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This work emerged from a moment when a vague fear of death, taking the form of a virus, spread across the world, prompting me to begin thinking about how life and death are understood in everyday life.

This photographic series captures the moment when I hold an unlit cigarette in my mouth and borrow the flame from a friend’s cigarette. Because a cigarette is lit through the act of inhaling, we must synchronize our breathing.

 

In daily life, the moments when I become aware of my own breathing are limited. They tend to occur when I am concentrating on something, when I feel physical discomfort, or when I am about to fall asleep.

Rather than my own breath, it may be the memory of other people’s breathing that stays with me more vividly. What comes to mind are the times when the cat I once lived with was growing weaker, the figure of my grandfather as his death approached, and the sight of friends, partners, or family members asleep. Situations close to death, closed eyes, and intimate relationships overlap in these memories.

 

Facing a friend with their mask removed, I lower my gaze as if closing my eyes and turn my attention to breathing. As our breaths begin to mingle, a red breath starts to appear. In the slow, flickering red light, I felt a faint expectation that we might be able to sense, if only momentarily, our small, fragile lives.

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