Green

Green as persistence, a fragile presence insisting in the dark.

I’ve spent days thinking about green. This text reflects on the presence of green in my photographic practice. Beyond its symbolic associations, green appears as a recurring visual element that shapes perception, atmosphere and meaning within the image.

I wasn’t looking for this color (or so I thought), but aside from the obvious places, it keeps showing up where I least expect it. In photographs, in the edges, in reflections, in digital noise. Green slips in. Green insists.

And what is green?

They say it’s the color of life, but also the color of rot. The color of sprouts and of mold. Of beginnings and of things that are dying. How can a single color hold two extremes so far from each other?

Maybe green isn’t a color at all, but a state: a slow movement between birth and decay.

Green doesn’t shine like white. Green lets things breathe, but it also suffocates.

Green doesn’t rush; it always feels “in process.”

It’s a color that can’t quite decide. It’s not yellow, it’s not blue. It’s the negotiation between the two, an unstable truce.

I look for the greenest green:the wet one, the dry one, the poisonous, the gentle, the comforting, the unsettling, the green that heals and the one that warns.

The green of a traffic light saying “go.” The green of a wound that isn’t healing. The green of a newborn field. The old, faded green of vintage photographs.

Green as residue, a landscape shaped by time and neglect.

Every time I try to fix it in a photograph, it changes. It shifts half a step, cools down, warms up, hides in shadows, appears in reflections on skin or water.

And then I ask myself: Does green exist as a color, or is it simply life’s way of reminding us that everything is always mutating?

Maybe every green is green, even those leaning toward yellow, blue, or black.

Maybe green doesn’t want to be seen, but perceived. It doesn’t want to impose; it wants to grow.

Green is nature’s hesitation, the in-between of what was and what will be.

Maybe that’s why it attracts so much or maybe that’s why it unsettles.