I was born in a village in Jutland, Denmark in 1990. I began to take pictures in the early 2000s.
Everywhere. It’s fun, to photograph everything new. Being a stranger trying to grasp ones surroundings. But as the world slowly gets less and less exotic and surprising with age. It becomes more of a journey in the mind. I find.
I’m not sure what. Taking pictures is a subconscious process for me. Sometimes it’s deep and beyond my own understanding. Other times it’s light and shallow. It might be a colour that happens to reflex the mood I’m in. Or scenes that seems to describe/illustrate the complexities/absurdities of life. Better than I would be able to verbally.
When I’m in the right state of mind. Not to depressed and not to comfortable. Like a hopefull, optimistic but slightly obsessed gold digger. The journey that taking pictures is, provides some kind of psychological shelter from rootlessness and restlessness. And ends up being the reward. Instead of the destination.
Moving around most of my life and traveling between my separated parents as a child, has made me a very restless and rootless person. Taking pictures became a way of connecting with the world and to give some sense and purpose to the feeling of being an outsider. It happened all by itself. I didn’t make sense of it before many years after taking my first picture. It replaced something that was either broken or missing inside of me.