I’m intrigued by ‘non-space’ (Auge’s writing in particular, and Hussein Chalayan’s work) and the habitual sense of being between things. This is a more pronounced issue today, given the rise of freelancing/itinerant professions and less fixed state of work/lifestyle. I was intrigued by the glasshouse - being both a transparent but also rusted/opaque texture.
— words and photography by Jasleen Chadha

You flap and flutter between. Exhausted by the almost, the maybe.

Your life is fragmented and compounded by an indistinguishable unfinished texture.

You are a part time optimist and it is this that pulls you out of your most complex and darkest moments.

Your sense of purpose and inclusion seeps in and out of focus. At times you draw strength from the unknowns of your life, at other times the unknowns cripple and stunt you.

For a while you stagnate and hang on the blow of yesterday’s disappointment. For a while you vanish and leak out of this world.

You move with quiet confidence that you can drip back in - that you can make it. Wherever that is...

You smirk like you’re on the Truman Show, as you dwell on your own insignificance within the universe. Absurd encounters cascade colour and flicker flight back into the grey blotches of routine.

You sift between places, waiting for something to happen to you, waiting to be found.

You sift between places, parts of you scattered elsewhere. You enjoy feeling unfinished.

You can sit on the almost and the maybe and decide later.

Your carefree, careless world can live a little longer.