90°

One gesture. I rotated the horizon.

What was a line of rest becomes a spine. What divided now connects. The earth no longer lies beneath the sky. It stands beside it, equal and strange.

We read landscapes the way we read sentences: left to right, ground to sky, beginning to end. The horizon is our punctuation. Tilted ninety degrees, that certainty collapses. The familiar becomes foreign. We are forced to look again. To admit we never really looked at all.

This is not abstraction. Every image is an unmanipulated photograph of a real place, a real moment. Only the orientation has changed. But orientation is never neutral. It carries the full weight of how we've learned to see.

The horizon has always been a promise of elsewhere, a threshold we never cross. Turned vertical, it becomes something else: the edge of a page yet to be written.