Price of silence

Wet military uniforms hang on a clothesline to dry. The person who wore them is no longer in the picture, but his presence is felt as if he were standing right in front of you. The water washes away the dust, sweat, and traces of the past day, but it cannot erase the memory. The empty uniforms become a symbol of those who pay every day with their youth, peace of mind, and safety, so that others can live in quiet and peace. The work does not deal with the war itself, but with its unseen side. With what remains after the sirens, orders, and waiting. With the price that is almost never spoken aloud, but continues to be paid. Again and again. Quiet is never free.