The Earth was formed from stardust and light. Human life emerges from the same material, matter that has traveled across time, gathering form, dissolving, and returning again. Each generation carries this substance forward, fragile and persistent at once.

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In April 2019, during a trip to Berlin, I opened my suitcase and noticed that nearly all the clothing inside was yellow. The observation felt incidental, almost trivial, yet it stayed with me.

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Only later did I understand that yellow had accompanied me since the death of my mother in 2017. Through research, I learned that, of all colors, yellow contains the highest proportion of visible light.

 

This insight suggested a different way of looking: not toward endings, but toward continuity, toward the persistence of light within matter, and the endurance of life within loss.

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Gradually, I began to trace yellow throughout the timeline of my life.

My mother carried a yellow bouquet on her wedding day.
When my twin brother and I were born, our names and birth dates were embroidered onto fabric with yellow thread.The first house we lived in was painted yellow.

 

While driving back to the Netherlands from Berlin, I became captivated by the yellow rapeseed fields along the roadside and photographed them from the car. Later, at home, I discovered an earlier image of the same landscape in my birth book. After leaving the hospital, on our way home, my mother had photographed those same fields and described their beauty.

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The work moves between the intimate and the cosmic, between scientific knowledge and embodied memory, between the measurable reality of light and the immeasurable experience of presence.

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Life begins with light.
And in darkness, light becomes visible.