In Echoes of Silence, I returned to nature — not as documentation, but as memory. Printed on delicate 10gsm washi paper and mounted on canvas, each image is then softened and partially veiled with layers of acrylic paint. The landscape dissolves into the surface, becoming less a photograph and more a presence.

I've chosen for this ultra-thin washi to evoke the fragility of our natural world. The paper, almost translucent, responds to touch and time — much like nature itself. It is not perfectly applied. Small folds, tensions, irregularities remain visible — a quiet refusal of perfection, and a reminder that memory is never a faithful replica of what we saw or felt. It, too, is layered, incomplete, vulnerable.

This series grows out of my deep concern for the state of our planet — and the silent disappearance of what once felt eternal. This is my visual form of soft resistance. Slow gestures of care: shaped by empathy, presence, and the quiet conviction that a more compassionate world is still possible.

At the heart of Echoes of Silence lies the understanding that memory does not behave like photography. It fades, reframes, forgets, and returns — shaping who we are, what we long for, and what we are willing to protect.

Each work in the series begins with a different landscape — seen, chosen, and photographed by myself — and is transformed through a process of collage, gesture, and layered time. What emerges is not a record, but a trace. A meditation. A glimmer of hope.

These works speak silently.
They remember.
And remind.