August Blues (2026)

A poolside series observing lanes, light, waiting, play, and the slow passage of late summer.

August Blues began at a neighborhood swimming pool in the last weeks of summer.

The pool is still open. The water is still blue. People are still swimming laps and leaving towels on chairs. But August has its own kind of ending built into it. Leaves appear in the water. Chairs empty out. Clouds move in. The lifeguard’s umbrella closes. Small signs that the season is already changing while you are still inside it.

The images move between the geometry of the pool — lane lines, ladders, diving boards, concrete — and the messier evidence of time passing through it: wet footprints, scattered toys, fallen leaves, abandoned chairs. The circular format removes the ordinary edges of the photograph and turns each scene into something closer to an observation or a fragment held under glass.

There is no dramatic ending here. Summer doesn’t disappear all at once. It accumulates evidence of its own departure. August Blues is about noticing that moment: when something is still happening, and you have already begun to miss it.