Colorless Journalism

The Art of Colorless Journalism

It does not wear bright colors.
It does not raise its voice.
Colorless journalism stands still—like morning light on a quiet street—letting the world speak for itself.

In this age of noise and neon headlines, it chooses another path: one of stillness, of truth without decoration. It listens more than it talks. It observes without interfering. It tells stories not to sway hearts, but to open them.

There is a kind of beauty in its restraint.
A kind of rebellion in its calm.
By refusing to tint the truth, colorless journalism becomes art in its purest form—transparent, timeless, and quietly radical.

Here, we don’t color the world.
We reveal it.

Sapa

In the misty hills of Sapa, beauty and hardship walk side by side. Among the vibrant landscapes and colorful markets, I met children — too small for their heavy baskets, too young for the weight they carry.

They walk the streets, selling trinkets and souvenirs with practiced smiles, when they should be playing, learning, dreaming...

KUNNSTHALLE-BREMEN

When humans become part of art, the boundary between creator and creation fades. We don’t just observe beauty—we are the brushstrokes, the rhythm, the colors that move the canvas. Our emotions, stories, and imperfections blend into the masterpiece, turning life itself into an endless work of art.

In this dance, every heartbeat is a beat of the artist’s drum. Every glance, every gesture, every breath is a stroke painting the unseen. We become living galleries, walking poems, moving sculptures—each one unique, each one irreplaceable.

Art isn’t just made—it’s lived.

Horseman

In the vast, shifting landscapes of the world rides the Horseman — a lone figure cloaked in shadow, his face hidden behind a mask. He carries stories in his silence, secrets in his steady gaze. Neither bound by time nor place, he moves through the mist and dust like a whisper of forgotten legends.

The mask is both shield and symbol — concealing his past, revealing his purpose. To some, he is a myth; to others, a guardian of the unseen. Wherever he rides, the air thickens with questions: Who is he? What does he seek? And why does he never stay?

He is a wanderer between worlds — part man, part mystery — forever chasing the horizon where truth and myth collide.

Quarantine Camp: COVID-19

These photos were taken during my days inside a COVID-19 quarantine camp in Da Nang. Time felt slow, the world outside seemed distant, and everything familiar was suddenly out of reach.

Through my lens, I tried to hold onto small moments — quiet corners, empty beds, the color of sky through steel bars. In that stillness, I found a strange kind of beauty, and a reminder: even in isolation, we are never truly alone.

Hue & a Storm

The storm didn’t knock — it crashed through the sky like a god in a bad mood. Thunder roared like laughter from deep underground, and the clouds split open like secrets too heavy to hold. Raindrops? No. These were sky-tears, wild and electric, drumming war rhythms on rooftops, leaves, and bare skin.

It wasn’t just weather — it was emotion unleashed. The kind of chaos that makes you want to dance barefoot in the mud, scream into the wind, or write a love letter you’ll never send.

The storm came to stir things up. And it did. Inside and out.