These images mark a reconciliation between myself and the land. Five years ago, my village was demolished, forcibly severing me from the soil that nurtured me. In the depths of emotion, my younger self began writing an essay steeped in naive indignation—a letter left unfinished. Now, I seek to complete that «letter» through my camera lens.
Initially, I compulsively mirrored the essay’s mournful tone, stubbornly awaiting overcast skies to frame broken earth, obsessively documenting tensions between humanity and environment. Yet as my photographic journey deepened through conversations with villagers, I noticed the demolition—once an open wound—had become unspoken. Memory flows like a river; time had quietly altered things in ways I hadn’t noticed.
Reviewing these photographs now, I see villagers bathed in golden light, their laughter resonating with vitality. This land, I realized, no longer symbolizes sorrow and desolation—for them or for me—but rather rebirth and hope. She remains our eternal nurturer.
Gradually, I stopped chasing gloomy skies and conflicts. Instead, I entrusted the shutter to my heart, capturing the village’s authentic essence with tender intentionality.
This photobook traces my emotional journey through sequenced imagery—containing both personal struggles and reconciliations, while illuminating the villagers’ new realities post-relocation.
"Pray, when shall it return?» This plaintive refrain from The Book of Songs once echoed my homesick yearning. Now, cradled in the land’s enduring embrace, I’ve found my answer.