Where there was once life and chatter and color, now there’s silence and sand. Where floorboards creaked and the wind rustled the curtains at midday, now doors open with no purpose, windows hang on their hinges, glassless, and paint peels from the walls like autumnal leaves. These silent vestiges resonate with stories, memories, and questions…
Nature has taken back what was hers. The desert is merciless, recognizing no boundaries, no barriers, only its irrepressible force. It flows through the windows, through the gaping doors, filling every nook, every corner, in waves that seem almost liquid.
These images are composed of different shots, stitched together slowly and painstakingly. The creative process of (re)composing is reminiscent of how we arrange memories in our minds. Memories are fleeting and fickle. We remake our pasts in the same way I have remade these images.
That day in the desert, I stood struggling to make sense of these fleeting glimpses of a world now vanished, challenged to capture, through the mechanical click of a shutter, a moment in time which I felt had already passed.
— Anamaria Chediak