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Ethereals:
Light, line, color, and form—this is visual music. A silent song that lives within you.
In Ethereal Charge, light becomes language. These works are not photographs in the traditional sense, but charged encounters—between film, machine, and the human impulse to capture what cannot be held. Through celluloid, digital traces, and painterly intervention, I reveal what I think of as an inner cinema—a torrent of vision suspended in time.
I’ve long been fascinated by the potential of mechanical reproduction to give shape to the invisible films in my mind. These images are not reproductions of the world, but symbolic fragments—distilled glimpses of the movies that live inside me. They emerge through a kind of adaptive visual process, sculpted frame by frame, gesture by gesture, until they become their own visual grammar.
This series is, in part, a continuation of Dziga Vertov’s radical notion of “Man with a Movie Camera.” And it echoes Walter Benjamin’s claim that art evolves in tandem with the machinery of its time. But where Benjamin saw a fading of aura in the age of reproduction, I see its reanimation. The aura is the mistake. The glitch. The handmade imperfection that stays behind like a ghost in the machine.
From my first experimental film, Sporadic Germination, I learned to embrace error as origin. The accidental became the method. Like a writer editing text, I revise my visuals through painting, scratching, erasing, layering. The machines become collaborators—tools of a single expanded processor that lets me shape space, freeze time, and blur the boundary between photography and film, between image and memory.
Each piece in Ethereal Charge is a composite—built from handwork, hybrid processes, and “controlled accidents.” These aren’t simulations of reality, but charged expressions of perception—self-portraits made of light and emulsions, gesture and intuition.
