Traces of Earth | Chamonix: A Trace Within
This collection began without a fixed intention.
The stones were gathered in Chamonix, at 3,842 meters, at the Aiguille du Midi.
Not as part of a plan, and not with a defined purpose, only through a quiet instinct to keep them.
There was something in them that stayed.
Their rough surfaces, their sharp compositions, their cold tones, their quiet strength,
they carried a presence I couldn’t ignore.
I have always collected stones.
From places I’ve been to, from moments that remained.
Not as objects, but as fragments of experience, something grounded, something real.
Only later did they begin to speak.
This collection begins with the stones themselves,
in their presence, their form, their history
and continues with what they revealed.
Each piece reflects a phase
of seeking, of holding, of understanding, of integrating.
What appears distant becomes part of us.
What feels like everything can limit us.
What we live through, no matter how difficult, can become support.
Nothing is removed.
Everything changes its role.
Chamonix is the first revealed collection within Traces of Earth
a series of limited works created from stones I have gathered myself, directly from nature.
Each stone carries its own history.
Each work becomes a continuation of it.
Chasing What Was Never Outside
A figure, built from fragments, reaches toward what seems distant, something beyond, something almost unattainable.
A stone stands outside the body, slightly removed, carrying the illusion of separation.
Yet a subtle line connects them, not as a path outward, but as a continuation from within.
What we seek often appears far, unreachable, external.
But the connection does not begin where we look, it begins where we are.
The dark blue marks a recess, a quiet depth, a space that feels incomplete.
It holds both absence and potential, as if something is meant to fall into place.
At the same time, it flows through the body itself like inner currents under pressure, like nerves extending beyond their visible form.
The gold does not decorate the fracture.
It affirms the connection.
Not everything that feels broken is disconnected.
Not everything that feels distant is separate.
Some things are already ours
waiting only to be recognized as part of us.
Holding What We Thought Was Everything
There comes a moment when what we once searched for is no longer distant.
It is here.
In our hands.
Within reach.
We hold it carefully, fully, as if it were everything we ever needed.
It becomes the center.
Large enough to block what lies beyond.
Important enough to silence everything else.
In that moment, it feels complete.
Certain.
Final.
The connection is still present, it always is.
But now it runs inward, tightening around what we hold.
Not everything we claim completes us.
Some things simply occupy us.
And sometimes, what feels like everything
is only everything we can see.
When “Everything” Becomes a Part
There was a time when one thing felt like everything.
We held it close.
We shaped ourselves around it.
We believed it defined us.
But life does not stop there.
What once stood at the center begins to shift.
It does not disappear, it becomes part of something larger.
Piece by piece, we grow beyond it.
What we lived, what we survived, what we carried
it all remains, but no longer alone.
The body expands with experience.
The depth increases with time.
What once felt complete reveals itself as a phase.
We do not stop seeking.
We do not stop becoming.
And slowly, we begin to understand:
The power was never in what we reached
but in what we became through it.
What Holds Us, Lifts Us
There comes a moment when nothing is outside anymore.
What once felt heavy, chaotic, or difficult
has settled into place.
Not as weight
but as support.
The foundation is built from everything that came before:
every phase, every struggle, every moment of uncertainty.
Nothing is removed.
Nothing is denied.
It is all contained.
And because it is contained, it no longer controls.
From that ground, something new becomes possible.
The figure rises not alone, but carried by what it has lived through.
What once fragmented the body now sustains it.
And what is held above is no longer an illusion,
nor something that blocks the rest.
It is chosen.
Not because it is everything
but because it is true.
Not everything we experience defines us.
But everything we contain can support us.
And when it does,
even what seems impossible
can be held.
Available works from this collection
Selected pieces from this collection are available in the Shop.