For twenty years I photographed without an overarching plan — several continents, no narrative thread. Then the images began to speak to one another differently. Eschaton is the metaseries where they converge: a constellation of fragments seized from a world that knows it is living on borrowed time, read through Günther Anders, Heidegger, and René Char. Not to denounce, not to bear witness — to look clearly at the abyss within the everyday.

One Wednesday in 1982, from his house in Tulahuén, in the Chilean precordillera, Sergio Larrain sits down to write to his nephew. He is fifty-one years old. Thirteen years earlier, he had set down his camera and chosen withdrawal. He lives without a telephone, divides his days between yoga, drawing, and meditation, and communicates with the outside world only by letter.

In this essay, philosopher Claude Molzino reads Koch's photography through the optical law of diffraction — a single light source scattering into fragments. The black-and-white images, drawn from two decades of work across continents, are not documents but interrogations: the world is summoned to reveal what it conceals.