In this modern world I can’t help but feel like a detached observer, confronted by recollections of past and present. Memories that appear as dreams of reality. Hazy illusions of life.
In these memories, signposts of human existence emerge as shrines that pay tribute to the passing of time. Ageing houses, forgotten factories, traffic lights, clotheslines and fences at once tether us to daily routine while transforming into resolutely prevailing monuments, free of purpose.
It is in the stillness of these ephemeral and fragmented moments that the impermanence of life is revealed. The isolation of the soul is laid bare in echoes of silence. The resounding echoes of a still life.