They say a writer always writes a part of himself. A painter always paints a piece of his soul’s aspirations. In reality, no one can really escape from himself. I wrote this because I, too, can’t escape from myself, from my inner eye and from the sceneries my conscious or subconscious overlook. No mather what I’m escaping from, the result is always the same – searching. I search for beauty, whispered stories told in detail or through elements that vibrate with eloquence. Time is not important – in what I see, everything is in a timeless, hermetic space. It is a continuum, frozen in exposition and isolated from transience. Everything I’ve said and shown through these photographs is a part of a world I live in or at least a part of the world I strive for, wish for and wait for, hoping to reach the top of the diving board and jump, melting with light-colored stories that I’m yet to finish.