I like to think that October has one table, and this is it. The grapes are still full, and the pear has the stem on, and next to them there are the things the season leaves behind: the bramble already dry, a lotus pod, a poppy head, and I wanted them together because in real life they never are; when the grapes arrive, the bramble is gone for weeks, and when the bramble is dry, the grapes are finished. For me, a still life is a small truce between what is at its best and what is already over. For a moment they sit on the same table, and nobody has to choose, and then the light moves (it always moves; I never managed to keep it) and the only thing left of that arrangement is the photo. The lantern isn't the source of the light; it only looks like it, and I think that is the part I prefer in this image: the thing that seems to give but, in reality, receives. Photograph, 2026. The file carries Adobe Content Credentials.