Above us, in the vast blue, clouds float like brushstrokes of light. They seem almost weightless, as if they could be moved with a whisper. The sun gently touches them, causing every fibre to light up and blend with the air around them.
These are not threatening clouds, not masses announcing storms. These are travellers, slowly gliding by, unhurried. Their forms are fleeting: now a spring, soon a wave, a moment later dissolved into nothingness. Those who look up are actually looking at time flowing, captured in white and blue.
There is a certain calm in this scene. The sky carries these clouds effortlessly, like the sea carries a boat. Together they move in a rhythm directed only by wind. No human can direct it, no hand can hold it.
Look long enough and you will see stories. Maybe a bird on its way to unknown land, maybe a hand reaching for something. The imagination always finds a place in such skies. And when they disappear, only the memory of their form remains, a silent greeting from the sky to those who looked up for a moment.
Each photograph is a doorway to another world.
Maybe a world you recognise, maybe one you only discover as soon as you look at it.
Sometimes they are fragments of a memory that never really existed, sometimes a feeling you can't put into words.
In my photography, I search for..
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