Essay 

 

This conceptual photo explores the nature of a line—how it is perceived, constructed, and imposed. A straight line, as we understand it, is a human invention. When we connect two points with a ruler, we assume we are creating something absolute. But in nature, no true straight lines exist. Even when drawn by hand, a line is never perfectly uniform. Under a microscope, what we call a line would appear as an elongated rectangle—so why do we insist on distinguishing the two? The answer lies in perception, in the ways we have been conditioned to see and categorize. As Immanuel Kant argued in Critique of Pure Reason, space and geometry are not intrinsic to reality but mental structures we impose to navigate our world.

Lines are more than geometric constructs; they are traces of human thought, movement, and control. Society, much like geometry, imposes the idea of straightness—a path to follow, a standard to uphold. Henri Bergson critiqued this rigid, linear thinking in Creative Evolution, emphasizing that life unfolds in fluid, organic, and curved motions rather than fixed, straight paths. To conform is to walk the straight line, to suppress deviation, to erase imperfections. But if no true straight lines exist in nature, then what is real are the imperfections, the deviations, the curves. These are the marks of existence, the traces we leave behind. But what do we actually see—and fail to see—when we look at the world around us? The illusion of straightness persists because our perception is limited by stillness and habit. To truly understand the nature of lines, we must move beyond what is visually immediate and consider the deeper structures of thought and observation that shape our view of reality.

The human eye, fixed in stillness, often fails to perceive the curves of reality. But movement reveals the truth. Aristotle, in Physics, observed that natural motion follows curves, while straight lines belong to human abstraction. He saw circular movement, such as the paths of celestial bodies, as fundamental to the cosmos, while straight paths were associated with unnatural, forced movement. Euclid, in Elements, established the definition of a straight line as “a breadthless length” and an ideal form rather than a natural reality. His geometric system relies on axioms, not proofs from nature—implying that the straight line is a theoretical construct rather than an observable phenomenon.

From an external perspective—perhaps from an observer in space or underwater—the world is nothing but motion, nothing but curves. Carl Gauss and Bernhard Riemann, in their work on non-Euclidean geometry, dismantled the assumption of straight lines as fundamental, showing that even space itself is curved. Albert Einstein, building upon this, demonstrated in General Relativity that gravity bends space-time, meaning that what we perceive as a straight path is, in reality, curved. Even light, which seems to travel in straight beams, bends under gravitational forces.

Despite its artificiality, the straight line has become the foundation of our built environment. Geometry, extending into architecture, has used the line to create shapes like squares and rectangles, structuring the spaces we inhabit. Our homes, offices, and cities are grids of imposed order, within which the traces of our lives, movements, and relationships are contained. Engineering, too, relies on the line, using it in technical drawings to design machines like cars—vehicles that extend this imposed linearity into motion as we exit our homes, get into our cars, and start navigating the outside world. The contrast is stark—inside, we live within linear constraints; outside, the world flows in curves. This contrast between rigid man-made structures and the fluidity of nature is central to this work.

Yet, the traces we leave behind are never permanent. The spaces we inhabit, filled with our memories and movements, eventually become empty, their lines fading into the past. What once held the presence of life is slowly reclaimed by time, becoming ruins of another era. The lines of our existence—so carefully constructed, so rigidly followed—dissolve into a quiet absence, blending into the landscape of history. Some places, marked with the weight of remembrance, remain as silent testaments to lives once lived, where order gives way to erosion, and the marks of time blur what was once carefully drawn.

The tension between conformity and authenticity is embodied in the masked figure within this series. The mask obscures identity, representing the struggle of aligning oneself with rigid societal expectations. Beneath it, an internal conflict unfolds—a silent resistance against imposed structures. The body, constrained yet expressive, reveals the unseen weight of these expectations, questioning the cost of erasing individuality in pursuit of the straight and narrow. Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari describe this tension in A Thousand Plateaus as the difference between “striated space”—where society imposes order and control—and “smooth space,” a freer, more organic way of moving through the world.

Through the long exposure of a camera, we can simulate the non-linearity of the world, making visible what is otherwise unseen. The camera does not simply record; it reinterprets, exposing the fluidity of form and the impermanence of traces. The act of photographing moving subjects—light trails, shifting reflections, the undulating ocean—mirrors the way time reshapes our perceptions, proving that rigidity is an illusion.

In this way, photography becomes both a means of perception and a metaphor for how we construct meaning. The lines we follow, the traces we leave, and the connections we form are never as rigid as they seem. By challenging the notion of the straight line, this work questions the structures that shape our understanding—of our world, our past, and our place within it. If we have lived within rigid outlines, this work invites us to step beyond them—and trace the freedom of the curve.