There are presences that are very small, almost indistinct, yet carry a feeling that is difficult to name.
He is not drawn to grand or impressive scenes, but rather to very small details.
As someone drawn to nature and quietness, he tends to photograph simple, modest things, or those that exist in a very subtle way. These images are not striking and can easily be overlooked, yet they make him pause a little longer, as if to feel them more fully.
He has been influenced by the works of Haruki Murakami, especially the way he writes about small things and a very gentle sense of loneliness. It is not a clear or heavy loneliness, but more like a slight detachment from the surrounding world, something that feels suspended just above the surface. Perhaps he understands that feeling, although he is not always sure why. Haruki writes with words, while he responds through images.
Looking back at these photographs after many years, he realizes that they are not only isolated moments, but also reflections of something more familiar. These small, quiet presences seem to mirror certain inner states, obscure corners that are not easy to name, yet continue to exist.
And perhaps, in some way, people are not so different from these small presences, not always visible, not always prominent, but still here, carrying their own quiet weight, still wanting, at times, to be seen.
Maybe everyone carries something like this. Not entirely negative, yet not entirely light either, a suspended state, as if unable to fully land. These parts do not disappear; they remain, quietly. And instead of trying to remove them, perhaps one simply learns to live alongside them.
Through this series, he is not trying to explain or arrive at a conclusion. He only wants to hold onto these feelings, the stillness, these small presences, something difficult to name, yet always there.
About Trong Hoang











