At 4am, in a warm bed, I lay awake cataloguing a future — and thought of another father, asleep somewhere in the Amazon basin, who owes himself only tomorrow. The distance between us is not geographical. It is perceptual. The Amazon Father is an imagined man, uncontacted, who has never been asked to consent to the world we have built — the right angles, the wires, the surfaces that shine and give nothing back. When I photograph, I try to see through his eyes: alert, unmediated, astonished by what the rest of us have stopped noticing. This is not nostalgia for a simpler world. It is an attempt to recover the sensation of seeing at all.