This is the threshold.
The place where photographs remember more than people do.
Where AI dreams unravel like half-buried memories.
Where beauty doesn’t arrive polished—it crawls in wounded, humming something true.
Glimpses of Madness is not a gallery.
It’s a reckoning in shadow and color.
A fractured archive of grief, wonder, violence, and quiet grace.
Some images were caught in the wild—moments too soft to shout, too sharp to forget.
Others were summoned from machines, but the ghosts behind them?
Those were always mine.
So walk slow.
Lean in.
These aren’t just visuals. They’re confessions etched in light—
and fragments of a deeper story still being told.