When I lived in a tiny godforsaken fishing village in Crimea, I had a collection of antique glass fishing floats, picked up on the shores of the Sea of ​​Azov – just like the ones they collect in Japan. Only photographs remain now, because I no longer know where that home of mine is.

And a street that no longer exists for me. A window with erased coordinates. Blue glass floats in a digital media only. Not too much for recollection, I can’t help not to recollect.

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■ Vu iz dos gesele (as an echo) // Crimean Memoir
A 5-minute raw hauntological document captured accidentally during a Zoom H2 field test.

An enharmonic intersection of the Japanese C In Sen scale and F Harmonic Minor, where the ghost of a traditional melody involuntarily bleeds through a rigid modal space. Left unedited with all the room tones and industrial rumble from an open window.

Video: Shifting light on the original archival photographs of my lost glass floats.