ἀοριστία

The same space can be experienced differently by each of us: physically, it remains unchanged, yet our perception gives it meanings of its own.

For me, such a place was an ordinary hotel room with a small bathroom and frosted glass. Being claustrophobic, I have always felt more at ease in large spaces, where I can see their boundaries and know exactly where the exit is. Yet it was precisely within this confined environment that I unexpectedly discovered another way of experiencing space.

One day, through the frosted glass, I saw the outline of my sister’s body. The glass concealed her face, erased details, and left only silhouette, light, colour, and movement. The small bathroom seemed to lose its actual scale, and the space no longer ended for me where its walls did.

I began photographing my sister and daughter through the frosted glass and combining these images with photographs of nature I had made earlier. Fragments of water, plants, stone, and light, when brought into contact with the body, began to lose their familiar properties and scale. Familiar things entered into relationships that had never existed in reality, creating spaces that could not have been anticipated in advance.

It is important for me to remain within this state of not knowing. I do not know in advance what the next image should be or where the encounter between two realities will lead. I do not recreate a world that already exists in my imagination. Instead, the image appears before I have time to fully comprehend it. I move intuitively until, among many possibilities, a feeling suddenly emerges: this world exists. I have found it.