I've always been drawn to old bicycles.
Perhaps it's because they seem incapable of hiding their history. Every scratch, every worn grip, every faded patch of paint hints at miles traveled and stories quietly accumulated. Unlike a new bicycle waiting for its first adventure, an old bicycle has already lived one.
These two images grew from bicycles I discovered while wandering with my camera. They weren't polished museum pieces or expensive collectibles. They were simply well-used machines that had become part of the landscape, patiently waiting for someone to notice them again.
Back in the studio, I wasn't interested in painting every bolt or spoke with photographic precision. Instead, I wanted to capture what I felt standing beside them. By reducing them to bold shapes, luminous edges, and unexpected colors, the bicycles became less about transportation and more about memory. Their glowing outlines emerge from darkness much the way memories emerge from our own past—never completely, but enough to remind us where we've been.
The title, Cycle, and it's companion piece; Recycle, carries several meanings. It speaks first to the bicycle itself, a wonderfully simple invention that has served generations without asking much in return. But it also suggests the cycles of our own lives. Ideas return. Places return. Old passions are rediscovered. What once seemed worn out often becomes beautiful again when viewed through different eyes.
I like to think these bicycles are still waiting. Waiting for another rider, another journey, another story to unfold.
Perhaps that's why I find them so irresistible.
They remind me that even the most ordinary objects can hold extraordinary lives—and that sometimes all it takes to bring them back to life is someone willing to see them differently.