In my work, I concentrate on everything that lies behind the facade of a person, what moves them, what they communicate silently. Often – but not always – I find it easier to recognise visual language in black and white, as there are few distractions and the contrast, the focus on movement and posture, makes the language easier to recognise. Hands in particular have their own expression that makes words superfluous. In everything, and especially in today’s world of increasingly rapid moving images, I move in the world of repetition, even of the smallest sequence of movements. The repetition of a movement conceals more expression than words can describe.
Every breath and every step leaves a quiet trace.
We walk through spaces we barely notice, yet they touch our skin,
and our hands, often misunderstood, are bridges to the outside world.
Every glance, every gesture becomes part of a memory, even if it fades.
The reverberation of our actions sounds like an echo, a constant interplay.
And the question remains, quiet, almost imperceptible:
Who am I when the world casts its shadow and rises?
19.09.2025, DZ
