In unsettled, I place my body in spaces where it feels out of place between boxes, slats, concrete, cliffs and water. These images began at a moment when the world felt too tight, too loud, or simply too much. The body in these photographs doesn’t seek recognition; it seeks release.
The series opens in rooms that can’t hold a person. Limbs fold, angles sharpen, and the body becomes an object trying to find breath where there is none. Later, the setting moves outward to bunkers, poles, shorelines, but the tension remains. I appear smaller, as if the landscape is absorbing what I can no longer carry.
At the coast, the body and the mind start to blur. In one image the face dissolves, as if trying to pull excess thoughts out of itself and let the wind take them. The sea follows that gesture: first quiet and blurred, then breaking open with force. What stays behind are traces, a piece of wood in the sand, a branch held between pillars, small anchors in shifting ground.
Unsettled is a record of friction, of trying to stay present while wanting to escape your own edges. It is less about depicting a place and more about moving through an inner landscape that refuses to settle. Like water returning to the shore, again and again, the images circle the same question:
How do you stay when something in you keeps slipping away?
