◉ 012 | Twelve Shades of Black

Our planet spins—

one full turn every 24 hours.

At the same time,

it orbits the sun once a year.

And all of it—

tilted just enough.

Perfectly off-centre.

Just like us.

Anywhere on this planet,

over a full year—

the cosmic rhythm holds:

half the time it’s dark.

Half the time it’s light.

Sunlight hits one side.

The other rests.

You go to bed.

Someone else wakes.

You cry.

Someone laughs.

21st of June—

the shortest day of the year

in Australia.

The longest,

in Austria.

Different hemispheres.

Different truths.

Both right.

A few days ago,

I took a photo.

Lens cap on.

Long exposure.

The entire frame—

black.

But if you look more closely,

there it was.

Noise.

Texture.

A shimmer of something.

Something trying to speak.

Over 100 years ago,

Malevich painted a black square.

People called it nothing.

But black isn’t void.

It’s total presence.

It doesn’t reflect light—

it eats it all up.

Black doesn’t lack—

it holds everything.

And what we call nothing

is often just something

we haven’t learned to see yet.

The world keeps turning.

We try to stretch the light.

Stay bright all the time.

But we’re not made for that.

Half the time,

it’s dark.

And now I understand—

that might be the point.

We need the dark.

To rest.

To reset.

To reveal what doesn’t show in daylight.

So next time it comes,

don’t resist it.

Sit with it.

Feel what’s there.

And remember the moonlight.