For thousands of kilometres I knew it was there, but I ignored its existence. I devoured asphalt, lived on roadside meals, still driving in my head when I hit the hotel pillow. Being alone in that car never made me realize I was hiding from the presence outside, battling loneliness, the distance between me and the world. I was awed by the beauty I found in ordinary, man-made Spanish landscapes, while my own everyday was as far away from this beauty as it could get. I’ve always felt better when alone, away from the crowds living their lives around me. The more time I spent in dense, populated areas, the more I allowed my destructive thoughts to take control and the more I became aware of how I appreciate solitude. During my last two trips something changed. I couldn’t enjoy the ride, it was all a video playing in front of me, but I wasn’t there, I was just a spectator. The photographs I’ve taken on these two journeys feel like a journey into my mind rather than a journey into the world. And while the objects and spaces in my photos are tangible, these destructive thoughts live in my head, a place where you can’t get to from where you are, but can visit through the emptiness in this body of work. These images represent my fight against depression and anxiety.