She is fourteen.

She is fourteen.

Quiet, with her own way of seeing things. You don’t need to direct her — point her toward a spot, and she’ll naturally find her way there. My job was simply to wait, and to catch the moment.

The light that afternoon was beautiful. We chased it together — from beneath the trees to the garden, along narrow paths and by the railing. Wherever the light went, she went.

No posing. No “look at the camera.” She looked down, closed her eyes, reached out, turned away — every moment was entirely her own rhythm.

Slender, calm, with a quiet kind of strength.

The light fell on her. She wasn’t performing for the lens.