Eindhoven — Honing the Light 2019–2026
Opening — Strijp‑S, 2019
Eight months can sharpen a person. In Strijp‑S, inside a small darkroom that exhaled like a lung, I opened the shutter and let the line command. The studio lived inside a former Philips plant—now an inspiring co‑working space in Strijp‑S—surrounded by skilled carpentry specialists, with sawdust in the air. No landscape—just light as material. No ornament—only design: space/volume, rhythm/balance, symmetry/asymmetry, and scale. Photography stopped being description and became decision.
That winter Winny Muller welcomed my work into Kunsthuys (Best). The signal was clear: the language could leave the studio and confront the wall. The question too: how far could I press the light before it broke?
Development — The camera as compass
The procedure was sober and fierce. I built structures—planes, edges, cylinders—and drew with long exposure. The camera was both scalpel and compass. I cut time into bands, pulled a filament of light across a flat field, then waited for the paper to answer. The blacks had to hold. If a black collapses, the piece collapses. The print must breathe, not gasp.
Those months taught me to mistrust the obvious. A straight line is never just straight; it carries sway, weight, memory. A circle is a throat. A dot is a seed. When I say I work in black and white, I mean I stage a conversation between oxygen and discipline.
What stayed with me
Space/volume: light defines edges; edges define faith. I learned to leave air around the blow—room for the viewer to enter.
Rhythm/balance: repetition with a deviation. If the cadence is too perfect, the eye stops listening. If it is chaos, the ear gives up. The answer is a measured fracture.
Symmetry/asymmetry: a pact. I let symmetry establish law and asymmetry test it.
Scale: the line commands size. When the line speaks, I follow.
After Eindhoven — carrying the studio inside
The studio in Strijp‑S was a training ground: sawdust, LED patterns, improvised rigs, a table that collected failures and clues. I learned to travel lighter—less gear, more attention. I learned to print like a cabinetmaker: to sharpen until the edge sings, to polish until the surface inhales light, to leave only what serves the tension of the piece.
2026 — Relaunch, not reprise
This new collection is not nostalgia. It is a higher resolution of the same vow. I return to long exposure and controlled movement, but I have reduced the vocabulary: fewer elements, harder choices. The negatives are denser, the blacks more structural, the lines more decisive. I let silence do more work. The wall becomes a force field; the frame is a boundary I negotiate, not a decoration I accept.
Materials: archival pigment on cotton rag. Editions: primarily 1/1 (unique pieces), with a small number of study proofs retained for the archive. Sizes push against the body’s reach—the print should meet your sternum and change your breath.
Themes: interruption, return, gravity. What happens when a line resists? What happens when a black refuses to yield? I test thresholds until the image stands without apology.
Why 2019 still matters
2019 gave me a grammar: cut, press, breathe. It also gave me a map. Winny Muller’s reception at Kunsthuys (Best) offered a clear wall and a confident yes; it mattered. And Ameli Viaux became a precise guide—opening doors, arranging sharp conversations, introducing me to people whose eyes and questions pushed the work forward. From Eindhoven I looked toward other walls—France, Germany, Belgium, Spain—and carried that discipline into each new room. The work grew leaner. The decision line grew louder.
Invitation — before the doors open
The 2026 collection will be released in phases. Private previews and early access to unique pieces will be offered to the mailing list first. If these images speak to your walls—to your rhythm—join the list, reply for a private viewing, or request dossier + COA details. I’ll bring the prints; you bring a clean wall and time to look.