Photography
My Story with Analog Photography
These photographs are fragments of the worlds I once wandered—moments when light bent, lingered, or surrendered itself to memory. They belong to my younger years, between 1997 and 2000, when time felt both fragile and relentless.
Growing Up, Holding Time
At sixteen, I stepped into independence—living, working, and studying on my own. By eighteen, after saving coins from a part‑time job selling posters, I bought my first camera.
Like many young souls in the 90s, caught in the melancholy of becoming, I wondered who I might grow into, how I might change, and whether I would remember the person I once was. Life was not gentle with a teenager already independent; it forced me to grow quickly. Time pressed forward, faster than I could breathe, and I feared my youth would vanish without a trace.
Out of that fear—and a quiet curiosity—I began taking one photograph every day. I kept this ritual until I turned twenty‑three. Through the lens of my analog camera, my ability to see beauty awakened. Yet I never aspired to be a photographer. Photography was not ambition—it was remembrance. A way to say: I was here. I lived this life.
Film taught me patience. It taught me to see beauty in the ordinary, to let silence speak. Photography became a gift—an invitation to slow down, to notice, to honor the fleeting. Later, it became a training ground for my eye as an installation artist, teaching me to read space, light, and the subtle choreography of daily life.
I came to treat the camera as another form of scenography: a frame for emotion, texture, and the delicate interplay between people and place.
From Photography to Scenography
Today, my practice has shifted toward scenography as my primary language—crafting spaces that hold thought, memory, and human connection. Yet photography remains a window I return to, a way to cherish the intangible beauty of people and the ephemeral moments that shape us.
These images are not just records; they are traces of becoming, fragments of a journey. I share them with you as moments that shaped my vision, my practice, and my feeling toward the world.
我與菲林攝影的故事
這些照片，是我曾經走過的世界遺落下的碎片——光線在此彎折、停駐，或在轉瞬之間凝結為記憶。它們屬於我年少的歲月，介於一九九七與二〇〇〇年之間，那段時間既脆弱，又急促。
成長中抓住時間
十六歲那年，我開始獨自生活——自己住，自己工作，自己讀書。十八歲時，我用兼職賣海報攢下的錢，買了第一台相機。
像許多九〇年代的年輕靈魂一樣，被成長的憂鬱所困，我時常想著：自己會成為什麼樣的人？會如何改變？是否還能記得從前的模樣？對一個早已獨立的少年來說，生活並不溫柔，它逼著我快速長大。時間推進得比呼吸還快，我害怕青春會在毫無痕跡之中，悄然逝去。
於是，出於恐懼，也出於好奇，我開始每天拍下一張照片，就這樣一直拍到二十三歲。透過底片的觀景窗，我的眼睛被喚醒，開始懂得看見美。但我從未想過成為一名攝影師。攝影於我，從來不是野心，而是記憶——一種證明：我曾在這裡，我曾這樣活過。
菲林攝影教會我耐心，教我在平凡中辨認光，也教會沉默如何開口說話。攝影是一份禮物——它邀請我慢下來，去凝視，去珍惜那些轉瞬即逝的片刻。後來，它更成為我作為裝置藝術家的訓練場，教我理解空間、理解光線，也理解日常中那些幽微的編排。
我把相機視為另一種舞台美學：用來框取情感，框取質地，框取人與環境之間細膩的對話。
從攝影到舞台美學
如今，我的創作語言已轉向舞台美學——透過空間去探尋記憶、思想，與人之間的連結。然而，攝影始終是我回頭凝望的一扇窗，一種珍惜人性與生命中稍縱即逝之美的方式。
這些影像，從來不只是記錄。它們是成長的痕跡，是旅途的碎片。我願將這些片刻與您分享——它們，曾塑造了我的眼睛，也塑造了我對這個世界的感受。
