Coast is the series where the shoreline stops being a postcard and goes back to being a border. I’m not interested in the sea as romantic scenery, but as a place that separates and connects at the same time: the edge where ground ends, wind takes over, and light changes its mood every five minutes. Here, the landscape isn’t background—it’s a character. And when people appear, they feel like small interruptions: walking, waiting, thinking, pretending they’re not affected by that much space.

In black and white, the coast becomes more physical: texture, line, contrast, air. Monochrome turns salt into graphite, haze into velvet, shadows into geometry. This series is about rhythm and breathing: waves as a metronome, rocks as memory, the horizon as both promise and prank. Coast lives in that strange place where the world gets simpler—and that’s exactly why it leaves you with nowhere to hide from looking.