Through Her Lens

Solo piano — melody and left hand — with a gentle strings pad that enters like fog. 3/4 time, 66 BPM. The tempo of looking at someone long enough that the performance falls away.

The melody starts mid-register and traces a slow arc upward, reaching, settling back. Not climbing — just finding its range. The left hand keeps a waltz-like pulse underneath, steady but never mechanical. Always a little quieter than you'd expect. The strings enter late and stay behind everything, holding sustained chords that color without leading.

The whole piece fades. Not a resolution — a dissolving. Like a photograph left in the light too long, the image doesn't disappear. It just softens until you're not sure where the subject ends and the background begins.

That's the point. Through her lens, there's no edge between who she is and how she sees.