Shadow of Winter
Plants fascinate me. They are unlike us – constantly shaped by their surroundings. What we might perceive as deformation, they experience as growth. What seems tragic to us is, for them, a natural process of formation. Their destiny is not our own, and there’s no need to project human emotion onto their existence.
This series reflects a fundamental difference between Eastern and Western ways of seeing. Western perception is deeply anthropocentric – the human is often taken as the measure of all things. Yet there is value in shifting this perspective, in attempting to understand another form of life on its own terms.
I find beauty in observing the subtle movements of stems and leaves. Nature does not seek drama – it simply exists. Even its most regular lines remain alive and imperfect. Capturing this quiet movement – suspended between order and freedom – becomes my central challenge.
During my walks, I consciously direct my attention outward rather than inward. This is not easy – Western culture lacks a strong tradition of contemplation and sustained looking. Yet this practice feels essential. One must deliberately slow down, pause, and truly see. Accustomed to constant movement, we often overlook the small and ordinary. And yet, it is precisely there that depth and beauty reveal themselves.
I find beauty in observing the subtle movements of stems and leaves. Nature does not seek drama – it simply exists. Even its most regular lines remain alive and imperfect. Capturing this quiet movement – suspended between order and freedom – becomes my central challenge.
During my walks, I consciously direct my attention outward rather than inward. This is not easy – Western culture lacks a strong tradition of contemplation and sustained looking. Yet this practice feels essential. One must deliberately slow down, pause, and truly see. Accustomed to constant movement, we often overlook the small and ordinary. And yet, it is precisely there that depth and beauty reveal themselves.
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Often, the most interesting subjects appear not in picturesque landscapes but right around the corner – by a fence, by the roadside, in places far from poetic. Sometimes they’re fleeting images that vanish as soon as they appear, yet I hold them in memory and later bring them to life on paper.
