For the first time in my life I ‘settled’ in a home, in another city from the one I was born and raised in.
For the first time in my life I ‘settled’ in a home, in another city from the one I was born and raised in.
For the first time in my life I ‘settled’ in a home, in another city from the one I was born and raised in.
3058 km away from my hometown, I looked at myself and my surroundings through a twosome solitude. Wavering between the indispensability and impossibility of a relationship, my photographs became a breather in the flow of life.
3058 km away from my hometown, I looked at myself and my surroundings through a twosome solitude. Wavering between the indispensability and impossibility of a relationship, my photographs became a breather in the flow of life.
3058 km away from my hometown, I looked at myself and my surroundings through a twosome solitude. Wavering between the indispensability and impossibility of a relationship, my photographs became a breather in the flow of life.
A self-portrait slowly emerged, not because I couldn’t stop myself from recording things, but because I was caught up in the state; a poignant state that arised by itself from the very fact of being, of breathing, shuttling back and forth between this state and everyday life, the fact that whatever you do it just doesn’t work and that, actually, it does, creates an invisible wound.
A self-portrait slowly emerged, not because I couldn’t stop myself from recording things, but because I was caught up in the state; a poignant state that arised by itself from the very fact of being, of breathing, shuttling back and forth between this state and everyday life, the fact that whatever you do it just doesn’t work and that, actually, it does, creates an invisible wound.
A self-portrait slowly emerged, not because I couldn’t stop myself from recording things, but because I was caught up in the state; a poignant state that arised by itself from the very fact of being, of breathing, shuttling back and forth between this state and everyday life, the fact that whatever you do it just doesn’t work and that, actually, it does, creates an invisible wound.
Perhaps a stop that has turned into another journey.
Perhaps a stop that has turned into another journey.
Perhaps a stop that has turned into another journey.
My mother, my father, and all the others…
My mother, my father, and all the others…
My mother, my father, and all the others…
Growing pains.
Growing pains.
Growing pains.
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