In the stillness of the moment, the tree breaks free from the limits of the real and surrenders to movement.
Its branches, once firm, now float like living brushstrokes in the air. Light slides through the forms, tracing invisible paths, turning matter into rhythm.
Here, the focus is not on rigid contours, but on the fleeting impression of motion. Like a dream, reality dissolves into golden streaks, blues, and shadows that dance.
Abstract photography is not about capturing what exists, but about feeling what transforms.
And so, the tree becomes a dance, and the image, poetry.
