IMPERMANENCE

 

Eggs spilling onto a plate that was once intact; flowers that were seeds, dormant, waiting to blossom; bread that was once flour, seeking alchemy; animal fat condensed into a bar of soap, now foaming into our bodies; pavements crumble into rocks, longing to return to their original form - condensed and compressed into one sheet of paper, now reproduced into this very own publication.    

 

The images in this work explore not just difference but change - change as a shift in state, a moment of transmutation. The alchemy of the everyday.    

 

Difference is static; change is relational. Two things can be different, but change implies a movement - an alteration in state, attribute, and meaning. As with time, it is not simply a collection of differences but a combination. The future is a process, thus, a construction: the becoming present of the not-yet and the becoming absent of the no-longer.    

 

The Latin word futurus contains an anachronism. It carries within it the past, fu - derived from fui, in Spanish I was - connected to the future participle yet to be, revealing that even the not-yet is shaped by what has been.

 

Fossils contain memory but await the future.

 

    To write is to materialise time. 

    To photograph is to capture it.

    To collect is to cherish it.

    To archive is to revisit it.

    To print is to reproduce it.

 

Each gesture is an act of preservation, transformation, and destruction, yet admiration. A way of holding on and letting go. A ritual. A will.     

 

It does not seek permanence.

 

Time, here, is not linear. It is continuous, circular and transmuted. The present, after all, is just the future of the past.

 

This work gathers what spills, crumbles, ferments, and foams, each transformed, condensed, and reborn into one sheet of paper. A quiet prophecy of what was and what still might bloom.

 

If Winter comes, can spring be far behind?