This collection is a map — not of landscapes, but of absences. Each piece traces the outline of what was never spoken, of rooms that held too much air, of houses that remembered too much rain, of figures caught mid-fading. Silence here is not the lack of sound, but a layered substance: compressed memory, withheld emotion, the residue of presence that never became voice. Each work in Cartographies of Silence carries a geography of stillness. A weather system of grief. A horizon where language failed — and something else began. These are not images of forgetting. They are maps of what remembering looks like when it can no longer be heard.
