Enduring through ruin, speaking without sound.
This flower didn’t appear on its own. I placed it there—on top of an old toilet in a cracked, forgotten room. Toilets aren’t spaces we consider important; they’re always there, but rarely noticed. Still, I wanted to know: what happens when something beautiful exists in a place that doesn’t deserve it?
The flowers weren’t perfectly in bloom. Some petals were already drying, as if trying to hold on despite time running out. I chose them deliberately—not for their beauty, but because they looked like they belonged there. While shooting, I heard the faint drip of water from a rusted tap in the corner. I paused, wondering: was the room telling me something about imperfection—or was I simply trying to find meaning in silence?
I photographed slowly, letting the wall’s cracks and wilted petals become part of the frame. In that moment, I didn’t feel the flowers speaking. It was the silence of the space that said everything. That old toilet, with all its flaws, reminded me that beauty isn’t always about blooming—it’s about having the will to stay.
