Twelve hours, one horizon, no shade. A set from the flattest place either of us has stood.
Tomás Vidal
1 min read
One roll of film, one grey morning, one stretch of shoreline that refused to be boring.
Tomás Vidal
1 min read
A short piece about the exact place a road stops being a road, and why I keep driving to find it.
Tomás Vidal
1 min read
Twenty minutes of impossible colour, a borrowed tripod, and every fisherman in the port wondering what the tourist is doing.
Tomás Vidal
1 min read