Frozen Light begins inside the glacier — in compressed centuries of water, movement, and silence. To stand in its blue interior is to feel both the weight of what has accumulated and the quiet unease of its passing. The ice does not speak. The continuous rumble of falling rock does.

The work mirrors this architecture. Layers of glacier images, printed on translucent washi paper of 10 grams, are suspended between plexiglas — holding memory the way ice holds memory, strata upon strata, slowly yielding to forces beyond itself.

Alongside these sculptures, black-and-white liquid light photographs carry the raw beauty and melancholy of the landscape: its contrasts of shadow and luminescence, of permanence and loss. What remains is an act of bearing witness — to the privilege of what still exists, and the weight of what we stand to lose.