A landscape flows; every second, minute, hour, each passing century, it transforms. Light filters in ways that reveal a different scene at every moment. Form evolves through weathering; lines appear and disappear, colors fade. Making it difficult to capture. The landscape we imagine is, in fact, a memory of that place. Much like landscapes, memories are always in motion. They are elusive and fade with the passing of time; blending and distorting until they form places that never truly existed. They live as reflections we carry in the folds of our brain. When reflecting on my own work as a photographer, I search for moments where the image no longer aligns with the experience. Through techniques like weaving and unraveling, folding and pressing, I explore how memory shapes our perception of landscapes, creating multiple interpretations of a single moment. “We tend to think of landscapes as affecting us most strongly when we are in them or on them, when they offer us the primary sensations of touch and sight. But there are also the landscapes we bear with us in absentia, those places that live on in memory long after they have withdrawn in actuality, and such places -- retreated to most often when we are most remote from them -- are among the most important landscapes we possess.” Robert Macfarlane – The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot