Light has always fascinated me — not as something that merely illuminates but as a living material that can sculpt, soften, and redefine space. In my recent projects, I have tried to treat light not as an accessory but as a collaborator.
When I first began experimenting with translucent fabrics and reflective surfaces, I noticed how light interacted with them differently throughout the day. Morning light creates a softness, revealing imperfections that feel human. Evening light, by contrast, sharpens edges and deepens contrasts. In between, there are infinite transitions — moments that are easy to miss, yet profoundly beautiful.
Working with light is both liberating and humbling. It cannot be fully controlled; it shifts constantly, reminding me that art, like life, is impermanent. I often think of my installations as breathing spaces — environments that change subtly with time and presence.
Light is also deeply emotional. It shapes how we feel in a space without us realizing it. A flicker, a shadow, a faint reflection — all can evoke memory and longing. My goal is to capture these fleeting sensations, to make the invisible visible.
In many ways, light teaches me patience. It demands observation rather than manipulation. Each project becomes a meditation on perception — how we see, what we overlook, and how light quietly reveals what words cannot.