware of my own visibility at all times. That imbalance sits at the centre of this project. I have often wanted to walk outside and photograph them directly with my harsh flash. I do not do that because I do, in fact, live alone. Instead, for me, there are these photographs.
At the beginning of 2026, I moved to a considerably smaller town. Because I had to find housing last minute, I naturally did not have many options. I have many issues with this particular residence, but I also inevitably ended up in a neighbourhood I consistently struggle to feel comfortable in. I do not wear the clothes I used to wear before moving here. I hesitate to sit outside so as not to be perceived. If all of that was not already enough, across a very narrow street from my house is another building. The corresponding floor to mine is occupied by multiple men, while I, on the other hand, live alone.
This project exists between what I see during the day and what I hear at night.
During the day, the street appears ordinary. Nothing really seems to be happening. The photographs reflect this stillness. At night, however, things are very different. Voices travel easily across the street. I hear groups of men talking, shouting, laughing, and singing loudly to even louder music late into the night. Sometimes I hear them aggressively cleaning, which somehow feels scarier than the laughing. My guess is they gather to eat at night, but why do it outside? Why does it feel so aggressive from where I stand?
//On noise, survellance and living alone
Last Rides