FALLEN FLOWERS

My ascent for flowers started many years ago, when my youngest daughter was a toddler. Her father lived far away and she adored picking flowers for her dad. I told her it was ambitious to send the flowers in the post, but I told her that she could save them anyway. They eventually dried up and died anyhow they were still beautiful. Then I started taking pictures of her flowers and them together with her. It was rather sad that she never could run proudly to him with freshly picked flowers in her little tiny hand.

This was the start of my fascination with flowers both dead and alive. 

Last year my father passed away all of a sudden, brutally fell dead from one second to another. I have never seen so many beautiful flowers in my whole life, the whole summer was filled with flowers in all ways. I started to portray the flowers on the graveyard that were left after his funeral. Every day I came to photograph them and followed the process from life to mold and death. One day they were taken away. I was devastated. I thought these flowers were the last bit of my dad. A tiny Chrysanthemum was the only flower left. That little flower became very important to me.

 I never throw away flowers until they have been portrayed from life to death. They symbolize most beautifully how transitory and fragile life is.