Nature is deeply interconnected—trees communicate through root systems, ecosystems function as wholes—yet each organism exists in fundamental solitude within that web. This mirrors human experience: how can we remain profoundly alone while being surrounded by others.
Humans alter nature’s order to understand it. We build dams to hold what flows, place specimens in jars to study what once belonged to networks. To know something, we first isolate it. Perhaps this reflects how we experience ourselves—separate, contained, observable—even as we remain bound to everything around us.
Being half Swiss, half Mexican, I carry this tension. One inheritance assumes connection, touch, permeable boundaries. The other understands solitude as a way of being. In these images, I see both: things that belong to systems yet remain irreducibly alone.
This work also traces something of our chronology as human beings coming into the world. We arrive in total confusion, move through uncertainty, and gradually build strong clarity and defined rules—only to find that this very process has led us back to isolation, self-created and carefully crafted. We construct the walls that separate us, one certainty at a time.
“No one can live in our place, nor die in our place, nor suffer or love in our place, and this is what we call solitude: it is simply another name for the effort of existing.” — André Comte-Sponville
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