In collaboration with the meilena project worked on a short film project
Stage - Development
Worked on a short film called Made Out of Pine
A marine archaeologist studies an ancient 1800s navy ship, uncovering the secrets of its past and how its chemicals impacted the island's ecosystem.
Worked on a short film called Mother, they took me away
One of the last shamans in the mountains of Pakistan walks from village to village, keeping his ancestral practices alive. As he moves through the landscape, helping others carry their pain, he is also confronted with a grief of his own. His walking becomes a passage between villages, between generations, and between the living and the lost. Through his journey, the film explores grief, faith, healing, and the ways people carry what cannot be easily spoken.
During my residency at Tasweerghar in Lahore, I made small boxes of memory using photographs, objects, and fragments of text. I walked through Lahore, collecting impressions and encounters from the city and letting these walks become part of the work. I also visited the Wagah border between India and Pakistan. Standing at this highly tense and symbolic border made me think about separation, memory, identity, and the stories that places can hold. The residency became a way for me to collect and connect personal memories with the histories and atmosphere of a place.
In the remote mountains of Nepal, along the Annapurna Circuit, lies the village of Marpha. During a two-month residency with the Mapha Foundation, I spent several days walking through the surrounding valleys, following trails and moving between villages. Along the way, I wrote, photographed, observed, and mapped the landscape through my own encounters with it.
The walks became a way of slowly getting to know the valley—not only its geography, but also the traces, objects, stories, and small details found along the way.
The residency resulted in three forms of memory: a collection of writings, a wooden box containing things I found during my walks, and a series of photographs documenting the journey.
Together, these works form a personal map of Marpha—not simply a map of places and routes, but a record of walking, noticing, collecting, and remembering.
WALKING AND ATTACHING: TEACHING AS A FORM OF HEALING
Teaching in the mountains of Pakistan became an extension of my own walking practice a way of moving through landscape while building relationships with place, community, and one another. In Hunza and Gilgit-Baltistan, I worked with children through drawing, painting, photography, and walking, allowing the landscapes they inhabited to become both our classroom and our material.
We walked together through valleys, along rivers, and across mountain paths, paying attention to what the landscape revealed through movement. Mountains, stones, plants, water, and everyday encounters became points of departure for making and imagining. Through walking, we learned to look slowly, to notice, and to become attached to the places around us.
For me, this practice was not simply about teaching artistic skills. It was about creating a space where walking, making, and being together could become forms of care. The act of walking alongside another person creates time for listening, observing, and connecting—both to the landscape and to each other.
Teaching therefore became a form of shared healing: not something I was giving to the children, but something we entered into together through movement, attention, and artistic practice. Walking became a way of reconnecting with the land, with imagination, and with the possibility of seeing familiar places differently.
Walking, history and archive
This practice begins with an interest in another person’s history: the places he lived, the paths he walked, and the traces he left behind. Walking becomes a way of approaching this history not only through documents and archives, but through the landscapes themselves. By retracing paths, moving through villages, valleys, and mountains, I am interested in what can be remembered through the body and through the act of walking.
My interest in archives comes from this desire to connect fragments of the past with the physical places where they unfolded. Photographs, documents, stories, maps, and personal traces become points of departure for walking and looking. The archive is not only something to be studied—it can become a route, leading back into the landscape and opening questions about memory, belonging, and attachment to place.
Through walking, I explore how a personal history can be encountered again through geography: following the paths he once walked, noticing what has changed, what remains, and what can no longer be found. Walking becomes a form of research, but also a way of creating a relationship with a history that is no longer directly accessible.