Raucous Skies & Song Of Remembrance

This ongoing series explores the palimpsests of culture of my native Village. Rediscovered, after a personal loss of the one element that connected me to this place and people therein. My grandfather.

This ongoing series is an excavation—a return to the place where my grandfather’s absence became a presence.

These photographs are not about nostalgia. They are about the living archive of a culture that persists, reshapes, and resists erasure. The streets, the festivals, the half-faded murals—they are palimpsests, layers of memory where the past hums beneath the present. I am searching for the threads that connect me to this tapestry, not as an outsider nor a prodigal child, but as someone learning a language that was always mine but never taught.

This series began with a loss — but it became a search. What I found wasn’t just memory, but movement — in the hands that still work the land, in the weathered laughter of strangers who felt like kin, in the eyes of elders carrying centuries behind their silence. These images are fragments of lives unfolding slowly, deliberately — in rhythms I had forgotten. There’s beauty here, and also burden. There’s a quiet defiance in routine, a softness in survival. Each portrait, each stillness, felt like holding a mirror to a version of myself I had misplaced. This is a story of return — not only to landscape, but to lineage. To voices that never needed to be loud to last. Through them, I began to understand that home is not a place that waits. It breathes. It weathers. And sometimes, it remembers us before we remember ourselves.