Human beings possess a remarkable ability to forge connections with the most unexpected elements.

This is a story of four paths converging and diverging, the dance of fate that binds two humans and two trees.

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”Migration Season” mini series

Migration Season 1

Several months back, Ale – a cherished friend of mine and I orchestrated a photoshoot, selecting a location that held special significance for her—the retreat nestled just beyond the city limits, by a pristine river with crystal-clear waters. In between shooting pre-planned scenes, on the outskirts of the property, I noticed melancholic branches resting on the ground, veiled in dirt. Gluey feathers over them, their silent repose narrated a tale of a storm from days past — a poignant reminder of nature’s formidable prowess. A tree fallen, a heart broken, I thought.

The landscape evoked one of my earliest memories of climbing an apricot tree in our family garden. Apricots, apples, plums, pears, cherries. A row of luscious fruits divides the garden into mirrored halves. My heart and many sun-drenched afternoon hours are still whole, the first tree in a row and me undivided. To this day, I still don’t know why I loved that tree more than any other in the orchard.

Migration Season 2

Then, one morning, the mournful buzz of a chainsaw and tears. A child’s tears that drenched the garden, tears in the front yard, in every room of the house, and finally, tears on the pillows. Tears that, during the years, turned into family gathering jokes about a kid crying for a tree that needed to be cut off.

Migration Season 3

After the storm, Ale wrote me a brief message about the tree falling. I knew it meant a lot to her but we skirted around the topic until the day of the shoot. Gathering the remaining branches, I proposed creating one more art piece, a cathartic act of letting go. Ale agreed and we silently arranged the set. The camera was clicking in a realm of complete silence, no words spared.

Migration Season 4

Both of us release something profound, our minds meandering through the corridors of memories. By the time we finished, a solitary photograph had transformed into a mini-series: it commenced with the subject on the ground, surrounded by branches from her tree; she then rose, dancing her swan song, before elegantly departing the frame. I realized we’ve created something meaningful only after the day I finished editing the images, all the pieces of our project came together as I stumbled upon a poem by Mark Strand, a poignant curtain call to this chapter, whispering like tree branches in the wind:

– Wherever I am

I am what is missing.

When I walk

I part the air

and always

the air moves in

to fill the spaces

where my body’s been.

We all have reasons

for moving.

I move

to keep things whole.

Migration Season 5

Migration Season 6

Migration Season 7

Migration Season 8

Migration Season 9

Migration Season 10

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