Friday Series of Photographs

There are moments when no lie is left to curtain loneliness and abandonment—hours that pierce the depths of every concealed pain and sorrow we never knew we carried. It becomes evident that all the courtesies and entreaties to date were nothing more than a deferral of time. Days pass and return, only to congeal at a single, frozen point; that point is “Friday,” the ending to all days. It is like a play that has concluded: the actors’ masks have fallen away, their painted roles wiped clean. The clamour on the stage is gone; no heroic or tragic music remains at its side to cloak the missing spark of life.

How sharply Friday disrupts the surface calm of the everyday!

Yet time is strong and days are innumerable. Eventually one misstep sends a person plunging into that bottomless chasm; the moment of surrender arrives—sooner or later, what does it matter? Friday reminds us that when people depart, not a single leaf will fall from its branch, and no child will stop lifting a kite into the roaming winds. Friday is a self‑spoken tale of a restlessness leading into silence, and with iron levers it presses the seal of stillness and oblivion upon time. Life, however, will continue elsewhere, and tomorrow will be another day.