This series explores the erosion of subjectivity within the landscape of a hyper-informational — and perhaps post-digital — reality. Set against a world increasingly mediated and illuminated, it investigates the psychological disintegration of the self under conditions of constant exposure.

Light, once a symbol of clarity and revelation, here takes on a more coercive role. It does not illuminate but erases. It functions as a mechanism of surveillance — not to affirm identity, but to dissolve it.

The figure appears visually anonymous, suspended in a natural environment that is silent, neutral, and indifferent. And yet, as in the line “And still the evening listens,” nature is not entirely passive. There is a quiet attentiveness in its stillness — not sympathetic, but enduring. The landscape remains, unshaken, while the self fragments and fades.

In subtle dialogue with Keats’s thrush — a voice of pure, impersonal beauty — the piece raises a question: does nature hear the human presence? Or is its “listening” a deeper, more ancient kind of awareness — not responsive, but ever-present — in which the human vanishes not into silence, but into continuity?

2025