I think of it like this: I let the lights hum against the room, slow like a heartbeat, and I move through them as if I'm tracing a memory on a sheet of velvet. Each step pulls a thread of color, and the motion itself writes the story. When the dance ends, the air still holds a faint shimmer, a reminder that even the briefest movement can linger like a whispered poem. I capture it by recording those moments in long‑exposure shots, then layering them with subtle shadows, so the viewer feels the weight of each breath. It’s almost like the room is a canvas that breathes, and I’m just trying to catch that sigh.