I strapped a tiny solargraphy pinhole camera to the roof of my building in Potrero Hill, San Francisco, and left it there for several days to face the setting sun. What emerged—after scanning and inverting the exposed image—was not a simple record of light, but a haunting. A flare. A question.

What have we done?

Printed on clear brushed aluminum, the final image gleams like an artifact from a parallel future—a city remembered through fire and time, the sun burning not only with beauty but with warning. It hovers between apocalyptic vision and elegiac memory. Is this a moment unfolding in a parallel present? A glimpse of collapse through the rearview mirror? Or the sun bearing witness to its own disappearing horizon?

This work is part of Futures Past, a constellation of photographic invocations shaped by elemental forces, more-than-human witnesses, and long exposures that ask us to sit with grief and reckon with light.