“In the Flow of Time — London Reflections”
Yana Northen • 17 October 2025
How time, memory, and light intertwined on the day of my exhibition.
Yesterday, an exhibition opened in London in which I participated.
It was wonderful to see people coming up, asking questions, and showing genuine interest.
It was also fascinating to see other works — some artists truly moved me.
My theme is once again about time — about its flow, something that is, in fact, almost impossible to notice in real life.
Almost everyone asked me about my technique: what methods I used, whether I applied something like tracing paper. But these are my own photographs. And, to be honest, I was surprised myself when I first saw them printed — they looked like drawings.
Special thanks to the team who helped me with the printing — the result exceeded my expectations.
In this series, I wanted to show an analogy to life itself — how we move through uncertainty, through rises and falls, and gradually find a path toward the light.
Sometimes it feels as if darkness will never end, but that’s not true.
In my photographs, I continue to explore this phenomenon — how light and time intertwine along our path through life.
A grandmother’s gentle reflection on how quickly time passes and how precious each moment truly is.
A reflection on waiting and uncertainty, where fragile moments and strange images reveal the inner echoes of the soul through photography.
A reflection on freedom and choice within life’s limits, inspired by Camus’ absurd: finding meaning through our actions despite mortality.
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.