Transformation.
Glass exists only briefly in a state in which it can be shaped. The material yields to heat, time and movement, then changes its structure and preserves the imprint of a single decision. Once solid, it becomes a medium of reflection — mirroring reality, multiplying it across layers, distorting it and rearranging it into new relationships. Each form opens up a different way of seeing.
Time.
Rhythm does not arise from individual drumbeats, but from the relationships between them: subtle shifts, the tension between precision and deviation, the apparent slowing or acceleration of particular notes. The drums lock into the bass line, rhythmic figures interlock, and the groove begins to breathe. Other instruments gradually build upon this living foundation, creating a whole whose final form is never quite the same.
Movement.
The city is a constantly shifting current of people, machines, sounds and lights. Every moment alters the relationships between its layers, and every configuration exists only once. To read the city is to enter its chaotic movement, follow its internal currents, search for hidden structures and recognise connections that begin to dissolve almost as soon as they appear. At times, all these elements align for an instant, and an image emerges from the chaos.
Presence.
The sound of a mantra. The recurring cycle of breath. The gradual quieting of inner dialogue and the dissolution of our ordinary perception of time. Attention no longer turns towards what has passed or what is yet to come, but settles into the present moment. What remains is space, energy and light — a sense of timelessness that does not exist outside time, but emerges through experiencing it fully.
Four manifestations of a single principle: transformation — of matter, time, space and consciousness.
I have never regarded these realms as separate disciplines.
Glassworks, restoration workshops, studios and galleries formed the environment in which my understanding of image, material and space first took shape. Music was an equally natural part of that world and later became my primary medium for nearly two decades. Working with rhythm and sound taught me to understand time not as a fixed structure, but as a living relationship between precision, movement and continuous change.
I encountered the same way of thinking in seemingly distant fields — architecture, street culture, and Eastern philosophies and spiritual traditions, particularly Buddhism and yoga. To me, they were not separate worlds, but different languages through which the same reality could be explored.
Underlying all these transformations was an awareness of impermanence: every form, rhythm, movement and state exists only within a particular moment, and none is permanent. This principle gradually became the foundation of my relationship to both art and the world.
Photography therefore marked neither a break nor a change of direction, but a natural progression. When music ceased to be my primary medium, the image assumed its role — not because it expressed something different, but because it allowed me to think in the same way about time, space, light and the relationships between them.
Today, photography is my primary language. Through it, I continue to explore the principles I first encountered in visual art, music, the urban environment, and Eastern philosophies and spiritual traditions. The medium changed. My way of seeing remained the same.