I had the pleasure of spending time with the surfing children of Madagascar, who use broken wood to surf. Some of them take great care to craft their own surfboards from the soft planks of their fathers’ fishing boats, glued together with tree resin. Others share an unfinished boat plank. When the waves roll into the bay of this small fishing village, all the children gather to ride them. Their goal is to have fun, improve their skills, and celebrate each other’s successes. The euphoria and playful desire to learn is incredible.Although a perfectly shaped surfboard that has been refined over the years would make riding the waves easier, the quality of the boards is irrelevant. Their authentic delight comes from the satisfaction of succeeding on their own.

These portraits were taken in Tanzania. The dancers usually express themselves through their whole bodies — through movement, rhythm, and every gesture. Here, they are reduced to their faces, many and different, yet all sharing the same wish: to dance.

Photography always claims to show a fragment of reality. But every image already carries layers of interpretation: the gaze, the moment, the frame. By scanning and overlaying, I add a third skin – one that questions the supposed truth of the picture and reveals the tension between reality, memory, and imagination.

During my 4400km bicycle trip from Berlin to Marseille I was just by myself. With no one else to photograph, I decided to shoot a self-portrait series. At first it felt strange, but I recognized that overcoming this weirdness was a freeing process. Seen with a childish view, being naked in nature is the most normal and unspectacular thing. In the end I realized: the fear of being judged could be the very point of this series. That’s why I decided to not give a fuck. This could be me, and I don’t care.

Faces reveal more than words. A glance, a twitch at the corner of the mouth, the calm or flicker in the eyes – that is where truth lies. Trust grows not from words, but from the quiet recognition in another’s expression.

On est ensemble. A phrase I kept hearing in Senegal. At first, I didn’t think much of it. It sounded almost casual — something you say when you agree, when you say goodbye, when there isn’t much else to add. But people kept saying it. And after a while, I started to like how little the phrase asks for. No promise that everything will be fine. No grand declaration. Just: we’re in this together. Which, considering how unreliable most things are, is already quite a lot. Maybe that is why it stayed with me. -On est Ensemble.

How can I, as a man, approach the female body with a camera? I know the weight of the gaze, the long history of possession and projection. This tension is part of every image, and I cannot step outside of it. That is why I wanted another voice to stand next to mine. Clara Hahn wrote a text for this series—her words don’t explain the pictures, they resist them, expand them, contradict them. For me, the body is not an object to be shown but a living presence: fragile, strong, and deeply human. The photographs are not answers—they are questions that remain open.

We master the art of hiding. out of politeness, tiredness, or caution. But some people can shift the room. It’s not a call, but an offer they give. an offer to show yourself. It’s those people who allow themselves to shine. They are too much, too bright, too strange — and just right. The courage they carry is contagious. They are out of place, but right on point.