Yesterday marked nine years since I started hormone therapy.
January 17 stays precise in my memory.
I found myself thinking about where my head was back then, how perception shifted, how attention learned to rest differently in the body. This morning I walked through the woods in Graz, feeling how familiar the rhythm still is. The body remembers places. The work remembers itself.
Nothing essential has changed.
I do the same thing I did then.
I look, I wait, I let things settle before I touch them.
Only the coordinates have moved.
What remains is a way of working based on duration rather than capture. I don’t try to hold images too early. I let them pass, return, dissolve, and return again. What stays after that belongs to me.
I don’t depict what I see.
I let act what remains.
Yesterday was a good day. Quiet, precise, and grounded.