In 2011 my best friend died and I came into possession of her old analogue  8×10 inch camera. The bellows of this camera is old and damaged. We shared a studio with a small garden in Amsterdam. From then on I have been photographing the roses in our studio garden with her damaged camera. Summer light is omnipresent in my images; the rays of light playfully go their own way. But something dark, too, lies in the shadows of this sunny construction: the realization that things are vulnerable and transitory.

All photos are cloaked with flares that make it harder to get a clear, full view. The faulty entry of light makes the photographic technique play a role in the image: the camera becomes visible, without us actually seeing the camera. This also suggests a notion of the afterlife and of gazing into the body, a body that is riddled with holes and is transparent.

‘you breathe from a garden in your neck’ – published by Fw:books.