There were many more things I wanted to write about, like the man in his knitted sweater down the road, with the sun in his face and a cup of coffee in his hand while he watched his dog run across the field, or the lady that did not want to kill herself but liked sitting on her roof at six in the morning, or the little girl wearing the blue pyjamas and the hot water bottle that looked like a teddy bear, or the time that you noticed a butterfly on the bonnet of an ugly Toyota and I thought it was the most beautiful thing you had ever showed me. I ran out of paper. Maybe next time.
I was born in a small town in the southern part of Holland in 1984 and grew up in the woods behind our house, always busy building tree houses or pushing rafts across the stream. During my early twenties I studied photography at the Royal Academy of Art in The Hague where I soon became aware that the art world as I knew it back then was not for me, so I pay my bills by moonlighting as a nurse, create content for my grandmother's knitting shop and run a small publishing house called Sunday Mornings at the River with my friend Sanne. When I am not busy editing photos for Sunday Mornings or writing texts for my nan I occasionally squeeze out a shitty poem or two.
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