Before "Everything that changes"...

(early works)

Though at the time I did not recognize it as such, the years of mourning became a deepening of my creative practice. It was a journey from the external to the internal, from exploring distant lands to exploring the depth of my own emotions and the connection I felt with the land I now called home. My work became more introspective, more connected to the natural world around me, and through it, I began to understand that true creativity comes not from seeking inspiration elsewhere, but from being fully present in the life and the landscapes we inhabit.

In the end, my photography is now a reflection of this journey—a journey that began with the exploration of the world outside and led me, to a deeper exploration of the self. It is a journey of healing, of connecting with the land, and of finding, in the quietest of moments, the stories that shape our lives.

It was here, at home, in the quiet beauty of nature, that I began to reconnect with my photography, though it didn't feel like a conscious choice at the time. The more I walked through the woods, the more I found myself drawn to the small, delicate details—the patterns of the trees, the interplay of light and shadow, the textures of the earth. I started to see the world around me not as a distant landscape to capture, but as an intimate expression of life itself. The world inside me and the world around me seemed to merge in a way that felt both healing and creative.

Looking back now, I can see that this was the beginning of a new phase in my creative life. It was as if the process of grieving had slowed time for me, allowing me to immerse myself in the present moment. I found inspiration not just in grand vistas but in the quiet, subtle moments that surrounded me every day. My photography became a way to capture these moments—moments that spoke not of outward journeys but of inner transformation, of coming to terms with loss, and of finding beauty in the everyday.