When thinking about the creative process in the early stages of developing a cycle, the boundaries that matter most to me are primarily those related to content. My goal is to create imaginative limits within which I will realize the series. It was similar with the Topochronology series.

This cycle originated primarily by chance, from a simple subconscious idea: to summarize the chronology of a day of a certain landscape segment in light variations. While mapping out drafts and making targeted visits to the landscape at three phases of the day — noon, evening, and night — I noticed a very simple detail that initially prevented me from clearly defining my intended goal.

After a few days of composing drafts, I realized that the photographic sketches didn’t align because of “just” a few meters of deviation during shooting, which often created a significant shift in additive natural scenes. So I started marking the points from which I photographed.

That was the beginning, when the visual concept merged with the previous subconscious idea into a conscious methodology. At those marked points, which I created using branches in the landscape, I established my own topographic markers, as if I were plotting locations into my virtual GPS, which I then froze in time through a painterly visual chronology.

I deliberately avoided seeking out picturesque spots or “calendar views,” instead focusing on banal fragments of the landscape where nothing stands out with strong aesthetic value. Just as light shapes a given space throughout the day, the absorption of atmospheric space also changes the light and consumes it. Whether it’s fog or the low angle of the sun on the winter horizon, these reduce light intensity and colorfulness. All of these are mementos—memories of light in space and time