our nostalgia in empty places.

This is the video that built the channel, in a way — the first time I managed to put the atmosphere in my head into actual images and sound. It goes back to being six years old, waiting alone after school for my mother to pick me up, watching the sky turn purple, hearing dry mango leaves and gravel underfoot and a distant ice cream truck by the gate. That solitude never scared me — it sheltered me. Years later I found the word for it: kenopsia, the eerie peace of a place that's usually full and suddenly isn't. I went looking for it at Lyon's International Station — all geometric architecture and empty orange corridors — and tried to edit it the way it felt: long silences, sudden shifts in rhythm, so the emptiness would read as peace instead of loneliness.

This is the video built around kenopsia — the eerie, forlorn feeling of a place that's usually full of people and now isn't. It's one of the oddly familiar places that make up the recurring territory of the channel: rooms that used to hold something, and don't anymore.

More of this register lives in Stratus, the full archive, and in After Dark, the longer essay on the liminal space aesthetic and the night.