Eternal Winter
During my first winter in Switzerland, I began a series that has since become central to my practice: Eternal Winter (Writing of the Nature). It emerged from an encounter with a landscape stripped to its essence — silent, naked, and raw. The world was swallowed by snow; only black and grey lines remained, like traces of ink on a vast white page. In this starkness, the clarity of the lines became a kind of writing: nature writing itself. Beneath that surface, a dark mass pulsed — boiling, sinking, resurfacing — a rhythm that echoed something already alive in my own body. Eternal Winter began at this threshold where image approaches writing, where line meets soil, where fragility and force coexist.
After Harvest
