A corridor is a space that exists only in relation to somewhere else. You pass through it. You do not stop. And yet these photographs were all made in that pause — the moment before the threshold, the space between entry and arrival.
A tunnel in Washington absorbs two figures into its light. An alley in Istanbul recedes until it becomes pure dark. A doorway in Napa opens onto nothing visible from here. What connects them is not architecture but attention — the decision to stop in the place designed for transit, and look. Every passage offers this: the world compressed into a single axis, light at the far end, and the question of what it means to move toward it.