There is a peculiar tenderness in that loss. The kind that doesn’t mourn but listens — to what fades, to what lingers, to what refuses to be translated. Through this body of work, I try to stay within that fragile space, where meaning fractures and becomes something else — something softer, uncertain, and perhaps more true.

The blurred texts are an embodiment of that uncertainty. They are not meant to obscure but to reveal the delicate distance between understanding and imagination. They hold what I can reach and what remains unreachable. In these fragments, I find connection — a connection shaped not by clarity but by the act of trying, of reaching across a language I can never entirely claim.

Persian poetry, with all its depth, rhythm, and layered symbolism, became a mirror for this search. I can translate its words, but never its spirit. What I gather are pieces — echoes of feeling, glimpses of emotion that arrive filtered through my own limitations. And yet, within these partial translations, there is beauty — a beauty that belongs to what is incomplete.

In the Absence of Meaning is not about understanding; it is about the desire to understand. It is about standing at the edge of comprehension and allowing that distance to breathe. It is about the silence between words, and the invisible thread that still connects them.

Through this work, I try to hold on to that silence — to listen to it closely — and to recognize that meaning, perhaps, was never meant to be whole.