Toen ik ontwaakte was iedereen duizend stappen verder
When I awoke, everyone was a thousand steps ahead of me
This work has been nominated for the:
- Sint Joostpenning 2013
- Steenbergen Stipendium 2013
- Gabriele Basilico Price 2015
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For a few weeks during the winter of 2013, I stayed in a village in Zeelandic Flanders without clock-time, internet, computer, television, phone or contact with other people. A month later, I went back to my hometown Almere. This 40-year old city growing fast, still searching for its identity. It’s the perfect example for our society, in which we are pressured to always progress. In both places, I documented everything I saw and I felt while staying there.
By staying in these ways and in these opposite places, I investigated where I was more able to find myself. Was I free to be myself in a modern city, where I was overwhelmed by tall buildings, rapid changes and reserved people? Or was there more space for self development in an isolated area with lots of peace and quiet? How do our surroundings affect who we are and become?
Toen ik ontwaakte was iedereen duizend stappen verder | When I awoke, everyone was a thousand steps ahead of me
This work has been nominated for the:
- Sint Joostpenning 2013
- Steenbergen Stipendium 2013
- Gabriele Basilico Price 2015
For a few weeks during the winter of 2013, I stayed in a village in Zeelandic Flanders without clock-time, internet, computer, television, phone or contact with other people. A month later, I went back to my hometown Almere. This 40-year old city growing fast, still searching for its identity. It’s the perfect example for our society, in which we are pressured to always progress. In both places, I documented everything I saw and I felt while staying there.
By staying in these ways and in these opposite places, I investigated where I was more able to find myself. Was I free to be myself in a modern city, where I was overwhelmed by tall buildings, rapid changes and reserved people? Or was there more space for self development in an isolated area with lots of peace and quiet? How do our surroundings affect who we are and become?
Toen ik ontwaakte was iedereen duizend stappen verder | When I awoke, everyone was a thousand steps ahead of me
This work has been nominated for the:
- Sint Joostpenning 2013
- Steenbergen Stipendium 2013
- Gabriele Basilico Price 2015
For a few weeks during the winter of 2013, I stayed in a village in Zeelandic Flanders without clock-time, internet, computer, television, phone or contact with other people. A month later, I went back to my hometown Almere. This 40-year old city growing fast, still searching for its identity. It’s the perfect example for our society, in which we are pressured to always progress. In both places, I documented everything I saw and I felt while staying there.
By staying in these ways and in these opposite places, I investigated where I was more able to find myself. Was I free to be myself in a modern city, where I was overwhelmed by tall buildings, rapid changes and reserved people? Or was there more space for self development in an isolated area with lots of peace and quiet? How do our surroundings affect who we are and become?
Toen ik ontwaakte was iedereen duizend stappen verder | When I awoke, everyone was a thousand steps ahead of me
This work has been nominated for the:
- Sint Joostpenning 2013
- Steenbergen Stipendium 2013
- Gabriele Basilico Price 2015
For a few weeks during the winter of 2013, I stayed in a village in Zeelandic Flanders without clock-time, internet, computer, television, phone or contact with other people. A month later, I went back to my hometown Almere. This 40-year old city growing fast, still searching for its identity. It’s the perfect example for our society, in which we are pressured to always progress. In both places, I documented everything I saw and I felt while staying there.
By staying in these ways and in these opposite places, I investigated where I was more able to find myself. Was I free to be myself in a modern city, where I was overwhelmed by tall buildings, rapid changes and reserved people? Or was there more space for self development in an isolated area with lots of peace and quiet? How do our surroundings affect who we are and become?
Toen ik ontwaakte was iedereen duizend stappen verder | When I awoke, everyone was a thousand steps ahead of me
This work has been nominated for the:
- Sint Joostpenning 2013
- Steenbergen Stipendium 2013
- Gabriele Basilico Price 2015
For a few weeks during the winter of 2013, I stayed in a village in Zeelandic Flanders without clock-time, internet, computer, television, phone or contact with other people. A month later, I went back to my hometown Almere. This 40-year old city growing fast, still searching for its identity. It’s the perfect example for our society, in which we are pressured to always progress. In both places, I documented everything I saw and I felt while staying there.
By staying in these ways and in these opposite places, I investigated where I was more able to find myself. Was I free to be myself in a modern city, where I was overwhelmed by tall buildings, rapid changes and reserved people? Or was there more space for self development in an isolated area with lots of peace and quiet? How do our surroundings affect who we are and become?
I put a chair a gainst the wall with my camera on a tripod in front of it, and marked it’s spot with tape so I could put the tripod back whenever it moved. I sat down to take a photo after having turned on the self-timer. My self-portraits are not allowed to be posed; I wanted my natural, relaxed look to be visible.
This is such a weird operation: to sit in front of a camera and wait until the picture is taken, trying to be relaxed but instead looking so self-conscious that nothing of this intention remains. This is not how one makes an authentic portrait.
I put a chair a gainst the wall with my camera on a tripod in front of it, and marked it’s spot with tape so I could put the tripod back whenever it moved. I sat down to take a photo after having turned on the self-timer. My self-portraits are not allowed to be posed; I wanted my natural, relaxed look to be visible.
This is such a weird operation: to sit in front of a camera and wait until the picture is taken, trying to be relaxed but instead looking so self-conscious that nothing of this intention remains. This is not how one makes an authentic portrait.
I put a chair a gainst the wall with my camera on a tripod in front of it, and marked it’s spot with tape so I could put the tripod back whenever it moved. I sat down to take a photo after having turned on the self-timer. My self-portraits are not allowed to be posed; I wanted my natural, relaxed look to be visible.
This is such a weird operation: to sit in front of a camera and wait until the picture is taken, trying to be relaxed but instead looking so self-conscious that nothing of this intention remains. This is not how one makes an authentic portrait.
I put a chair a gainst the wall with my camera on a tripod in front of it, and marked it’s spot with tape so I could put the tripod back whenever it moved. I sat down to take a photo after having turned on the self-timer. My self-portraits are not allowed to be posed; I wanted my natural, relaxed look to be visible.
This is such a weird operation: to sit in front of a camera and wait until the picture is taken, trying to be relaxed but instead looking so self-conscious that nothing of this intention remains. This is not how one makes an authentic portrait.
I put a chair a gainst the wall with my camera on a tripod in front of it, and marked it’s spot with tape so I could put the tripod back whenever it moved. I sat down to take a photo after having turned on the self-timer. My self-portraits are not allowed to be posed; I wanted my natural, relaxed look to be visible.
This is such a weird operation: to sit in front of a camera and wait until the picture is taken, trying to be relaxed but instead looking so self-conscious that nothing of this intention remains. This is not how one makes an authentic portrait.
While strolling through a small town, I turn left into a narrow street. People who constructed it were not aware of the existence of cars in the future. Scooters fit through though – I see one approaching. The man who rides it just did his groceries, a large bag filled with onions hangs from his steering wheel. The capacity is so large the bag cannot carry it, and breaks. Onions roll across the street, in wells and through gardens. I try to gather them with a lady who was passing by. Meanwhile, she speaks to me in a language I don’t understand. I soon hear she’s saying the same thing over and over again. Neither in Flemish, Zealandish or Dutch. Is this woman crazy?
My hands and pockets are now filled with onions. The man drove on, I decide to pile them up. It’s enough for three families. I eventually leave, almost frightened by this strange event, and walk on. This is the first time I feel alienated from this place, like I do from my own hometown.
While strolling through a small town, I turn left into a narrow street. People who constructed it were not aware of the existence of cars in the future. Scooters fit through though – I see one approaching. The man who rides it just did his groceries, a large bag filled with onions hangs from his steering wheel. The capacity is so large the bag cannot carry it, and breaks. Onions roll across the street, in wells and through gardens. I try to gather them with a lady who was passing by. Meanwhile, she speaks to me in a language I don’t understand. I soon hear she’s saying the same thing over and over again. Neither in Flemish, Zealandish or Dutch. Is this woman crazy?
My hands and pockets are now filled with onions. The man drove on, I decide to pile them up. It’s enough for three families. I eventually leave, almost frightened by this strange event, and walk on. This is the first time I feel alienated from this place, like I do from my own hometown.
While strolling through a small town, I turn left into a narrow street. People who constructed it were not aware of the existence of cars in the future. Scooters fit through though – I see one approaching. The man who rides it just did his groceries, a large bag filled with onions hangs from his steering wheel. The capacity is so large the bag cannot carry it, and breaks. Onions roll across the street, in wells and through gardens. I try to gather them with a lady who was passing by. Meanwhile, she speaks to me in a language I don’t understand. I soon hear she’s saying the same thing over and over again. Neither in Flemish, Zealandish or Dutch. Is this woman crazy?
My hands and pockets are now filled with onions. The man drove on, I decide to pile them up. It’s enough for three families. I eventually leave, almost frightened by this strange event, and walk on. This is the first time I feel alienated from this place, like I do from my own hometown.
While strolling through a small town, I turn left into a narrow street. People who constructed it were not aware of the existence of cars in the future. Scooters fit through though – I see one approaching. The man who rides it just did his groceries, a large bag filled with onions hangs from his steering wheel. The capacity is so large the bag cannot carry it, and breaks. Onions roll across the street, in wells and through gardens. I try to gather them with a lady who was passing by. Meanwhile, she speaks to me in a language I don’t understand. I soon hear she’s saying the same thing over and over again. Neither in Flemish, Zealandish or Dutch. Is this woman crazy?
My hands and pockets are now filled with onions. The man drove on, I decide to pile them up. It’s enough for three families. I eventually leave, almost frightened by this strange event, and walk on. This is the first time I feel alienated from this place, like I do from my own hometown.
While strolling through a small town, I turn left into a narrow street. People who constructed it were not aware of the existence of cars in the future. Scooters fit through though – I see one approaching. The man who rides it just did his groceries, a large bag filled with onions hangs from his steering wheel. The capacity is so large the bag cannot carry it, and breaks. Onions roll across the street, in wells and through gardens. I try to gather them with a lady who was passing by. Meanwhile, she speaks to me in a language I don’t understand. I soon hear she’s saying the same thing over and over again. Neither in Flemish, Zealandish or Dutch. Is this woman crazy?
My hands and pockets are now filled with onions. The man drove on, I decide to pile them up. It’s enough for three families. I eventually leave, almost frightened by this strange event, and walk on. This is the first time I feel alienated from this place, like I do from my own hometown.
I got sick and slept for a year. No one came to wake me or ask me how I was. When I awoke, everyone was a thousand steps ahead of me.
I got sick and slept for a year. No one came to wake me or ask me how I was. When I awoke, everyone was a thousand steps ahead of me.
I got sick and slept for a year. No one came to wake me or ask me how I was. When I awoke, everyone was a thousand steps ahead of me.
I got sick and slept for a year. No one came to wake me or ask me how I was. When I awoke, everyone was a thousand steps ahead of me.
I got sick and slept for a year. No one came to wake me or ask me how I was. When I awoke, everyone was a thousand steps ahead of me.
If time were linear, an ongoing, irreversible line, then why does the sun come up each morning, and sets again each night? Why don’t I fall in love just once, with the same person? I would need to photograph this scenery just once, for it will look the same every day, unchanged by shifting seasons. I would have to breathe in just once, and exhale at the end of my life.
This is not how the world works. Everything needs to proceed, I will never find myself good enough. When did we become so critical? Why do I take part in this?
If time were linear, an ongoing, irreversible line, then why does the sun come up each morning, and sets again each night? Why don’t I fall in love just once, with the same person? I would need to photograph this scenery just once, for it will look the same everyday, unchanged by shifting seasons. I would have to breathe in just once, and exhale at the end of my life.
This is not how the world works. Everything needs to proceed, I will never find myself good enough. When did we become so critical? Why do I take part in this?
If time were linear, an ongoing, irreversible line, then why does the sun come up each morning, and sets again each night? Why don’t I fall in love just once, with the same person? I would need to photograph this scenery just once, for it will look the same everyday, unchanged by shifting seasons. I would have to breathe in just once, and exhale at the end of my life.
This is not how the world works. Everything needs to proceed, I will never find myself good enough. When did we become so critical? Why do I take part in this?
If time were linear, an ongoing, irreversible line, then why does the sun come up each morning, and sets again each night? Why don’t I fall in love just once, with the same person? I would need to photograph this scenery just once, for it will look the same everyday, unchanged by shifting seasons. I would have to breathe in just once, and exhale at the end of my life.
This is not how the world works. Everything needs to proceed, I will never find myself good enough. When did we become so critical? Why do I take part in this?
If time were linear, an ongoing, irreversible line, then why does the sun come up each morning, and sets again each night? Why don’t I fall in love just once, with the same person? I would need to photograph this scenery just once, for it will look the same everyday, unchanged by shifting seasons. I would have to breathe in just once, and exhale at the end of my life.
This is not how the world works. Everything needs to proceed, I will never find myself good enough. When did we become so critical? Why do I take part in this?
It is peculiar that everything has to become better, that we want to be like people on television, that we mirror ourselves so often we hardly recognize ourselves. It is strange I think these photos are pretty; are they anything more than that? Should they be more? Beauty because of beauty is shallow, to me it lies in the expression of an image. Are authenticity and aesthetics related to each other, or are they two elements that have nothing to do with each other anymore?
It is peculiar that everything has to become better, that we want to be like people on television, that we mirror ourselves so often we hardly recognize ourselves. It is strange I think these photos are pretty; are they anything more than that? Should they be more? Beauty because of beauty is shallow, to me it lies in the expression of an image. Are authenticity and aesthetics related to each other, or are they two elements that have nothing to do with each other anymore?
It is peculiar that everything has to become better, that we want to be like people on television, that we mirror ourselves so often we hardly recognize ourselves. It is strange I think these photos are pretty; are they anything more than that? Should they be more? Beauty because of beauty is shallow, to me it lies in the expression of an image. Are authenticity and aesthetics related to each other, or are they two elements that have nothing to do with each other anymore?
It is peculiar that everything has to become better, that we want to be like people on television, that we mirror ourselves so often we hardly recognize ourselves. It is strange I think these photos are pretty; are they anything more than that? Should they be more? Beauty because of beauty is shallow, to me it lies in the expression of an image. Are authenticity and aesthetics related to each other, or are they two elements that have nothing to do with each other anymore?
It is peculiar that everything has to become better, that we want to be like people on television, that we mirror ourselves so often we hardly recognize ourselves. It is strange I think these photos are pretty; are they anything more than that? Should they be more? Beauty because of beauty is shallow, to me it lies in the expression of an image. Are authenticity and aesthetics related to each other, or are they two elements that have nothing to do with each other anymore?
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