About Ethan Price

Despite our best efforts to create a legacy, a monument, something that keeps our name relevant long after we’re gone, all relics turn to dust.

Our corporeal forms wither, but a person’s memory lingers. These phantoms haunt us. Some bedevil many; others just inhabit a single tract that holds a brief, earthly story.

It’s my prime interest to record this. These specters of synaptic snapshots who come to us in sleep. In quiet, private moments, or crowded rooms. Those moments of wistful, existential nostalgia that belie the futile howl against our mortal predicament.

A commemoration of the apparitions of those who no longer live on, but live on in us. Cast a reflection and conjure a reminder to greet the remarkable quality of being alive — a nod to the beauty in impermanence.