Lasting Light
Yana Northen • 18 August 2025
A Bridge Between Past and Present
A Memory of My Uncle.
Recently, many events have happened in my life, but one of the most difficult for me was the news of my uncle’s death. For me, he was not just a relative — he was a friend, a companion, a person who supported me in many of my endeavors. His passing was a tremendous shock, and I still cannot fully believe that he is no longer here.
He was always a person full of extraordinary energy: cheerful, active and curious. He was always on the move, always coming up with something; he had an inexhaustible zest for life.
The last time we saw each other was in September in Germany. We visited the Ludwig Museum in Cologne and saw works by contemporary artists and people he personally knew. For him, these were not just paintings — they were living memories of the times he had been through, of the artists he knew, their styles, ideas, and even their personal energy. For me, it became a bridge between the past and the present. In those moments, he radiated happiness. To me, he was a person who shared my interests and helped me understand all the subtleties of contemporary art.
He was only 79, and looking at his vitality, it seemed to me that he could have lived another ten years. I could not keep up with his pace. Even now, as I write about him, I remember his lively expression and the phrase: “Well, after the museum, shall we go to the conservatory to listen to classical music?”
The awareness that we are all mortal has always existed, but when it concerns your loved ones, the mind resists and refuses to believe it.
Death is an inseparable part of life, and sooner or later we all face it.
And the more I think about it, the more I understand: the most important thing is to live today. Not to wait for tomorrow, for tomorrow is only today that will come again. To enjoy life the way he knew how to.
My uncle left me not only the memory of himself but also a lesson — to cherish every moment and not postpone joy.
Thoughts on time, life’s fleeting moments, and discovering your inner compass amidst the rush of days.
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.