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On these various pages you can see some of my sculptures.

After Harma was gone, the only thing left was creating an image of her. An image with impact, just like she was: Harma.

Blindfolded I started in clay. Searching for the feeling of her skin, the shape of her face, the wave of lingering hair, the soft curve of her cheek: all so nearby in the sensitivity of my fingertips and so far away with eyes wideopen. The border of life and death in a split second.
Never known that feeling of total loss and emptyness.
Where are you, my love: "Wiegend in de wind?" (Cradling in the wind?)

Wind blows as long as I live, even longer.

There will come a time that nobody remembers a person by name and history. But even then, love is decisive as a mutual human concept. The remaining image is not about a realistic picture. That moment of recognizing and understanding vaporizes in an instant at the borderline of life or death.


wiegend in de wind

The image of death should tell a story about life itself.



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