moom bookshop

Not everything we see needs to be remembered.
Sometimes, it’s just in the moment of looking that something quietly connects with the one who sees.

In her third photo book, photographer Zhu continues her long-held reflection on seeing and time. This time, the frames are wider, the spaces more open. With more distance and restraint, she revisits what it means to look.

The book gathers fragments from a year of daily walks and road trips abroad. It moves with a slow visual rhythm, like paper drifting downward—recording light, stillness, and the subtle lag of time between moments. From city to countryside, the images do not follow a narrative. They simply mark where the viewer and the world begin to shift in relation.

People appear here and there, but the book does not center on them. It stays with the air, the quiet spaces, the act of noticing. Two short texts—at the beginning and end—frame the work like a prelude and coda to a dream. They speak of drawing, of changes in perception, and gently suggest a way through: from object, to line, until shadow begins to emerge.

Objects, Lines, and Gradually Seeing Shadows does not attempt to offer answers. It may not even pose a question. Like a silent note left behind, it invites the reader to take their time—to read through image, memory, and feeling in their own way. Zhu says:“I don’t want to define what it means to look, or to explain it. I just hope each person finds their own way through. Safe travels, and enjoy the ride.”

It may not tell you how to see, but it quietly invites you to walk this stretch of road—one with no need for arrival.