At some point I started taking photographs of my parents at home. We recreated situations we had experienced. Situations that belonged to our everyday lives together.
Objects and interiors became as much a part of our story as the portraits of my parents themselves. In the photographs my parents became strangers. The photographs were their images. A staging.
Now my father lives at the Bolaring retirement home. My mother visits him on a regular basis and brings him fruit, confectionery and cigarettes. Often I get the sense that my father is always allowed to smoke, all the time.
When I visit them, I’m always welcome, but I’m never part of their rituals. I was eager to know how they feel about this new situation. That’s probably why I photograph their everyday life.