What if trees have their own names? Not oak or birch — something older. 9 sheets, ink on paper. Not portraits. Signs. An attempt to restore a lost dialogue.
Forest Signs #1 — Original Sensory Alchemy Mixed Media Forest on Paper, 21×29.7 cm What if a tree had a name — its own, not the one we gave it? This is a sign. A name. A first attempt to write in a language that has no alphabet — only ink, brush, and attention.
The Myth What if trees have names? Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other. I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind. Then I tried to write down what I heard — Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique, like a name in a language no one speaks anymore. It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right. Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree. This series is a vocabulary for the non-human world. Nine graphic portraits of real trees — their abstract names, drawn with ink and brush. For those who have ever stood in a forest and felt watched — by the trees themselves. For those who suspect that nature is far more alive than we admit. This is for you.
Forest Signs #2 — Original Sensory Alchemy Mixed Media on Paper, 21×29.7 cm What if a tree had a name — its own, not the one we gave it? This is a sign. A name. A first attempt to write in a language that has no alphabet — only ink, brush, and attention.
The Myth What if trees have names? Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other. I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind. Then I tried to write down what I heard — Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique, like a name in a language no one speaks anymore. It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right. Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree. This series is a vocabulary for the non-human world. Nine graphic portraits of real trees — their abstract names, drawn with ink and brush. For those who have ever stood in a forest and felt watched — by the trees themselves. For those who suspect that nature is far more alive than we admit. This is for you.
Forest Signs #3 — Original Sensory Alchemy Mixed Media on Paper, 21×29.7 cm What if a tree had a name — its own, not the one we gave it? This is a sign. A name. A first attempt to write in a language that has no alphabet — only ink, brush, and attention.
The Myth What if trees have names? Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other. I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind. Then I tried to write down what I heard — Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique, like a name in a language no one speaks anymore. It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right. Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree. This series is a vocabulary for the non-human world. Nine graphic portraits of real trees — their abstract names, drawn with ink and brush. For those who have ever stood in a forest and felt watched — by the trees themselves. For those who suspect that nature is far more alive than we admit. This is for you.
Forest Signs #4 — Original Sensory Alchemy Mixed Media Forest on Paper, 21×29.7 cm What if a tree had a name — its own, not the one we gave it? This is a sign. A name. A first attempt to write in a language that has no alphabet — only ink, brush, and attention.
The Myth What if trees have names? Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other. I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind. Then I tried to write down what I heard — Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique, like a name in a language no one speaks anymore. It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right. Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree. This series is a vocabulary for the non-human world. Nine graphic portraits of real trees — their abstract names, drawn with ink and brush. For those who have ever stood in a forest and felt watched — by the trees themselves. For those who suspect that nature is far more alive than we admit. This is for you.
Forest Signs #5 — Original Sensory Alchemy Mixed Media Forest on Paper, 21×29.7 cm What if a tree had a name — its own, not the one we gave it? This is a sign. A name. A first attempt to write in a language that has no alphabet — only ink, brush, and attention.
The Myth What if trees have names? Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other. I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind. Then I tried to write down what I heard — Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique, like a name in a language no one speaks anymore. It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right. Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree. This series is a vocabulary for the non-human world. Nine graphic portraits of real trees — their abstract names, drawn with ink and brush. For those who have ever stood in a forest and felt watched — by the trees themselves. For those who suspect that nature is far more alive than we admit. This is for you.
Forest Signs #6 — Original Sensory Alchemy Mixed Media Forest on Paper, 21×29.7 cm What if a tree had a name — its own, not the one we gave it? This is a sign. A name. A first attempt to write in a language that has no alphabet — only ink, brush, and attention.
The Myth What if trees have names? Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other. I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind. Then I tried to write down what I heard — Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique, like a name in a language no one speaks anymore. It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right. Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree. This series is a vocabulary for the non-human world. Nine graphic portraits of real trees — their abstract names, drawn with ink and brush. For those who have ever stood in a forest and felt watched — by the trees themselves. For those who suspect that nature is far more alive than we admit. This is for you.
Forest Signs #7 — Original Sensory Alchemy Mixed Media Forest on Paper, 21×29.7 cm What if a tree had a name — its own, not the one we gave it? This is a sign. A name. A first attempt to write in a language that has no alphabet — only ink, brush, and attention.
The Myth What if trees have names? Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other. I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind. Then I tried to write down what I heard — Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique, like a name in a language no one speaks anymore. It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right. Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree. This series is a vocabulary for the non-human world. Nine graphic portraits of real trees — their abstract names, drawn with ink and brush. For those who have ever stood in a forest and felt watched — by the trees themselves. For those who suspect that nature is far more alive than we admit. This is for you.
Forest Signs #8 — Original Sensory Alchemy Mixed Media Forest on Paper, 21×29.7 cm What if a tree had a name — its own, not the one we gave it? This is a sign. A name. A first attempt to write in a language that has no alphabet — only ink, brush, and attention.
The Myth What if trees have names? Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other. I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind. Then I tried to write down what I heard — Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique, like a name in a language no one speaks anymore. It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right. Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree. This series is a vocabulary for the non-human world. Nine graphic portraits of real trees — their abstract names, drawn with ink and brush. For those who have ever stood in a forest and felt watched — by the trees themselves. For those who suspect that nature is far more alive than we admit. This is for you.
Forest Signs #9 — Original Sensory Alchemy Mixed Media Forest on Paper, 21×29.7 cm What if a tree had a name — its own, not the one we gave it? This is a sign. A name. A first attempt to write in a language that has no alphabet — only ink, brush, and attention.
The Myth What if trees have names? Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other. I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind. Then I tried to write down what I heard — Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique, like a name in a language no one speaks anymore. It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right. Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree. This series is a vocabulary for the non-human world. Nine graphic portraits of real trees — their abstract names, drawn with ink and brush. For those who have ever stood in a forest and felt watched — by the trees themselves. For those who suspect that nature is far more alive than we admit. This is for you.
Nine graphic portraits of real trees — their abstract names, drawn with ink and brush. This series is a vocabulary for the non-human world. For those who suspect that nature is far more alive than we admit. This is for you.
Details Coloured acrylic ink on acid-free paper (200 g/m²) 9 pieces, each: 21 × 29.7 × 0.2 cm / 8.3 × 11.4 × 0.08 in
What if trees have names? Not the ones we gave them — oak, pine, birch. Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other.
I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind. Then I tried to write down what I heard. Not portraits or illustrations, but Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique — like a name in a language no one speaks anymore.
It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right. Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree.
Not postcards from nature. A vocabulary for the non-human world.