NICK PERRY
"Nine Lives of Looking" (working title)

As a child, I was captivated by cats—both large and small—creatures of stealth, instinct, and independence. I didn’t see them as predators but as kindred spirits: solitary, curious, and deeply alert to the world. Back then, the world felt vast and unknowable, but I moved through it with wonder, not fear. My imagination roamed freely, especially in the quiet hours I spent playing alone. These weren’t lonely moments, but expansive ones—spaces where anything felt possible. As an adult, I often find myself limited by fear: fear of being seen, of failure, of creative exposure. I see a reflection of this in one of my two cats—reclusive, jumpy, prone to disappearing under the bed at the slightest sound. He startles like I do. Watches like I do. His alertness and cautious curiosity mirror my own inner world. This body of work draws from that kinship. Through staged, tableau-style photographs, I explore the liminal space between human and animal—between instinct and self-consciousness, play and

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