Nico Krijno is losing his sight. This book came out of that fact, but it is not a document of loss, nor an elegy for vision. It is an examination of looking itself, and what happens when seeing can no longer be taken for granted. Krijno has never treated photography as a reliable window onto the world. His images are built, painted, cut, copied, obscured, rearranged and photographed again. A photograph becomes an object. An object becomes an image. Something familiar becomes strange, then strangely familiar again. We are living through a period of constant uncertainty and upheaval. Both nature and culture seem to be showing signs of disruption. There is a growing need for images and symbols that remind us of the beauty and connections that still exist, however fractured things might appear. There is no straight line through the book, no single narrative. Images echo one another, return in altered forms and contradict themselves. The process is intuitive and physical. Krijno builds, destroys and rebuilds, allowing things to go wrong. An image is pushed until it begins to lose its certainty. A photograph has always carried the promise of evidence. But it can only ever give us a fragment. The rest is filled in by memory, imagination and expectation. Krijno is interested in that gap between seeing something and knowing what it is. He describes image-making as a private, physical practice, closer to prayer than production. There are no answers here. Only questions about photography, perception, the times we are living through, and what might still be possible.