Like music, it resists being pinned down….

There's something slippery about music. It only exists in the exact moment you hear it: a note played, a voice lifted, a melody threading through the air before vanishing into silence. You can't press pause and hold onto it the way you can with a photograph or a painting. Sure, you can replay a song, but it's never quite the same. The moment has already moved on.

And yet, here is a photograph of music.

I shot this years ago for an editorial piece about music and the internet, but even then, I knew it wasn't just about that. It's lingered with me, untethered, never quite settling into a single story. It's bold. It's powerful. And, like a half-remembered song, it's just elusive enough to keep pulling me back.

The image itself is only a fragment, a glimpse: the curve of her chin, lips slightly parted, caught mid-note, or maybe mid-breath. The microphone in front of her, all vintage curves and quiet authority, feels like it belongs to another era, while the electric pink background hums with something undeniably modern. Pop music, maybe, but the longing in her expression hints at something deeper.

I’ve never been able to give this image a title, and maybe that’s because it doesn’t want one. Like music, it resists being pinned down. Sometimes, what we can’t hear is just as powerful as what we can.

So, I'm curious: What do you hear when you look at this image? What would you call it?