An empty space that turns out not to be empty at all. A body lies on a table, still and pale. My reaction comes before I fully understand what I am seeing. The blood drains from my face. A brief shock, and then silence.

As a child, I grew up with death close by. My father was a funeral director. From an early age, I learned that what is visible never tells the whole story.

In my youth, I learned how fragile situations could be. Through illness around me and a strong sense of responsibility, I mainly learned to be there for others. Moments in which opposing emotions existed simultaneously became familiar: closeness and loss, tension and calm.

Later, that experience became direct and physical: loss became something that unfolded within my own body. During an ultrasound, I saw a still image, without a beating heart. Time seemed to stand still for a moment. In the period that followed, life and the threat of loss existed side by side in an unprecedented way. During my pregnancy, new life coincided with the vulnerability of a body close to me. That experience continues to resonate and shapes the way I see.

My images emerge from what has left traces behind. I explore the in-between space where opposites coexist. Through color, composition, and light, I search for a balance in which tension remains palpable, without being resolved. For me, the body is a carrier of what remains unspoken.

My work creates a space in which what often stays silent becomes visible. It invites the viewer not to understand immediately, but to remain with what presents itself. Perhaps something resonates, perhaps something shifts. Even if only for a moment.