During the long months of the pandemic, the world contracted to the size of a window. From that small frame, I began to look outward — toward the slow, unhurried procession of clouds. They became a quiet measure of time, an ever-shifting sky that offered both distance and continuity when movement and contact were no longer possible. Later, in the solitude of my studio, I returned to the images of clouds through the process of cyanotype — a process of touch and light, of imprint and residue, combined with the pattern of lace curtains. Common in Polish homes, they are emblems of domesticity, privacy, and quiet observation. Their intricate patterns filter the light, softening what is outside while marking the boundary of what is inside.

The lace was not a window between me and the world, but a material bridge between memory and image — an emblem of longing, protection, and inheritance. In these prints, the sky and the lace coexist: the ephemeral and the familiar, the infinite and the intimate. The cyanotype’s deep blue holds both absence and presence — a quiet echo of home woven into the immaterial shape of clouds. This work is an act of reconstruction — an attempt to reconcile distance through gesture, to translate memory into surface, and to find tenderness in the in-between space of belonging and loss.

(work in progress)