The series Cell draws its primary inspiration from the underwater world, where creatures drift in weightlessness — fluid, undefined, and free. These aquatic forms embody a sense of innocence and organic release, reflecting a deep connection to the purity and mystery of nature.

Within the compositions, fragmented shapes appear curved, bent, and alive. I’m especially drawn to rounded, flowing forms because they suggest movement and transformation — a visual language of constant becoming. Like the sea itself, these shapes can feel tranquil or congested, embodying both serenity and tension, and echoing the ever-shifting rhythms of life beneath the surface.

Subtly embedded within these layers are ancient, faded portraits — faces that feel fossilized, barely visible, yet ever-present. They reference the passage of time, like fragments unearthed from forgotten worlds. My fascination with fossils lies in their paradox: they are both permanent and fragile, physical traces of lives that once were. Fossils symbolize mortality, preservation, and the mystery of vanished worlds — offering a silent language of history and transformation.

For me, fossils and nostalgia share a powerful connection. Both are rooted in the past, and both carry emotional weight — nostalgia as a tender memory, and fossils as tangible remnants. They invite reflection on impermanence, loss, and the beauty of change. In Cell, I try to create something that feels like a living fossil — layered, preserved, and resonant — a work that whispers to the viewer with echoes of forgotten time and emotional depth.

By merging fluid forms with fossil-like textures and historical imprints, Cell becomes a space where nature’s complexity, memory, and transformation converge — a suspended world shaped by both life and the traces it leaves behind.