The ringing in my ear began as something unbearable, an interruption, a weight. Over time, I realized it was more than just a sound; it was like a constant presence, a small burning sun inside my head. Instead of resisting it, I began to listen. It became a metaphor for ambition, for restlessness, for the fire that both drives and consumes us. Transforming this sonic trauma into art was a way of giving form to the invisible, allowing others to sense how pain can also open a new path of creation.

That moment was overwhelming, standing beneath the Milky Way, the mountains towering in silence. My sense of self dissolved; I felt both fragile and infinite. To translate that into art, I didn’t try to illustrate it literally. Instead, I worked with cycles of breaking and reforming, light dissolving into darkness, fragments coming together again. Each work became less about “my” story and more about opening a space where others can encounter their own dissolution, their own vastness.

Yes, they unfold almost like a cycle. Chaos is the beginning, the noise, the tension, the sun that burns too strongly. Silence is the collapse, not the absence of sound but the suspension of inner judgment, the surrender. And rebirth is the fragile light that emerges from fragments, a new constellation of self. The exhibition invites the viewer to walk through these stages, but not in a linear way, it is a cycle, a loop, like the dying and returning of the sun.

Silence is essential. In silence, the noise of ambition falls away, and I can simply observe, colors, textures, rhythms. It’s in silence that images surface, that the unseen becomes visible. For me, silence is not emptiness but a condition for creation. It is the pause that makes movement possible.

I begin from my own experience because that’s the most honest place to work from. But I never want the work to stay only mine. That’s why I often use symbols, like the sun, the orb, the cycle of light and shadow. These are forms that belong to all of us. They allow viewers to project their own stories, so the work becomes a mirror of many lives, not just my own.

Both. It began with my personal crisis, the inner sun, the collapse of old goals, but I see the same fragility everywhere, in our collective moment. The dying sun can be a metaphor for an individual ego, but also for a society facing collapse and searching for renewal. It’s not just my destiny; it’s a shared condition of living in turbulent times.

I use a combination of media: digital motion, ceramics, painting, and light. The layering of watercolor in my early practice taught me how to build transparency and depth. In digital works, I carry that forward, creating layers that reveal what lies beneath. Ceramics hold the fragility of fragments, while light becomes a moving force, refracting and scattering. Each material carries the theme of tension, between solid and fragile, visible and hidden, form and dissolution.

I wanted the space to feel immersive, almost like stepping into an orbit. Digital motion surrounds you on the walls, telling the cycle of birth and fracture. On the floor, pebbles form a circular constellation, with the ceramic Dying Sun at the center, like a collapsed star igniting new paths. Crystals and transparent stones scatter light across the room and onto the viewer’s body. The goal is to make the visitor feel suspended between collapse and renewal, part of the cycle themselves.

For me, Dying Sun is both a beginning and an end. It closes a chapter of searching, of trying to reconcile pain with ambition. But it also opens a new phase, where I feel more honest in my practice, less about showing strength, more about embracing fragility. It marks a shift toward creating spaces of reflection, not just images.

I don’t know exactly, and that’s important. The death of the sun leaves a space of not knowing, of emptiness. But I imagine exploring how fragments come together, how small lights form constellations. Maybe the next phase is about community, about shared orbits, about the ways we move together. The silence now is fertile ground for the next cycle.