Nina de Canela

A kodak terrain for the timid, we walk and they follow. Step by step, as we crush the blacks of our playful contrast, they still follow. Through expired film, we shift landscapes of an auburn sky, and yet they still follow.

Underexposed however picturesque, apertured enough to sense their bashful presence. A mystery in motive, shadowed by the sluggish taffy of a distant past. Withal if one had to guess, perhaps it’s the aromatic trail they pursue.

The one of friendly fresh fallen cinnamon.

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