Resonance explores the ongoing conversation between body and soul—using photography as the medium through which that dialogue is shaped. Each image begins with an emotional undertone—love, pain, lust, chaos, fervour—and from there, movement is orchestrated. These emotions do not serve simply as themes, but as tools to guide gesture, to influence pace, and to shape the eventual form of the image. In this sense, emotion becomes a thread back to the soul—subtle, often obscured, but always present.
The earliest images were solitary and instinctive—self-portraits made while shadowboxing. They were instinctive. At the time, there was no desire to perform, only a need to understand. When words failed, the image became a container for something difficult to articulate. The act of making was less about producing a photograph and more about visualising emotion in real time—as if to trace what could not be spoken. Photography offered a space not to document reality, but to make sense of it—especially when reality felt like it was dissolving from within. As the process evolved, the focus shifted from personal catharsis to a broader exploration. The photographs now hold dualities: movement and stillness, control and chaos, the seen and the suggested. At their core lies a question that photography has always wrestled with—its claim to truth. The body, fixed in space and time, grounds the work in the real. The soul, by contrast, is inferred through abstraction—through motion blur, light spill, chemical drift. The relationship between the two becomes a metaphor for photography itself: the desire to capture reality and the inevitable presence of the human hand, which transforms it into something else. Each image begins with a reference—Rodin’s The Kiss, a detail from a painting, a fleeting posture observed in passing. From this origin point, movement is imagined, not in a linear sense but through intuition.The frame is built through disruption—timing, choreography, and experimentation with flash, shutter, and light. There is only so much that can be controlled. Often, it feels as though the work arrives of its own accord.
What follows is a slow unearthing. Processing the film, scanning the negative, and working through post-production becomes an act of subtraction. As Hido (2014) suggests, editing is a form of painting—where the emotional content of an image is uncovered rather than imposed. The final image is never a replica of its beginning; it is a forged object, shaped by method and chance. Emotion, while present from the beginning, continues to unfold throughout the making. At times it surges through the composition; at others it lingers in the quieter spaces between limbs, blurs, and textures. It is not worn on the surface but embedded in the image’s structure—woven through process, fracture, rhythm. The soul is not depicted; it is implied, arriving not through clarity but through resonance.
The work is open by design. Referencing the ambiguity of Rorschach charts, each image invites interpretation. What the viewer brings to it—the symbols they find, the emotions they project—becomes part of the piece. The intention is not to tell, but to ask. Resonance moves across three intersecting layers. First, the relationship between body and soul, mirrored through photography’s own duality—truth and transformation. Second, the emotional substance of the work, drawn from lived experience and felt into form. And third, the perceptual space where meaning is not fixed, but formed through looking.
