Silent Selves: The Space Between

Mention a pile of leaves and most people think of garden chores—the seasonal ritual of raking the lawn. For me, however, that pile became the foundation for a new body of work: Silent Selves.

It didn’t begin with a grand concept. It began as a pause—a simple decision to stop passing something by and, instead, look more closely.

A small group of dried autumn leaves had been resting on a cabinet in my studio. One day, as I moved past them, I noticed the striking difference between their surfaces. One side carried the faded remains of seasonal colour and weathering; the other revealed the intricate veins, the hidden structure, and a quieter kind of strength. Even altered by time, each leaf retained a singular character.

That moment of observation was the seed from which this work grew. I began to look at these leaves in greater detail and with freedom of imagination; an approach valuable while creating images for my Haiga project (the haiku–a bit more of a struggle). My belief is that much can be gained in art by distiling a simple concept or observation from the more noisy environment around it.

This minimalism has come to define my recent work: removing the environmental context to allow structure, tone, and translucency to carry the weight. Each leaf was no longer an indistinguishable part of an autumn carpet, but something unique encapsulating a fragment of the life–the society–of the tree from which it fell.

The idea eventually took shape around the relationship between surface and interior—how one informs the other, and how neither truly exists alone. It’s a reflection of the human spirit, which is rarely a single layer. We all navigate that sacred space where our public persona meets our private essence.

The twelve-image work eventually found its own order in a series of triptychs. Each set of three images forms a study of a single idea.

The first of these, Identity, examines the tension between outward appearance and inward structure. While each panel features the same leaf, each offers a different encounter. In the triptych, I present Persona (left), Essence (right), and Resonance (the central image). Seen together, they suggest a subject that is layered rather than singular. In the overlap, the conversation begins.

Identity: one of four triptychs in the twelve image Silent Selves series. In this triptych I present Persona (left), Essence (right) and Resonance (the central image).

Throughout the series, the repetition is deliberate. The leaves are similar, yet never identical; variation sits comfortably inside consistency. What first appears minimal becomes increasingly complex the longer you look.

This isn’t a study of decay, and it’s not really about autumn, either. It’s about how interior and exterior coexist—how form persists even as colour fades. It is about the deeper richness that emerges when we take the time to truly see.

And in case you are wondering, the leaves are still on the shelf.

I invite you to explore the full Silent Selves collection and perhaps find a moment of your own quiet reflection in the space between.