At the edge of Ankaran, where the pines whisper to the sea, a small cemetery lies — a quiet boundary between life and memory.
Here, stone blends with the earth, and light glides over faded names.
The architecture of this place is almost invisible: it exists in the feeling of space, in the shadows of trees, in the soft rhythm of time.
The Ankaran Cemetery tells a story of resources that cannot be measured: memory, silence, and the natural presence of place.
It teaches us to honor the minimal, to feel the weight of emptiness, where every stone serves as a guardian of history.
My visual story observes this delicate dialogue between architecture, humanity, and nature.