In 2010 I spent a magical summer in Paris. Most of the days were just me exploring the Parisian lanes and alleys with my trusty Leica and a 35mm lens in tow. I enjoyed searching for a rare picture. It's all I wanted to do

Months later when I printed some of the pictures in my darkroom, I noticed strange lines and clouds on the negatives - bromide drags. They're the result of a mistake in the way they are developed. Too little agitation leads to stains that never go away.

It was four o’clock in the morning. I looked at my prints on the drying rack. Suddenly there was a story:

What if the only place for entities to hide was the only place not yet explored on this planet: the Moment. While sounding very odd, it turned into a personal story about finding the thing that can not be captured by a camera.

What is happening in this place where time does not exist? Are those pictures taken, really captured?