Barbed wire is made to divide. Stretched across fields, plains, mountains, and roads, it turns continuous land into separate territories and marks where movement must stop.

From a distance, a fence can become almost indistinguishable from the landscape around it. It follows the contours of hills, disappears into vegetation, crosses open ground, and recedes toward the horizon. Yet its repetition—posts, wire, coils, and sharp points—reveals an imposed order laid across the land.

Over time, weather and vegetation may soften its presence, but the meaning of the barrier remains. What appears to be an ordinary landscape is divided into spaces that can be entered and spaces that cannot, places that can be approached and places that must remain beyond reach.

This series looks at barbed wire not simply as an object of confinement, but as part of the landscape itself—a line through which separation becomes visible and the geography of exclusion takes physical form.