The Ferne began as a place I returned to when things felt too fast, too loud, or unfinished. Not silence, but stillness. The kind that allows emotion to surface without being interrupted.

This work is slow by nature. It resists urgency. I don’t rush it, and it doesn’t rush me. Each piece takes shape over time, through patience, hesitation, and return. Stillness here is not an aesthetic choice. It is how honesty arrives.

Memory does not come in straight lines. It gathers in fragments. In color. In texture. What appears abstract often begins very personally, shaped by moments I don’t always have words for, but carry with me all the same. Landscapes are not places. They are emotional terrain.

Layers are built and softened, pressed and released. Some are covered. Others remain visible. The process is quiet, sometimes uncomfortable, and never fully predictable. I let the work become what it needs to be, even when that means letting go of control.

The Ferne is not about accumulation.It is about presence. These works are meant to live with you. To absorb light, time, and the rhythm of everyday life. They do not demand attention. They reveal themselves slowly, becoming familiar, steady, and grounded in a space.

I believe beauty lives in restraint. In choosing less, but choosing with care. In leaving room for feeling instead of filling it.

The Ferne is a small, intentional world within a larger life. A place to return to when things need to slow down.

Nothing louder than that.