In this series, I photographed trees turned upside down, the sky placed below.
A dense vegetal world, inverted, almost blind.
The treetops become roots. What is visible begins to waver.
Chthonia refers to what is subterranean, organic, ancient.
Away from a vertical gaze, I seek another kind of presence:
that of a nature that surrounds us, escapes us, yet persists.
The images are stripped down, reduced to the matter of branches,
to the vibration of lines, to the rustle of the living.
Light does not illuminate: it veils.
Each photograph is a pulse.
Together they form a suspended mental landscape, without narration.
A walk into the invisible.
An inward listening.
A language without an alphabet.
A subterranean memory.
