Threads

I walk through Tasmania's historic penitentiary sites, lifting my camera to faded walls and the waterhole beneath tree-lined, quarried cliffs. The images fold together—tragedy with beauty, officers with prisoners, past with present. I wonder if, even in those darkest days, a ripple of light ever reached their eyes—sunlight glinting on the sea, leaves turning in the wind—and if, just for a moment, it softened something inside.

●