I photograph plants.

Dried, deformed, eaten by pests, damaged, incomplete.

I admire their clear presence in the shapes they are given.

Their not being ashamed. Their not striving for perfection.

Their being beautiful.

Their being.


I learn from them.

I silently enter their world, carefully looking around.

I ask, “What do you want to teach me today?“

It’s quiet. Nothing. 

They don’t teach. They don’t want. They are.

I watch them from a close distance.

The lost petals and faded colors.

Will I leave this place less ashamed of my own holes and stains? 

I observe their relations.

From my very human perspective.

The embrace, the support, the friendship.

“I’m sorry to disturb you“, I whisper.


I stand still and get to see the dimensions of the universe I’m surrounded by.

The giving shade and being in the shade,

the being constrained and breaking through, the receiving support,

the getting broken, the passing away, the being born…

I try to capture what I learn with my camera.

I worry, “My photographs are only imperfect imitations of what I see.“

“Imperfect“, I repeat. “Yes, this is what they are.“

I leave the place.

Will have to return again and again to remember what I have learned.

Imperfect is good.