Memory (The Old Tree )

Trees are ancient beings — quiet, patient, and enduring. Some have lived longer than cities, longer even than the nations that rose and fell around them. They have seen our stories unfold, yet have never spoken a word. They ask for nothing. They wait for nothing. When spring arrives, they bloom; in summer, they offer fruit. In autumn, they let go, and in winter, they sleep without regret.

Perhaps what we call time is a language trees never learned — or one they speak in ways we cannot hear. Maybe their stillness, their immense patience, is born from this different rhythm of existence.

In this body of work, I’ve sought to recreate — through artificial intelligence — faint echoes of a tree’s memories. A tree that once stood by a quiet path between two villages, now surrounded by the restless pulse of a vast city. Amid the noise and motion, it remembers — the silence, the wind, the passing footsteps — fragments of a life once lived in calm, unbroken time.

Reza Milani 2025 / Paris

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