Liberation

consists of photographs of the sky, because it whether on blue cloudless days, in the gray to silver range of clouds, the yellows, oranges and reds of sunset, in the range of blues on a cloudless day, from brilliant blue to robin’s egg, aquamarine, periwinkle, or the other infinite gradations of blue. of a cloudless day, a robins’ egg blue of in the yeThe question Is the sky blue? may seem obvious, yet its answer is far from simple. In today’s world, even the most self-evident truths feel up for debate, as perspectives grow more polarized and reality itself seems increasingly subjective. But beyond the cultural moment, there is a deeper reason for the question: the sky is not always blue. It shifts through infinite gradations—saturated and brilliant at midday, silvery and diffuse at dawn, deepening into velvety indigo at night. Yet most of us rarely look beyond our assumptions to truly see what is there.

For over 25 years, my photography has explored overlooked details of the everyday—manhole covers, electric wires, the textures of trees. But in this series, my focus turns to the most expansive and intangible subject I have ever taken on: the open sky itself. These images capture nothing but sky—no trees, no horizon, no birds, no sun—just pure, shifting color. At first glance, they appear deceptively simple. But the longer we look, the more subtle variations emerge, drawing us into a vastness we are always surrounded by yet rarely take the time to notice.

In this way, the images act as a kind of meditative object—though no formal practice is required. They offer a pause from the endless movement of daily life, from the thousand distractions that fragment our attention. Some may recall the immersive light of James Turrell’s Skyspaces or the boundless monochromes of Yves Klein, but photography brings something distinct: an anchor in time and place. Each image is titled with the precise date, time, and location of its capture, grounding it in the real world even as it gestures beyond it.

The sky has long been a symbol of spaciousness in spiritual traditions, including in Shamanic Traditions, with the Cloud of Unknowing from Medieval Christianity, and in the Tibetan Buddhist tradition of Dzogchen, where the vast, open sky represents the luminous nature of the mind — our true self beyond thought and identity. Whether we call it soul, Buddha-nature, wisdom-mind, or Christ-consciousness, this deepest part of ourselves is often hidden beneath the noise of daily existence. But when we step outside, look up, and allow ourselves to simply be with the sky, something shifts.

The images in Is The Sky Blue? follow a subtle progression—from the vivid, saturated blues we instinctively associate with the sky, through paler gradations, into the silvery glow of clouds, the deepening hues of twilight, and into night. This arc mirrors a deeper journey: from certainty to openness, from assumption to direct experience, from division to connection.

So, is the sky blue? The answer is both yes and no. It depends on where we stand, when we look, and how willing we are to truly see. And in that realization, perhaps, we find something even greater—an invitation to step beyond fixed ideas, to reconnect with what is most essential, and to recognize, in the vast openness above us, something of our own deepest nature.