It's a brisk early morning in late December when we arrive at the cave site. Several trips are necessary walking in the woods to get our equipment to the water entrance.
Navigating a steep, muddy slope with rebreathers and camera gear takes a toll on our fresh energies, testing our fitness right off the gate..
Weather is fine, no rain expected, air temp is around 6° so we all welcome some good warming-up exercise in preparation for the dive.
The water level looks fine and visibility seems to be in the average range from outside.
from behind the scene: entering the water
Cave photography is a paradox of intense technical preparation and profound meditative silence. Behind every frame is a complex dance of buoyancy control, lighting management, and team communication where even the slightest exhale can disturb the clarity of the water. This collection explores that delicate balance, the moment where the 'dissolution of self' meets the sharp precision of the lens, capturing the raw, mind-bending geometry of the subterranean world.
Andrea's body cam shows the cave entrance where the safety line starts.
Floating in the soft darkness. Here, the boundaries between the water and the self begin to dissolve.
Diving into a cave is to step into a world that time forgot. Unlike the open ocean, where the sun provides a constant, if fading, anchor to the world above, cave diving is an exercise in absolute darkness.
In a world with zero ambient light, every shadow is a choice and every highlight is a discovery.
From behind the scene: On our way out it's decompression time.
The "Waiting Room" of the Deep: Decompression
The ascent is never a simple return; it is a slow, rhythmic negotiation with physics. For many, the long decompression stops are seen as a tedious necessity—a period of idle waiting in the water column. However, to me, these minutes represent a profound transition. It is here, suspended between the lightless galleries of the cave and the sun-drenched surface, that I find a unique brand of mental clarity. It is a time for slowing down my thinking, allowing the adrenaline of the dive to settle into a more meditative state of mind.
This 'extra mental space' is not a moment of total detachment, but rather a focused tranquility. You cannot afford to go too loose; situational awareness remains paramount as you monitor your gas mixtures, your depth to the centimeter, and the physiological feedback of your own body. It is a delicate cognitive dance—the 'needed attention' of a technical diver operating in harmony with the expansive, quiet reflections of an artist. In this weightless silence, the images I just captured begin to take shape in my mind, turning the raw data of the sensor into the stories you see on these pages.
As I stand here in the warmth of my studio in late 2025, looking back at these frames, I can still feel the slight chill of the cave water on my skin. Every image in this gallery is a fragment of a world that exists in total darkness until we arrive with our lights. It is my hope that as you scroll through these depths, you feel a bit of that 'extra mental space' I found during my decompression—a moment of stillness in a world that rarely stops moving.
Thank you for watching.