While Antarctica felt like a journey to the absolute edge of the Earth, a fleeting moment of awe in a world where humans are merely temporary visitors, Norway felt like something entirely different. It was softer, more intimate and familiar in a way I only truly began to understand after we had left. Antarctica confronted me with scale and distance, while Norway slowly did something else. It settled around me and, over time, it became home.

"Are you a photographer, an artist, a coach, or do you do something in creative therapy?"

There are places on Earth where silence feels almost physical, and Antarctica is one of them.

We had to put in quite a bit of effort last week. They were well hidden among the greenery along the water, until the sunlight broke through and suddenly lit them up everywhere: dozens of metallic blue beautiful demoiselles. Perhaps it was exactly that search that made the moment so special. You can’t force it. You can only slow down, pay attention, and be present.

We live in a fast paced world where stress and constant focus are the norm. High pressure workplaces can leave us feeling disconnected from ourselves and the natural world. I believe that art has a vital role here. It is not merely decoration but a vital tool for mental clarity and emotional grounding.

The Stardust series was born from intuition and a deep curiosity about our place in the universe. It began not with a plan but with a whisper from within. In the vastness of the cosmos, I found a profound sense of comfort. A reminder that life follows rhythms of arising, disappearing, and renewing. This perspective brings reassurance to those navigating personal transitions or loss.

When we lose someone we love, the world can feel suddenly vast and empty. In the silence that follows, we often search for something tangible. Not necessarily for answers, but for a presence, a way to hold onto what feels like it is slipping away.

In dementia care, language becomes fragile. Sentences shorten. Names fade. Conversations grow uncertain. Yet visual recognition can stay accessible long after verbal expression weakens.

Hospitals are places where uncertainty often lingers in the air. The walls are functional, the light is bright, and emotions run quietly beneath the surface.

Art has never been something I create just for the eye. To me, it is an invitation to slow down and reconnect with the quiet landscape that lives inside us. My work is a search for images that do more than occupy a space. They offer comfort, grounding, and a gentle presence in moments when words are not enough.

The Circle of Life available as Fine Art print.

A pause. A breath between two chapters. Standing on deep ice, I found the stillness I needed to carry back home across the border.

A gentle encounter in the Arctic winter. Available as Fine Art print.

In our fast paced, technology driven world, it is easy to feel disconnected from nature. For me, nature photography has become a way to pause, reflect, and reconnect both with the world outside and the world within. Even a brief encounter with natural imagery, such as morning light on dew covered leaves, a quiet forest path, or a shimmering lake, can bring a surprising sense of calm and focus.

As the year draws to a close, I reflect on a season of movement, connection and change. November brought travel, inspiration and work, especially the Nature Talks Photo Festival and the Nature Photographer of the Year award ceremony. It felt intense yet meaningful, filled with inspiring talks, warm reunions and new encounters. Now, a gentle spaciousness returns.

In today’s fast-paced world, moments of stillness are rare. Nature Photography Therapy offers a gentle way to reconnect with yourself and the natural world. It is not traditional therapy, and no photography experience is required. It is a soft and intuitive practice combining observation, creativity, and self-reflection to restore inner calm and balance.

Monday, November 3rd, is my birthday.Last year, I was packing for my dream trip to Antarctica, a journey that truly felt like once in a lifetime.This year, I’m home in Norway. My childhood friend visited last weekend, and we had such a lovely time. We showed her around the area, visited the Nobel Peace Center, and enjoyed good food together.

Last June marked twelve years since my mother passed away. A quiet anniversary that finds its way into my days, even when I’m not expecting it. Over time, grief has changed. It no longer arrives with sharp edges or overwhelming waves. These days, I still feel her. Not in big, dramatic signs, but in gentle details: the way sunlight spills across the floor, the glint of dew on a leaf, or a song that plays. Grief hasn’t left. It has simply become part of how I see the world. It shapes the way I slow down, the way I notice, the way I photograph.

In my latest article on Natuurfotografie.nl, written in Dutch, I share a deeply personal story about the healing power of nature photography. After losing my parents, spending time in nature offered more than comfort. It gave me direction, inspiration, and a way to process my emotions. 

Somewhere between the chaos of your inbox and the low hum of a restless mind, there is a place where the wind moves gently through tall grasses, where light dances on the surface of a quiet lake, and where the silence doesn’t scream - but soothes. You’re not there in body, but somehow… your nervous system responds. Your breathing slows. Your shoulders ease their grip. And all you did was look at a photo.Healing nature photography isn't about pretty pictures. It’s about creating a doorway.

Some images seem to breathe - alive with quiet motion, as if constantly reshaping themselves. Gold and Silver is one of those works: a dance of flowing lines and textured light that unfold like a living organism. The warm golden and silver tones evoke echoes of Gustav Klimt, while the soft contrasts create a dreamlike atmosphere.

There’s a moment - familiar, quiet - when I realize I’ve been holding my breath all day. That my thoughts are racing, shoulders tight, the to-do list louder than my own voice. And so I do what I’ve learned to trust: I go outside.Not to escape, but to return. To land. To remember who I am beneath the noise.

Have you ever felt that hollow ache after a loss? Or a restless mind, searching for something to hold onto? Loss comes in so many forms. The death of a loved one, the end of a relationship, the closing of a life chapter, even the goodbye to a familiar place. It can feel like the ground disappears beneath your feet - and time stands still. In those moments, finding comfort isn't easy. I know, because I’ve been there too. Yet again and again, nature - especially through the lens of photography - has offered me a quiet, healing space to begin breathing again.

Nature has always been my teacher, and this summer reminded me once again that the most meaningful lessons often arrive unexpectedly.

One moment I’ll always remember: a cold morning in the forest.I was walking with a photo friend — no plan, no rush, just open eyes and quiet presence.And there, resting on a tiny branch covered in dew, something delicate caught my eye:a soft reflection of light, almost hidden, in the shape of a heart.

A photo for those in the middle of change

What if nature isn’t asking you to fix things, but simply to pause and be?

A look back at a meaningful moment in 2022

And so,a rainbow of small lights.When things feel dark.Comfort Colours invites usto gently find light, colour, and strength within.

A look back on a chapter filled with connection, loss, and love

“Abstract photography can be very therapeutic,” Iris Depasse said, as a guest on the Beeldpraat podcast by Lia van Beest. That struck a chord with me. It immediately resonated. Yes, that’s exactly what I often feel while photographing. It’s hard to put into words, but abstract nature photography touches something deeper. It’s not just about what you see. It’s about what you feel.

A week ago, I received a message that took me by surprise:“One of your photos has been selected for the upcoming National Geographic exhibition in the Netherlands.”

Over the past year, I worked on a project called Stardust. I didn’t start with a clear theme or concept - just a feeling. Something unspoken that kept pulling me in. It began when I joined an intensive year-long creative program, guided by Dutch nature photographer Bart Siebelink. The idea was to spend a full year working on one personal project. But to be honest, I had no idea what mine would be. I just followed my curiosity - toward something I couldn’t quite name.

In 2017, during a photography course in the Netherlands, my attention settled on a quiet, easily missed moment: a faded bouquet, long past its prime. Yet in the interplay of light and fracture, it seemed to breathe again. That single image marked more than a creative spark - it became a turning point. The beginning of Circle of Life, my first artistic series, inspired by a line from Paulo Coelho.

Creativity is a deeply personal journey, and it often requires stepping outside of your comfort zone. In photography, embracing creative techniques can elevate your work and allow you to express emotions, ideas, and stories in a unique way. Here are some tips that have helped me foster creativity in my own practice.

Flowers have long been symbols of beauty, growth, and life. In my Healing Flowers project, I use flowers as metaphors for emotional resilience and personal transformation. Through underwater photography – a natural evolution from my earlier work with frozen flowers – I capture the delicate yet powerful nature of blooms, reflecting on how they can inspire self-reflection and support the process of moving forward in life.

A month of soft greens, slow mornings, and seeds of change. May brought a quiet kind of beauty. The trees burst into green, birds returned, and the light lingered long into the evenings. In that stillness, inspiration arrived.

Art-Based Learning (ABL) is an innovative method that merges art with personal reflection. It creates space for deeper insights, emotional processing, and personal growth. While ABL can be applied in various fields—from education to mental health—I primarily use it in the context of grief and loss. Through creative exploration, it helps individuals connect with their emotions and experiences in a meaningful and often healing way.

They arrive quietly, shimmering with morning dew - dandelions, nature’s soft messengers of spring. From golden blooms to fragile seed heads ready to drift away, they carry a story of resilience and transformation.But it’s the faded ones that draw me in most. The fragile, dew-covered heads that seem to whisper:“There is beauty in letting go.”

Today I’m celebrating a quiet but meaningful milestone: seven years since I officially registered my business with the Chamber of Commerce in 2018. A lot has changed since then - my work, my focus, even the country I live in. But what hasn’t changed is the inner fire that drives it all: the desire to create, to connect, and to offer something that touches the heart.

Art has always had the power to touch emotions, stir memories, and offer healing  - and nowhere do I feel that more deeply than in Fountain of Life. A dreamy, almost surreal image: red and pink flowers suspended beneath the surface, surrounded by soft bubbles, dissolving into liquid poetry. This artwork, featured in Kunstvitamine Magazine and the Artists Yearbook, has grown into something much more than a single photograph. It became the seed for a new series, and a gentle reminder of what art can be in times of sorrow and transition.

Grief, farewell, and remembrance are moments filled with deep emotions. I’ve experienced these moments myself and seen how much the environment can affect our emotional state. A space can either feel like a warm embrace, a place of comfort and peace, or it can feel cold and distant. What happens when a space feels impersonal or lacks warmth? How can we create environments that offer support and evoke serenity?

Over the past few weeks, I’ve found myself unexpectedly grounded in the Netherlands. It was supposed to be temporary, but I’m still here, our lovely home hasn’t found a new tenant just yet. And while that brings some logistical challenges, I’m also enjoying this unexpected pause. The weather has been beautiful, the garden is blooming, and the cat is grateful I’m here.

In today’s fast-paced, screen-driven world, it’s easy to lose touch with who we truly are. We rush through our days, responding to endless demands, while something deep inside quietly fades: our inner voice, our sense of calm, our connection with the natural world. Yet nature still holds the key to our healing and authenticity. This is the essence of Earth Embrace.

Moving to a new country is more than just a change of scenery. It’s an emotional journey. As I build my life in Norway, I find myself drawn even more to the healing power of nature. Through long hikes or quiet moments behind the camera, I see how deeply my photography is connected to this transition. Just like nature’s cycles, moving abroad comes with growth, reflection, and letting go.

📌 De Nederlandse tekst vind je hieronder.

A man reaching out to help a young girl as they collect litter together - it was a fleeting moment, quiet and almost unnoticeable, yet full of meaning. I captured this photo during a local cleanup two years ago, and it still resonates with me. That simple gesture - one hand reaching for another - says so much about how real change begins: close to home, in small steps, and through connection.

Nature has always been at the core of my work as a photographer. Not only as an endless source of inspiration, but also as a sanctuary for peace, comfort, and connection. Recently, I’ve become more attuned to the powerful healing qualities of nature, especially forests. It prompted me to delve deeper into the science behind this unique experience.