LEFTOVER
 

Since the beginning of what I can recall, I find myself drawn back to the past, both visually and emotionally, as though searching for the fading traces of a world slipping away from view. Perhaps it is the constant undercurrent of loss that has woven itself through my life, or the act of bearing witness to the dramatic shifts in the world around me over the decades I’ve lived. The images here feel worn, suspended in time, clinging to a reality that once was, yet grows more distant with each passing moment. I am captivated by the tension between temporality and nostalgia, a quiet sorrow knowing that the natural world I seek to capture has already begun to slip into memory, even as I stand within its presence.

The landscapes and fleeting moments I capture carry with them a sense of unease, as though what was once wild and alive is now altered, transformed by a future that rushes toward us too quickly. Each frame, its colors faded, whispers of a lost connection, both to the earth and to the steady rhythms of life that once anchored these places.

As the natural world flickers in and out of human presence, I ponder how much we have already lost and how much still lingers in our grasp. This quiet reflection on time is threaded with a subtle anxiety about what lies ahead, as though the landscapes I photograph, still breathing, are already turning into ghosts. The traces of human encroachment merge with the natural textures of the past, and I can’t help but contemplate how fragile the balance between them has become, quietly unraveling before us.