Home: Object as Camera
2021
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I’ve found myself embracing a slower pace of life at home, where time feels less rushed and more open to observation. In this stillness, I began to notice the everyday objects that quietly surround me — things I had often ignored or passed by without a second thought. From personal items like pens, tape, scissors and scraps of paper to natural fragments like fallen leaves or dried flowers gathered near windowsills, these objects started to reveal a quiet significance. They weren’t just background elements or tools of habit — they were markers of presence, reminders of time passing and small anchors in my daily rhythm.
This slow observation became a gentle, grounding practice. The more attention I gave to these objects, the more I began to recognize their silent roles in shaping my environment and emotions. Some reminded me of specific moments or gestures; others carried tactile qualities that stirred memories or created a sense of calm. Each object, in its own way, contributed to the atmosphere of my everyday life — playing small yet no less meaningful roles in how I move through space, process thoughts or engage with the world around me.
This experience brought me back to a photographic process I explored in 2016—photogram. I’ve always been drawn to methods that allow for direct, hands-on interaction and the photogram offers that in a very raw, honest way. It’s a camera-less technique where objects are placed directly onto light-sensitive paper in the darkroom and exposed to light. The resulting image is a kind of shadow imprint a record of the object’s shape and form captured not through a lens but through its own physical presence. There’s something intimate and immediate about this process. The object becomes both the subject and the tool. It acts as a lens of its own mediating the interaction between itself and the paper.
What I find most compelling about photograms is how they preserve not just the appearance of the object, but also a moment of connection. The image is evidence of physical contact, of closeness, of stillness. It’s a direct translation of presence into image. When I create these photograms, I’m not just documenting objects—I’m recording encounters, noticing how light wraps around edges, how space is held and shaped by form.
Once developed, I begin arranging these images on the wall, intuitively piecing them together like a visual puzzle or a diary of interactions. Some pieces echo each other in texture or form while others contrast sharply, drawing attention to their differences. This process of assembling feels meditative and exploratory, like forming a personal language out of shadows and silhouettes. As I work, I’m constantly thinking about how we assign meaning to objects, how we remember them and how their presence reflects aspects of our inner lives.
This work is, about slowness and presence. It’s about returning to the tactile, the overlooked, the gentle rituals of paying attention. In a fast-moving image-saturated world, I find peace in this slower, more intentional way of seeing where the act of making is a form of care, and the simplest objects can become vessels of meaning.
Home: Object as Camera, 2021,
silver gelatin prints,
variable sizes
Picture courtesy: The Star
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