One day I came home affronted, frustrated and hurt. I headed straight to the garden - not to bed to cry. I wrapped myself in white rags. I turned the hose on, oriented it towards me and left it running full blast. I poured paint on the ground and rolled myself into it. Took a window frame and tried to go through it. I restrained my arms and legs with rubber straps and ropes. I laughed loudly. My camera was frantically taking a photo every two seconds and this series has been born.

I emerge after each image in some way, healed. Like a cathartic cleansing ritual that leaves me empowered.  The final image crosses the performative experience with the actual making of a photograph. The camera is not my silent witness but an active collaborator that transforms the staging.

Most photographs in this series depict my body in domestic interiors or out in the forest performing unclear tasks. Regardless of how personal the starting point of my work may be, in the end the narratives are inconclusive making them feasible of appropriation by the collectively experienced history. In this way my work disrupts dominant ideas of power and possession whilst simultaneously vindicates the right to grieve.