CONSOLATION B

This book is not a retelling of The Consolation of Philosophy. It isn’t an interpretation, nor a translation into images. The connection to Boethius’s text is more peripheral — and, in some ways, more personal. A dotted line, a half-glance, perhaps — a sidelong reflection.

The dialogue between Boethius and Lady Philosophy has stayed with me for some time. Not for its logic, not for the rigor of its arguments or the structure of its reasoning — but for how it holds open a space for questions without rushing toward resolution. For the calm it maintains — not by conquering uncertainty, not by banishing doubt, but by keeping company with it.

This project also began not as a response to the text, but as an attempt to stay near — without intention, without agenda, without conclusion. Just a willingness to see.

The images arrived gradually — over seasons, through places I wandered and folders I returned to. From distant corners and public archives. From familiar paths and those half-forgotten. They came in color and monochrome, in clarity and blur, in the faces I know and those I never will. They arose from worlds that rarely intersect — memory and surface, scent and distance, the recorded and the dreamt. They weren’t assembled to explain — only to stay close.

What holds them together?
Maybe just a faint echo — as if separate lives once heard the same silence.


Or perhaps it is simply a way of seeing: one that leaves space for what’s quietest. That makes room for what doesn’t demand clarity. That doesn’t strive to be right, doesn’t press for resolution, doesn’t reach toward an answer. To wait, without pressing for a conclusion.

This book doesn’t try to convince. It doesn’t argue or assert. It stays open — to what has been, to what is now, and to whatever may arise: your thoughts, your hopes, your doubts, your feelings.

And equally, this book is not an answer.


It is a space. Open, breathing, unfinished. A place you might return to — or simply pass through. A room where importance softens, and fear dissolves into trust. Where no thought overshadows another, and every feeling has its place.

A different kind of presence.

Not in comparison, not in competition — simply alongside.

No need to explain. No need to be understood — only a quiet willingness to be.

Another way to ask the question: not “Who are you?” but “Are you here?”
And perhaps, another path to consolation — a Consolation B.