The Quiet Work of Returning: Notes From the Recycle Bin.
There is a particular kind of honesty that lives in the recycle bin. Not the dramatic kind. The kind that whispers. The kind that waits for you to slow down long enough to notice what you once dismissed.
Today I found myself there again, sifting through images I had set aside. Not failures. Not mistakes. Just moments I was not ready to understand at the time. The recycle bin is full of these half formed thoughts, these almost gestures, these quiet attempts at seeing.
What returning reveals
Coming back to old work is a way of checking in with the person I was when I made it. Sometimes I find hesitation. Sometimes I find clarity I did not recognise. Sometimes I find a photograph that feels like a message I left for myself without realising.
There is a strange comfort in noticing how my eye has shifted. What I once overlooked now feels essential. What I once clung to now feels heavy. The recycle bin becomes a map of that movement, an archive of the in between.
A rescued image
One image in particular stopped me today. I remember discarding it because it felt too quiet, too unresolved. Looking at it now, that quietness is exactly what draws me in. It holds a kind of presence I did not have the language for at the time.
It is a reminder that sometimes the work knows more than I do. Sometimes it asks for patience.
The discipline of returning
There is a rhythm to this practice. Return. Look again. Listen differently.
It is not about perfection or correction. It is about attention. It is about acknowledging that creative work is not linear. It loops, circles, and doubles back. The recycle bin becomes part of the process, not the end of it.
A closing note
Today’s visit was not about reclaiming everything. It was about honouring the quiet work that happens in the background, the drafts, the near misses, the almosts. They shape the final images just as much as the ones that make it into the archive.
Returning is its own kind of presence. And sometimes that is enough.