In Evergreen, the artwork moves within a poetic borderland between the visible and the lost.
The printed flowers on Bible paper become more than mere representations; they appear as floating figures suspended between presence and absence, as if in the process of vanishing or just emerging from forgetfulness.
The fragility of the Bible paper amplifies this sense of the fleeting, as well as the sacred: a silent reverence for the living that once was.

The work explores the complex relationships between faith, industry, and the individual, forces that have historically shaped both landscapes and the human gaze upon nature.
The herbarium, with its roots in the systematisation of botany, appears here not only as a tool for knowledge but also as a symbol of control and colonial dominance.
In Evergreen, the herbarium is transformed into an act of remembrance rather than classification, an attempt to restore something of what has been lost.

The nameless stems, fixed with tenderness, testify to a silent presence.
Here, the question is raised of how we listen, or rather, our ability to listen to that which does not speak in human words.
The dominance of the printed word is contrasted with the plant’s breath, as a metaphor for all that risks falling silent in our language-centred culture.

The photographs’ installation, unframed and slightly distanced from the wall, creates a subtle movement, an echo of life.
In encountering the viewer, the work is activated both physically and symbolically: the plants move, if only faintly, as a reminder that they were once alive and that our movement, our presence, continues to shape their future.

Evergreen is thus both a visual meditation and a silent call.
Through its ambiguous imprint, where tender preservation and elusiveness coexist, the work poses a lingering question:

Which plants will follow us into the future?