Lynnewood Mirrored Hallway

This one’s all about layers and depth. There are frames inside of frames everywhere you look. The whole thing is built on angles that pull you toward a single point straight down the hallway. The floor tiles do most of the pulling — black and white diagonals that make five clear lines heading right to the center. The corners where the walls meet the ceiling and floor do the same thing, closing in toward that same point.

The doorway in front becomes its own frame, the border between the room I’m standing in and the long hall ahead. Both sides of that doorway are lined with mirrors, and those mirrors catch reflections of other mirrors across the room. When I was setting up the shot and trying to find the right distance and alignment, I realized I was in it. Normally I’d shift around until I could get myself out of the frame, but this time it made sense to stay. The reflections already showed the camera facing inward, and my reflection fit the same pull as everything else — drawn into that vanishing point with all the lines around it.

There’s a rhythm to how the space falls away — the overhead lights, the repeating doorways, each one a little smaller, a little dimmer. The black and white tones make the shapes feel sharper, but there’s still a mix of textures — the shine of the floor, the smooth stone, the darker wood. The carving above the doorway adds a small flourish, enough to keep the foreground interesting before the clean geometry takes over.

When I look at it, my eye moves through it in stages — the outer room first, then the threshold, then deeper and deeper down the hallway. Every line, every reflection is pointing the same way. It’s less about the hallway itself and more about being drawn into it.