toki

time does not pass, it devours

it doesn’t stroll or whisper sweetly, it consumes quietly, efficiently, without hesitation, uou don’t see it coming, you don’t hear the ticking when you’re lost in your habits, your distractions, your plans; but time is there, moving through you as much as you move through it taking without asking,

we call it passing time, but the truth is we are being passed through, and when we look up, something is missing: a season, a relationship, a version of ourselves we swore we’d return to.

memento

when form and matter become memory

a dense, silent presence, stratified, geometric, seemingly shaped by the patience of another era, one in which time settled slowly over things, leaving visible traces,

memento speaks of time lived, with every volume, every edge, it preserves through shadow the imprint of that time; above all, is a contemporary relic, where the light falling across its surface deepens perception, the relief turns into rhythm and functionality becomes almost secondary to symbolism,

an object that marks time not by its passing, but by its ability to hold it still,

memento is what remains when everything else seems to pass,

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the form of time preserved

it is a gesture of slowing down, an exercise in presence, it is what remains, when everything else seems to pass.

shangri-la: whispers of eternals

creating spaces between myth and matter;

cortina north, the choreography of temporal rhythm.

beyond the grasp of time, where mountains embrace the sky and the air hums with quiet reverence, a sanctuary unfolds—woven from the whispers of myth and the silent equilibrium of nature. here, architecture does not impose but dissolves, a delicate veil between the visible and the unseen, where the rhythm of nature is the silent muse, shaping itself in harmony with the earth’s breath—gentle, ephemeral, eternal.

it is a place where balance is not sought but simply exists—time is a forgotten current, flowing through serene landscapes untouched by unrest; where every path does not merely traverse space but leads toward stillness. light filters through ancestral air, tracing forms that belong as much to memory as they do to matter.

this is more than a refuge—it is an invitation to step beyond the tangible, where every corner becomes a vessel of wellbeing, every shadow a silent ode to longevity, where harmony is not built—it simply is. — roxana stănescu —