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Summary
The concrete is cold through Phainon's jeans. He's been here forty minutes, back against the stairwell wall, camera resting heavy in his lap. The building smells like old paint and someone's cigarette smoke from three floors down.
Phainon’s first solo exhibition is meant to prove he is more than an online-famous street photographer: a real artist with something worth saying.
Anaxa is his secret muse. Anaxa is not part of the exhibition. Anaxa is only the reason it exists.
But the longer he watches, the harder it becomes to ignore the central problem of observation: the subject changes.
And sometimes, the subject looks back.