I grew up surrounded by a sense of calm. After school, a cup of tea would be waiting for me, and I always had time to talk about my day.  My mother listened, and then we would paint together in peace. My father would put his work aside as soon as I entered his workspace. There was always attention, time, and space to simply be.

As I got older, life started moving much faster. There was always something that needed to be done, always something to work towards, and I noticed that I began to miss the feeling of slowing down. Again and again, my gaze returned to the horizon. It gives me a familiar feeling. The sunset does exactly what those moments from my childhood did. It asks nothing of me. It simply exists. It is a moment in which you only need to be present, where you can let go, but also find yourself again.

Even though people often want to control everything around them, this process happens every day without us. In my work, I give that control back to nature. I use natural light and let nature decide how an image is created.

Today, our attention is often pulled toward speed, achievement, and a world that asks us to care about everything at once. But perhaps we were never meant to carry the world. For most of human existence, our world was much smaller. The people around us, the landscape we lived in, the weather, the light. Not everything happening beyond the horizon.

I believe there is something deeply human in returning to that sense of scale. To step away sometimes, forget the world for a moment, and simply be present with what is here.