Spencer Zidarich

Spencer Zidarich

Spencer Zidarich
Spencer Zidarich

I remember the sun setting on a gleaming summer sky, resolving itself as a perfect circle only because it had been eclipsed by a thin fog crawling in - a sort of slow magic that softened what was normally too difficult to gaze at bare. Fog is meant to shroud; yet on that day it revealed a sun that was heavy and graceful and denied. I often consider myself akin to the fog on that day-acting as a mediator between the sun and the landscape; and all too conscious of the space between that connects it.

Spencer Zidarich
Spencer Zidarich
Spencer Zidarich
Spencer Zidarich
Spencer Zidarich
Spencer Zidarich
Spencer Zidarich
Spencer Zidarich
Spencer Zidarich