I am photographing a city devoid of people.
Not because I am erasing them, but because the architecture I am investigating has already done that for me. Brutalism is a language of scale, texture, and pressure. It has no room for accident, no concession to human scale. It is a space that implies presence, yet does not require it.
My frames are not documents. They are portraits of emptiness. I work with analog film and manual printing because the grain and contrast provide that specific roughness absent in digital smoothness. The print becomes a material imprint of the concrete surface—heavy, cold, and textured.
In this series, there is no human presence, not even as a shadow. There is only geometry, light, and material. The city presents itself as the quintessence of the alien: a perfectly calibrated structure in which no one lives, even though everything was designed for life.
«Brutalism» is not a history of solitude. It is the history of a space that has made solitude its only form.
