ECHOES OF IMPERMANENCE
The landscape is both there and not there. It insists on its presence — earth, light, space — while simultaneously withdrawing, leaving only the echo of itself. What we see is not the thing, but the memory of the thing, already fading, already fractured.
Color bleeds into color, a quiet violence of time that softens edges and erases meaning. Light becomes shadow becomes light again, not to describe, but to undo — to strip the land of solidity, to fold it into gestures of disappearance. There is wonder here, the relentless abstraction of seeing. The road bends into ambiguity. The tree dissolves into a smear. What remains is the rhythm of impermanence: a pulse of becoming and unbecoming, of presence slipping into absence.
This is not a vision of the world as it is, but as it fails to hold itself together. Every detail disintegrates, every form resists certainty. What is left is not explanation, but a confrontation with impermanence, a mirror of an existential condition. The landscape offers no answers, only the invitation to look again, to see the undoing as the truth. To dwell in the ambiguity of light and shadow, in the beauty of what cannot last, and to find in that impermanence the only certainty we have.
