Waves of Being
Photo-Essay | 2025
I believe everything in the cosmos is shaped by waves from oceans and wind to planets and the smallest details of our bodies. Even a fingerprint or the lines of a face follows these rhythms. The wave is the hidden language of creation, the order beneath all life.
In my portraits, I don’t just reproduce appearances. I reveal this deeper rhythm, the currents of time, movement, and change within a face. Identity is fluid, shaped by forces larger than the individual, and each portrait carries the flow of life through it.
Using my fingerprint as both tool and signature, I place myself within the work while pointing outward to the shared patterns that connect us all. Each piece becomes intimate and cosmic, reflecting both individuality and the wavelike order of the universe.
Silent Tears
Photo-Essay | 2019
Ismat’s life began in a small village, where his heart belonged entirely to a woman named Tugba. Their bond was unmistakable, woven from shared laughter, quiet dreams, and a deep, patient affection. Yet love, no matter how true, often faces forces beyond the lovers themselves. For Ismat, the pressure came from his own family, who, guided by tradition and the lure of wealth, insisted he marry another woman, someone they deemed “more suitable.”
The weight of expectation became unbearable. In a moment of anger, sorrow, and quiet despair, Ismat made an irrevocable choice. He left his village, his home, and his family behind. And with that departure, he left Tugba too, the woman who had been his world.
Forty years have passed since that day. Ismat never married, never sought to replace what he had lost. Yet Tugba’s memory remains vivid: the warmth of her smile, the sound of her laughter, the subtle contours of the life they had imagined together. In the quiet of his solitude, he wonders if she remembers him, or if both their love and their lives have been carried away by the inexorable passage of years.
Her Resting Tree
Photo-Essay | 2018
She was a woman of sharp mind and unyielding strength, a professor and a fierce feminist whose presence could feel distant, even formidable. Yet those who stepped close enough discovered another truth: behind the armour was a heart that gave freely, with quiet kindness and unshakable generosity.
When illness touched her life, Joyce faced it with clarity. She asked not for stone or marble to mark her passing, but for life to grow where she would rest. She chose a tree burial pod; her body returning to the earth, nourishing a seed that would rise in her place.
And so, in 2018, beneath the hush of a woodland, we laid her to rest. An apple tree now grows above her, branches stretching skyward, blossoms carrying her spirit on the wind. Her farewell was not only sorrow, but celebration: a life of conviction, of principle, of love.
Though Joyce no longer walks among us, she lives in every leaf, every apple, every shadow beneath that tree, a presence rooted in the earth, forever becoming.