My film practice is rooted in the same attentiveness that runs through all of my work — a desire to slow down, observe, and find meaning in the overlooked rhythms of everyday life. Shooting in slow motion, I transform ordinary moments into meditative studies of time, transition, and human experience.

In my film shot at the Getty Museum’s West Pavilion in Los Angeles, shadows cast by trees planted in 1997 become a backdrop for quiet cameo narratives. The presence of a London Plane tree — a natural hybrid with roots in both Eastern America and Asia, common since the 17th century — becomes a marker of time itself, weaving together histories of migration and the passing of years.

In my train film, the window becomes a screen in motion. By slowing the frames, details that are lost in the blur of a daily commute are brought into sharp focus. Commuters become unwitting actors, the platform a stage that is simultaneously public and private. There is an intimacy in imagining the inner lives of strangers — where they are going, what they are thinking — and in that slowing down, the footage takes on the quality of film stills or paintings.

Across both works, it is the small narratives and the quiet rhythms of everyday life that captivate me, the beauty that exists in the moments we rarely stop to notice.