Time for Stories

Evening. The sand, still warm, has changed from golden yellow to pure white. It is a time for the wise to tell their stories, and for the young to absorb their experience. In their hands are green coffee and dates; above them stretches the vast black dome of the southern sky. The Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, Sirius, and the North Star are all there. Millions and billions of known and unknown stars are watching over you.

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This series was born from impressions of the Emirates — a place where the desert is never merely a silent backdrop. It moves with people, vehicles, animals, wind, light, and time. I was drawn to the constant proximity of ancient silence and contemporary speed: caravans, falcons, campfires, and coffee pots existing alongside racing, off-road vehicles, ports, and cities rising on the horizon like mirages. These works are not intended as a literal portrait of a place. They are painterly impressions of heat, open space, movement, and traces left across the sand. Here, sand is more than a color or a landscape. It is memory, distance, and a surface that keeps the marks of a journey. Movement becomes the thread connecting tradition and the present.