«The shadows dissolve into the pale breath of morning. Paris, and the way Elisabeth’s hands trace invisible constellations in the cold air. The scent of rain clinging to porcelain skin. A city that hums beneath its own reflection. White is not absence, but memory. A whisper left on a mirror. The salt that lingers after a kiss. In the stillness of snowfall, I remember Anna, standing beneath Helsinki’s muted sky, eyes closed, listening to the hush of winter. The language of waiting. The taste of distance. Madrid and the silver hush of dawn, Berlin and the phosphorescence of desire. Time lingers in the corners of rooms, where Sofía dances barefoot. Lisbon. I walk with Eva along the edge of the Atlantic, tasting the wind. Under starlit skies, we found the wild ocean. Laura. The abyss of her silences. María and the rhythmic waves in Ukraine. Elizabeth, wrapped in desire. The scent lingers, creating a visual sonnet of cityscapes against the sea. In the eternal dance between the earth and the endless sea, I discover Johanna.

A woman stares at me. A cigarette. Her face tinged with red desire. A road leading to the beach. Everything above me is blue. Time feels completely superfluous. I smoke and watch the palm trees. Vanessa undresses in front of me. The incessant monologue of the sea, in the middle of a landscape tattooed with ferns and acacia trees. Memories of the journey. Everyone awaits the arrival of the corpse. Christmas lights in every street. Both sides, loved and lost. Thirty seconds of silence. The sensual scent of quinces and Hannah’s lips. I watch her every day for hours from the fifth floor. A statue. And Frederika’s eyes again. A garden of yellow flowers. Eleven o’clock. The coffee pot breathes slowly. The intimacy of a phone call and a very soft voice. It’s eight o’clock. Erika picks up her suitcase and turns off the light. Hotels with forgotten names. Tall buildings. The velvety voice of the singer. And her red lips tasting the cherry of a glass of whiskey. I try to sleep, while we look at each other. The sticky murkiness of night stretches on. Fan blades spinning, stirring thoughts. A long narrow street and a tree at the end. The labyrinth of lovers. Breath marks the desire of every second. A bouquet of white roses. The hectic murmur of silver planes at the airport. It’s raining, and as I wait for dinner, I believe it will be the last kiss. The last glass of wine. The intensity of Satie floods a room overlooking the sea. Claudette. Fragile and beautiful, between the naked sheets. One of the broken photographs, not mine, lipstick kisses and an unsent typed letter. Another cup of coffee. The slow step toward nothingness. A sorrowful glance of pleasure, long and continuous. Presence and absence. The beautiful and the sublime, the great and the terrible, the rush and the excitement, the fear and the death, the faith and the erotic, the obsessive, the melancholy and the lustful, the mystery, the solitude and the decadence, the soul and the madness, the order and the perfectionism, the darkness, the passion, the drunken anxiety of living.
«The Landscape Inside Us» is a visual symphony of encounters and farewells, where each image is a whisper of untold stories, inviting the viewer to lose themselves in its timeless embrace».