Milk, objects, and the stories we tell

You don’t need elaborate sets or expensive props to tell a story.

Often, it’s the everyday objects — the ones we pass by without noticing — that hold the most meaning. A single object, placed with intention, can stir up memory, emotion, or curiosity.

Objects are shared. They carry nostalgia, history, and endless possibility — without needing to be complicated or rare.

When I create, I like to leave the story unfinished. What isn’t being said? What lingers in the quiet? I want my images to open a door and let viewers step inside with their own memories, questions, and interpretations.

That’s why I return to everyday objects. They’re accessible, familiar — a common language we all understand.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about finding my voice. And I’m realizing it’s less about chasing it, and more about trusting it: making the work I’m drawn to. Being playful. Letting things stay strange and simple. Following what feels real.

For this project, I created a series of vignettes connected by a single thread: a glass of milk.

Why milk? It’s both a blank canvas and a symbol, woven into countless moments and memories. It invites the viewer to bring their own story — whether comforting, mundane, nostalgic, or a little unsettling.

I kept the styling simple: just enough to suggest a narrative, but open enough to leave space for the imagination to take over.

In the end, that’s the kind of work I want to make: strange, simple, familiar, and open. Work that doesn’t close the story — but begins one.