The feeling when you discovered a plant you had never seen before or when holding a stone in oddly beautiful shape. The memory of days when a little bit of imagination and curiosity would turn your garden or that place down by the river into an adventure. The cornfields and old barns with their doors
Some Saturdays are best spent at home, in this beautiful apartment with this wonderful view. I sit, stare at the green outside the window and wonder what it will look like when the trees across the tracks move from green to yellow and brown. At the market I buy all kinds of vegetables, mostly because
More than a year ago I visited New York. I kept a very detailed travel journal and I would post pictures and some text on a daily basis to my blog. Then I accidentally broke the old blog and everything was gone. But, the notebook in all its analogue glory remains and so do many
Taken in the summers of 2004 and 2005. SaveSave
You are sitting outside on the little balcony. The street is crowded with people heading to and from the train station. Some carry a suitcase, others hold each other in tight embraces while walking, afraid of goodbyes or overwhelmed by hellos. You sit, stare and listen. The noise of the city became your soundtrack of
Working as a creative at an agency for digital brand management, most of my days are spent handling things concerning the digital sphere. I have a passion for the digital, created my first web page when I was 17 and have an unnatural attachment to my iPhone. Yet, I start to realise that especially in
A tiny house in a field of lavender. A bunch of people, a long table with good food and different kinds of wine. Red and white, sparkling – whatever we feel like. The sun goes down and the crickets scream from the fields. We have been walking through the woods all day. Some of us
I wish we could spend July by the sea, browning ourselves and feeling water-weighted hair flow behind us from a dive. I wish our gravest concerns were the summer gnats. I wish we were hungry for hot dogs and dopes, and it would be nice to smell the starch of summer linens and the faint odor of talc in blistering summer bath houses… We could lie in long citoneuse beams of the five o’clock sun on the plage at Juan-les-Pins and hear the sound of the drum and piano being scooped out to sea by the waves.