Interference Field / 2025

In the project “Interference Field ” I reinterpret my archive, the photo project “Letters from Childhood” and re-examine my old photographs taken in 2019. I contemplate how technologies like artificial intelligence and neural networks are changing our lives. The project is an installation that completely abandons the material artifacts of the archive (photographic paper, film) in favor of pure light and code, highlighting the fragility of our memories. The images exist only while the projector is on. They are as ghostly and ephemeral as memories themselves. This radical step allows me to explore another crucial theme—the influence of memory on our consciousness. The overlapping of projections is a direct metaphor: our memories can layer upon each other, creating new, distorted, and sometimes false ones. Blurring and “double exposure” occur here not at the moment of capture, but in the moment of the viewer’s perception, making them a co-author of the process. We no longer merely look at a work of art; we now influence it with our presence. Memory is no longer something we observe from the outside. It is something we are inside of and change with our presence. By stepping into the installation, the viewers' shadows become part of the artwork. This is a dialogue in the literal sense. In my 2009 project, I perceived digital tools as a threat to the disappearance of physical media and used exclusively film, chemical developers, and paper printing as a refuge for my memories. In this new project, digital technology does not revive our memories but rather simulates them in real time. In this way, I attempt to materialize the very process of remembering—obsessive, imperfect, distorting reality beyond recognition. What you see are not images of my childhood, but ghosts of those images, generated by digital technology and a longing for what is lost. This work is about the fear of the disintegration of one’s own history and our desire to revive it, even if the result is frightening. If you feel anxiety—that is a normal reaction. You are immersing yourself in a landscape of memory, and it is rarely cozy.