The fifth season
In Japan, there is spring, summer, autumn and winter. And then there is the fifth season. The season of flowers, branches and leaves, set against a deep blue, like a night sky.
The image can be looked at one way, then the other. It has neither top nor bottom. Space seems suspended.
The background is a fabric, a repeated kimono pattern, patient, almost hypnotic. Over it, branches spread out and cross one another, forming a fully vegetal kind of writing.
It is an imaginary season, a forest without landmarks, where fabric becomes sky and branches become calligraphy. In this vegetal world, nature and culture are no longer separate. They come together in a single experience made of a mixture of memories and sensations.
Here, the landscape is not a fixed place. It is built through all our senses. It is not something we move through like a backdrop, but like a space to be felt. What remains, then, is a way of moving through the world: accepting the loss of our bearings and learning to look at it differently.

The fifth season
This is a strange photograph. You can look at it one way. And then turn it around. You will always see branches crossing over a large blue sky. But if you look more closely, this sky is not really a sky. It looks like fabric, with shapes that repeat. It is a Japanese garment, a kimono. The branches look like signs, a bit like Japanese writing. You are no longer quite sure whether you are looking at a photograph or a travel memory.
This image tells the story of that moment when a landscape and what you feel inside mix together. Then the journey becomes like a slightly magical place, one that mostly exists in memory.