It occurs to me that a lot of what I make, I make because I am trying to define a part of me, a particular facet of my identity. There is a strange sort of paradox in this, a vicious circle of eluding self-awareness. If I describe myself in my art and than describe myself as an artist, I am really saying that I am a person who would describe himself as someone in the process of describing himself. Something like that.
In the past two years, the things I have created have been the most important elements of my life. If someone asks me 'What do you do?' I answer that I am a photographer and usually add that I am an artist. Defining myself as an artist is not at all easy and not only because I am hesitant to judge my own work, but also because it is no definition at all. It seems easy to define yourself by what you do, but it is also the easy way out. Try to describe yourself in terms of essential being. It seems almost impossible, like grasping smoke.

Perhaps also in this light, I want to feature an artwork of someone else, who I have featured many times before in these entries, but this particular work really touched me. The photo in combination with the accompanying story tells about a certain self-awareness and identity. I also think that without a certain sense of humour and appreciation of life's little ironies, we can never accept who we are.









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