Avalanche
Time is not a constant measure but depends on how it is perceived. The project begins with a personal experience: fifteen minutes buried beneath an avalanche. Darkness. Barely enough air. The body motionless, the mind intensely alert. Panic follows disbelief. Thoughts fragment as hope and fear alternate. Time ceases to point toward the future.
These fifteen minutes have been translated into a photographic work. A camera rested on my chest with its shutter left open, recording the star trails across the night sky. Every breath, every movement between control and panic, inscribed itself into the image, leaving subtle disruptions that gently disturbed the apparent order of the cosmos. The body became the measure of time, its internal rhythms embedded in the paths of the stars.
The trace of the body continues in the thermal images. On a cold surface, I leave an imprint whose stored heat gradually becomes visible through photography. What appears is not the face itself but its thermal presence—a fragile trace that begins to disappear at the very moment it becomes visible. The body emerges as a temporary inscription, a residue of energy slowly fading away.
The series is complemented by abstract works exploring snow and avalanches: white on white, compression, frozen explosions. Slight shifts, delicate layers, and subtle disturbances create the illusion of stability. What appears light carries immense weight. What seems pure contains the potential for lethal force.
