Freedom within constraints.
Yana Northen • 3 September 2025
We do not choose to be born and we cannot escape death. This two are predestined. However for the space in between exists complete freedom .
At some point, you begin to sense the collision between freedom and predestination. On the one hand, the finiteness of life sets boundaries, and in this sense, absolute freedom does not exist. We do not choose when and to whom we are born, and we cannot avoid death. This is a fundamental limitation.
Yet within these boundaries, we still possess freedom of choice. There are always several ways out of a given situation, and even if each of them leads to the same final point—death—the very roads we walk can be different: either filled with meaning, love, creativity, or, on the contrary, with fear and avoidance.
It is like a labyrinth with only one exit. Yes, all paths lead to it, but the process of wandering remains in our hands, and it is precisely this, in deciding how to relate to pain, to illness, to accidents, to loved ones, that freedom reveals itself.
This idea echoes what Albert Camus once called the absurd: we strive for meaning, while the world remains indifferent. Also the paradox lies in the fact that, despite this indifferent reality, a human being continues to live, to choose, and to give events their own meaning.
Perhaps this is where true strength lies: not in denying the predestination of the end, but in filling the path toward it with the light of one’s own decisions.
Capturing the invisible: wind, time, and fleeting moments. A reflection on memory, life, and eternity in a breath.
Thoughts on time, life’s fleeting moments, and discovering your inner compass amidst the rush of days.
Honouring my uncle’s memory through art, music, and the wisdom he shared about living life to the fullest.
Exploring how flowers, emotions, and images intersect — one layer of reality over another.
Planting poppies in my garden was my unconscious way of mourning my husband—only recently did I understand their deep, symbolic meaning.
A brief reflection on change, loss, and quiet presence. How one bare tree in a blooming garden became a reminder that everything passes, everything moves — and sometimes, the most important thing we can do is simply be.
A quiet morning. A small mirror. A body, remembered.
In this letter-like reflection, I explore what happens when we pause long enough to truly meet ourselves. Through a series of movements — gaze, touch, presence — I reconnect with my body not as an object, but as a part of me that feels, remembers, and responds.
This is a continuation of the project A Conversation with My Body — where photography and words become a form of healing, presence, and quiet truth.
A quiet meditation on memory, loss, and what remains of us when we’re gone. Through a daughter’s gesture and the few objects left behind — old photographs, a worn belt, and a watch — this story reflects on how life continues in traces, in light, in dust, in love remembered. Accompanied by a symbolic photograph capturing the intimacy of this moment.
A deeply personal letter from the body to the self — an invitation to listen, feel, and reconnect. This message speaks about pain, silence, self-compassion, and the unbreakable bond between mind and body.
A visual reflection on how ordinary objects reveal our emotions and thoughts — a photo collage made over one week.