The water slides across the sand in slow breaths, as if in conversation with the shore. Each wave comes rolling in like a promise and, before retreating, leaves a thin rim of foam draped over the beach like lace. Small pebbles and shell fragments lie scattered like silent witnesses of previous tides, smoothed by years of endless repetition.
The air is muted, as if it too is listening in to the soft, incessant whisper of the sea. The silhouette of trees rises darkly along the horizon, imperturbable and watchful, like a boundary between land and water. The light falls across the surface in a soft glow, playing in the foam heads for a moment before dissolving into the grey of the sea.
Here, on the border of sand and water, there is no hurry. Only the rhythm of waves coming and going, always different and yet always the same. It is a place where time dissolves into motion, where thoughts slowly still, and where the sea tells its stories in a language without words.
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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