Memory of time

Old wooden door with black handle

I've always seen that door closed.

It is never opened!

It looks me up and down as an invitation to cross the threshold and, who knows, to face the unknown.

A door is sometimes a call to explore other spaces.

What is behind these old dried-up parts of woods?

Half calcined by the sun, they rise like sentinels, the guardians of the memory where time have no grip on them.

Professionnal prints, click HERE or reach out to me for any information.