Only You Are Close, When Everything Is Far Away

Naked bodies, silent landscapes, and the nearness of longing.

In the spring of 2020, when the world retreated indoors, I returned—emotionally—to the places I had once photographed in silence.

Living in our lonely rooms during the pandemic, we were reminded that we are a part of nature. This series is a product of that remembrance. The common feeling that unites these photographs, taken over many years, is the need to touch something real—our roots—at a time when everything felt distant. This is why it is not a record of isolation, but a journey toward closeness.

Here, the human body belongs to the landscape. It is not a visitor, but a part of the soil, the water, and the stone. Each photograph captures a silent dialogue between the body and the elements. This is not an act of conquest, but a feeling of belonging.

Nature does not speak in words, and neither do I. These are not pandemic photos, but a reminder of what still pulses beneath our longing. A quiet closeness. A human in the wild, not as a visitor—but as part of the soil, the breeze, the dusk.