In 2018, I worked with two women in a car scrapyard, directing their movements among rows of damaged vehicles. Their vivid clothes stood against the dust, rust and faded metal. The photographs were staged, but the tension at their centre came from a question that felt real to me: what happens to a woman’s presence when the space around her seems to resist it?
At first, colour keeps the women distinct from their surroundings. As the sequence unfolds, the metal frames begin to close in. Doors, windows and mirrors cut across their bodies, keep them at a distance and reduce them to partial views. By the final image, the woman is almost gone, although a trace of her remains.
I was thinking about the difference between being present and being seen. The work stays with that contradiction. It is not about complete disappearance, but about how someone can remain there while the space around her shapes how much of her can be recognised.
