Turn towards the sun - Ongoing
Before I met my partner four years ago, I had lived my entire life childless—forty years of solitude in that particular sense, unacquainted with the chaos, joy, and wild rhythm of parenthood. But everything changed the moment she entered my life. With her came an immediate shift: I became a stepfather to a vibrant young girl, and shortly thereafter, we welcomed our first child into the world together.
In what felt like an instant, my world rearranged itself. The contours of daily life changed—its patterns, its priorities, its very pulse. What once felt settled and predictable gave way to the untamed current of childhood. The quiet corners of my former life were replaced by noise, movement, and an ever-present sense of wonder.
I grew to embrace the beautiful, unpredictable rhythm of this new chapter. I began to document the intricacies of fatherhood, finding poetry in the mundane, and sacredness in the mess. Fleeting details of early childhood became my quiet obsessions—chocolate-covered faces grinning with abandon, wobbly shapes drawn in the sand and quickly washed away, wet toddler handprints stamped across the floor like joyful little signatures of presence. These moments, so easy to overlook, became windows into a deeper truth: that childhood moves quickly, but leaves lasting imprints.
This ongoing body of work is a response to that transformation. It pays homage to this sudden and profound shift, and to the fathers—so often the quiet shadows in the background—who hold just as much weight in the architecture of parenting.
Becoming a father has reframed the way I see the world. Everyday objects now glimmer with new meaning, filtered through the lens of my children’s eyes. The metaphors between nature and children have grown luminous: the resilience of a dandelion pushing through concrete mirrors a toddler's tenacity; the changing sky reflects the shifting moods and milestones of growing up.
Nature, in all its change and impermanence, has become the perfect metaphor for this journey. It reminds me that each season of childhood is both fleeting and eternal in its impact.
