An ode to transience

Along the edge of the ice, where liquid life freezes into a still moment, lies a story that unfolds in a whisper. It is the boundary between what was and what will be, a fragile line where the breath of the water stills itself. Here, the cold holds everything, like a memory that refuses to let go. Ice crystals form spires, slender and fragile, as if hoisting themselves upwards into an unreachable eternity.

But even the frost is not master of time. As the first light stretches its fingers, the cold slowly breaks. Drops form at the edge, trembling on the verge of disappearing. What seemed powerful a moment ago melts back into the water, as if it had never existed. The boundary fades, the ice edge disappears, and the water regains its fluid freedom.

Yet something remains. Not ice, not frost, but a lingering silence, an imprint of a moment that seemed unshakeable for a moment. Disappearance is not an end, but a transformation. And in that gentle transition, in that subtle dissolution, lies the true poetry of ice. It teaches us to look at the temporary, at how even the smallest boundary can carry the greatest stories, until they dissolve in the breath of light.

This series was created in: The Netherlands