Rendy Mahardhika
-
Inhabit
Inhabit is a study in sculptural form, where figure becomes material, and meaning bends with light. A moment less seen than shaped.
-
Ricochet
A body in motion, caught mid-shift, like an instinct that echoed louder after it passed. Sometimes the image lands before the meaning does. This is one of those times.
-
Mantaray
It wasn’t about the pose, or the frame. Just light, salt, and a body at rest — folding into the shore like it belonged there.
-
A Private Language
What we crave isn’t always what we’re hungry for. This image explores the quiet confusion between appetite and desire—where pleasure, need, and absence blur. Not about food, not exactly. Just the intimacy of reaching, before we even know what for.
-
Not a Reflection
I wasn’t asking a question, but the pond replied anyway—quietly, in shapes I didn’t expect. Born from a listening exercise during OneBeat Borneo, this image isn’t about reflection. It’s about presence, and what might answer back when we’re still enough to notice.
-
Trace of Us
We don’t always notice the moment something becomes normal. This isn’t about pollution. It’s about permission—how silence can let things stay that were never meant to belong. A photo, a bottle, a question left floating.
-
Briefly Here
The ocean doesn’t feel distant anymore. It feels like it’s shifting faster than we notice—softly, steadily, changing what used to feel familiar. This photo isn’t about saving anything. It’s about paying attention, before what’s underfoot disappears without asking to be remembered.
-
Before I Could Understand, It Had Passed
I didn’t know the story when I took the photo—just that something had moved through the water. Later, I learned about the golden deer spirit said to live there. Maybe the river remembered it for me—just long enough for the camera to catch what I hadn’t yet understood.
-
From the Dirt, a Bloom
I placed a wilting flower on a cracked toilet—not to beautify, but to ask what survives in the wrong place. The silence said more than the flower could. Sometimes, beauty isn’t in what blooms—but in what stays, quietly, where it was never meant to belong.
-
A Bloom After Burn
A cigarette butt and a few fragile flowers shared the same frame—one ending, one still holding on. Smoke rose like a final breath, and in that quiet, I saw not contrast, but conversation. Life and decay, side by side, asking no questions, offering no answers—just existing, together.
