Traditional glass windows in Taiwan bend and soften the figures of the old street, turning people into blurred, shifting shapes. The image stops being a fixed record and becomes something closer to memory—unstable, suggestive, open. In the gaps of clarity, each silhouette is quietly completed by the viewer’s own experience. What is seen overlaps with what is remembered, and often calls up someone familiar from within. In that moment, looking becomes something in between reality and recollection.