The Earth Would Die If The Sun Stopped Kissing Her (2022)
This work began with a feeling. One I couldn’t name, only follow.
I had returned to Oman during the pandemic - drawn by a need to reconnect with the land that shaped me. There was something in the way the light fell on places that didn’t ask to be photographed. Something about the loneliness inside beauty.
In Oman, I found myself moving between the brightness of the sun and the mystery of the moon. The land doesn’t offer answers. It offers space. Stillness. Time. Exactly what I needed in those strange, uncertain days.
In that stillness, I began noticing the way light lingers on a face, how silence settles into the walls of a room, how the earth seems to breathe when no one is watching. These photographs are not grand narratives. They are more like fragments. Moments that feel almost unreal but aren’t. The work moves between daylight and darkness, between what we show and what we hide. It’s about how we relate to land, to longing, to the people who pass through our lives like seasons.
This work began with a feeling. One I couldn’t name, only follow.
I had returned to Oman during the pandemic - drawn by a need to reconnect with the land that shaped me. There was something in the way the light fell on places that didn’t ask to be photographed. Something about the loneliness inside beauty.
In Oman, I found myself moving between the brightness of the sun and the mystery of the moon. The land doesn’t offer answers. It offers space. Stillness. Time. Exactly what I needed in those strange, uncertain days.
In that stillness, I began noticing the way light lingers on a face, how silence settles into the walls of a room, how the earth seems to breathe when no one is watching. These photographs are not grand narratives. They are more like fragments. Moments that feel almost unreal but aren’t. The work moves between daylight and darkness, between what we show and what we hide. It’s about how we relate to land, to longing, to the people who pass through our lives like seasons.
Most of the images were taken in Oman, with a few intimate portraits from Bahrain and the UAE. I was searching for what remains. The trace. The residue. The warmth left on a wall long after the sun has set. This is a project about intimacy and about finding it in a post-pandemic world. It’s about the way we carry places inside us, and the way those places carry us back.
It’s a love letter to my homeland.
And an elegy.
Because to live is to move between light and shadow - and to keep going,
even when you’re not sure what you're moving toward.
A collection of 100 images.