Glints of Spring - On Carrying Light

Every year there is a moment when winter hasn’t quite passed, yet the light has already changed. The air is still cold, the ground still holds the memory of frost, and yet a new kind of brightness appears along the edges of things.

This in‑between time is what I tried to capture in the world of Glints of Spring: that transitional season when nothing has fully transformed yet, but you can already feel that change is on its way.

Once again, I started from flowers frozen in ice, but this time I approached them with a lighter hand. I was looking for ways to catch the first playful signs: bursting colours, unexpected shapes, tiny flashes on the surface that quietly suggest spring.

During editing, the forms became even more blurred, and I found myself simply following where the colours wanted to go. The photographs grew less and less “photographic” in the traditional sense and more like a condensation of what early spring feels like.

I wanted to hold onto that sensation when you suddenly have to squint in the light, and when you close your eyes, a fragment of colour appears. It isn’t precise, you don’t even know where it came from, and yet it is somehow tied to spring.

Glints of Spring is made up of nine such small fragments. They don’t belong to specific places or stories. Instead, they point towards those inner moments when we notice that the season is about to turn.

I like the thought that we carry these first colours inside us long before spring truly arrives. The digital transformations became a kind of tracing – a delicate mapping of that inner memory which prefers to recall rather than record.

These C‑type prints don’t capture spring itself, but the instant in which spring begins, those brief glints we would easily pass over if we didn’t slow down enough to notice them. You can find the collection here:

https://www.juliaposta.com/category/glints-of-spring