Dear people who find themselves in photographs, It may seem strange to receive a letter while you are trapped in a still image, but that is precisely why I feel it necessary to warn you. You might think the greatest threat is the ravages of time—yellowing edges, a scratch in the emulsion, or pixels slowly fading—but there is something more subtle, something more insidious, something you hadn't anticipated: the shadow. The shadow isn't merely an imprint of a lack of light, but a creeping visitor from another plane. It comes from outside, from the hand holding up the photograph, from an unexpected cloud passing across the sun, or from a lamp positioned just the wrong way. You may not see it yourself, because within the photograph you have no moving perspective, but I assure you: the shadow does touch you. It glides over your faces, your shoulders, sometimes even like a veil over your eyes. You won't wonder what's happening—because asking questions is not given to you in this state—but the shadow writes a strange kind of history into the image.