This is a love letter to photography, rekindling a passion I thought I had lost.
In my travels, I have found myself turning the lens away from iconic landmarks, drawn instead to what lingers beside them — a wall, a window, a shard of broken glass, a butterfly nibbling at the dirt, a hillside awash with patches of green.
These accumulations have become a habit. I seek out the overlooked and the peripheral, the poetic fragments that exist just beyond the frame of the expected. In them, I recognize something personal — reflections of a part of myself that feels less defined, yet familiar.
As I immersed myself in photography, I encountered the enduring presence of landscape masters — their works expansive and meticulously composed. Their images, saturated with grandeur, framed beauty as something vast, distant, and monumental. Over time, I became aware of how these representations subtly shaped my understanding of landscape photography, suggesting how landscapes “should” appear and what was considered worthy of attention.
Yet, my practice leans toward something more understated — an introspective engagement with the landscape. I am drawn to moments that feel unassuming, to the details that soften my gaze rather than command it. I press the shutter not in pursuit of the sublime, but in response to fleeting encounters that feel like recognition.
Even so, I continue to ask — where do personal moments fit within this larger discourse? How do I reconcile the sensitivity that compels me to photograph with the critical frameworks that now accompany the act of looking? Can I hold space for the simple pleasure of the shutter’s click without diminishing the complexities landscapes carry?
These undisclosed locations — private, unmarked, and unseen — exist because I chose to withhold them. They linger in my photographs, concealed until I decide to share them. Yet by stepping into the frame — standing before the landscapes I once captured — I reveal just enough to fracture that concealment. My presence becomes proof of their existence, a reminder that even places hidden from view can be known.
I print these images on both sides of the paper or making them diptychs—layering presence with absence.
I do not stand within the landscape, but in front of its image — engaging with it as both subject and material. In this layered space, the photograph shifts. It serves as a surface for exchange, a stage where new questions unfold. By positioning myself here, I interrupt the expectation of invisibility often placed on photographers and artists. I am neither fully behind the lens nor entirely within the frame. I occupy the space between, visible through the act of re-photographing my own work.
This is not a declaration, but an inquiry — a reflection on absence and visibility. In a tradition shaped by the gaze of old masters, where landscapes are rendered distant and monumental, I offer something more tactile, more vulnerable. I enter the frame not as someone capturing landscapes, but as someone still discovering how to inhabit them — and how to be seen within them.
这是一封写给摄影的情书，重燃了我本以为失去的激情。
在旅途中，我发现自己总是避开标志性的地标，镜头更倾向于捕捉它们的旁边——一面墙，一扇窗，一片裂开的玻璃，一只伏地啃食泥土的蝴蝶，一座斑驳着绿色的山坡。
这些点滴的积累已成为一种习惯。我追寻那些被忽视的边缘之物，那些诗意的碎片，往往存在于期待之外的画面边缘。在它们之中，我看到了一些私密而熟悉的东西——一种不甚清晰却亲切的自我映射。
在深入摄影的过程中，我不断与那些景观摄影大师们的遗产相遇——他们的作品广阔而精心构图，充满了雄伟之感。他们的影像以壮丽的形式定义了美，将其设定为一种遥远而宏大的存在。随着时间推移，我逐渐意识到这些影像如何潜移默化地塑造了我对景观摄影的理解，暗示着风景“应该”是什么样，如何才会被认为值得关注。
然而，我的实践更倾向于一种克制的方式——一种与风景的内省式对话。我被那些平凡的瞬间所吸引，我的目光因为其中动人的细节变得柔和，而非被其支配。我按下快门，不是为了追求崇高，而是为了回应那些稍纵即逝却让我产生共鸣的相遇。
即便如此，我仍然在追问——个人的瞬间在更大的叙事中应该占据怎样的位置？我如何调和驱使我拍摄的那份敏感与如今伴随观看而来的批判性框架？我能否在不削弱景观复杂性的前提下，留出空间去享受快门声带来的简单快乐？
这些未揭示的地点——私密、未标记、未被看见——之所以如此，是因为我选择了隐匿它们。它们停留在我的照片中，直到我决定分享为止。然而，当我走入画面——站在曾捕捉过的风景前方——我揭示出一丝线索，打破了这种隐匿。我的出现成为它们存在的证明，提醒着我们，即使是隐藏于视野之外的地方，也可以被了解。
我并未站在风景之中，而是站在它的影像之前——将其视为对象，也作为媒介。在这种层叠的空间中，照片开始转变。它成为交流的媒介，成为展开新问题的平台。通过将自己置于其中，我打破了摄影师和艺术家常被要求“隐身”的期待。我既不完全隐藏在镜头之后，也不完全进入画面之中。我占据了这一中间的空间，通过对自己作品的再拍摄使我的存在得以显现。
这不是一种宣告，而是一种探问——对缺席与可见性的反思。在一个由摄影大师们的目光塑造的传统中，风景常被描绘得遥远而宏伟。而我，提供了一种更为敏感、更为脆弱的视角。我进入画面，不是作为一个捕捉风景的人，而是作为一个仍在学习如何居于风景之中，如何在其中被看见的人。