TIME WILL TELL deals with the social and psychological reality of the quarantine. What is happening outside and how does it affect what goes on inside? This project deals with the visual potential of one's immediate surroundings alongside the visual materials that enter the living space via communication channels.

Voyage Found Footage Near
Longing Endagered Sharing



APRIL 24, 2020


Three teams were made out of the 9 participants. They had to work together:
Each of them would send an image to the two others in their team. This was an invitation to show the same in return. Not only the same object or situation, but also photographically structured in the same way.

The aim was to try to challenge each other to see things of each other that they were curious about. Things that say something about the quarantine or the private situation the participants find themselves in.
The students had to try to make things difficult for each other by making their image as sophisticated as possible in terms of photographic structure (depth of field, light, framing, ...).


Aron / Violeta / Sarah


Eva / Robert / Ana Lucia


Sarah / Aron / Violeta


Sarah / Violeta / Aron


Ana Lucia / Robert / Eva


Robert / Ana Lucia / Eva


Bruce / Iris / Daria


Daria / Bruce / Iris


Iris / Daria / Bruce


APRIL 17, 2020

inside vs. outside

For this assignment we started from 'Endagered Species', a piece of music from 1985 by jazz legend Ornette Coleman. The music had to be the inspiration to make a work about the contrast between 'inside' and 'outside', or between images made in the interior of the quarantine and media images that enter the living room via TV and internet. The form was completely free (film, still image, collage, ...). 
We looked at Bruce Nauman, Pablo Picasso, John Stezaker, Martha Rosler, Joel-Peter Witkin, Ai Weiwei, Werner Herzog, David Lynch, Ori Gersht, Douglas Gordon, Maurizio Cattelan, Joakim Cortis & Adrian Sonderegger and Louis Bunuel & Salvador Dali.

Ornette Coleman, Endagered Species, 1985 (from the album Song X)


click see the movie

Catherine Smet (1BA)


Ana Lucia Fernández (1BA)


Violeta López (MA)


click to see the movie

Anke Defossé (2BA)


click to see the movie

Aron Viszló (2BA)


click to see the movie

Sarah Kirchner (1BA)


click to see the pdf

Your illusion of infinity can seem so real when it’s bound between four walls; until you’re forced to accept the truth.
Often fear will push you back into a delusional comfort fed by your cluelessness and ego.
But sooner or later you’re hit with the certainty of the end. The inevitable feels so close that you can almost taste it in your mouth.
No matter how hard you swallow, its bitterness won’t go down.
It leaves you helpless in the face of what lies beyond your control.
Beyond your control lies truth. And where there is truth, there is pain.
There is the hardship of learning you’re just momentary, just…small.
So you slowly crawl into acceptance and out of your own egocentric existence. And acceptance is your liberation. It’s hard to let go of everything you know to be true.
I’m not there yet. Are you?

Daria-Ana Oprean (1BA)


Robert Sasarman (1BA)


Ean De Maeyer (2BA)


Iris Maselis (1BA)




APRIL 10, 2020

On writing

Some time ago, the Dutch Photo Institute (now the Dutch Photo Museum) in Rotterdam organised a photography exhibition for blind people. A number of renowned photographers were asked to describe a photo they had not been able to take (because they were too late, didn't have a camera with them, the roll of film was full, there wasn't enough light, etc...). Those stories were recorded as sound. In a completely darkened room headphones were hung up and the visitors (blind people and others) could 'listen' to (the description of) the pictures.
For today I would like to take this concept as a starting point and ask you to imagine a picture you would like to take. You can travel imaginary to the other side of the world, visit people who may or may not still be here, and so on. It may be both spectacular or very simple photographs, as long as you describe the ultimate photo that on this moment is of great importance to you and expresses a ‘longing’.
Describe in a text what you see in the (non-existent) photo, how the elements appear and what the elements in your photo mean.
For this assignment we start again from the isolation of the quarantine and dream of a different world. The ‘longing’ is the starting point and the endless possibility to take your ultimate picture. The text can have any form and length you want: scientific, literary, poetic, …
//the English translations are robot translations//


E o noua zi. E acel moment cand ma trezesc si simt mirosul proaspat de cafea care ma cheama pentru a incepe ziua. Merg pe hol, in cautarea miresmei, trecand prin fata sufrageriei mele in care un domn sta pe canapea, singur, in asteptarea unei decizi pe care nu credea ca v-a trebui sa o ia. Acel om, care se uita la un perete mare si gol, nu stie ce trebuie sa faca. Mintea lui nu se poate gandi la altceva decat la noi. Cutiile de lemn care sunt in fata lui ii amintesc de un semntiment de neliniste, de incertitudine.
Imi aprind o tigara si ma uit la ceas. Ma uit la ceas si cred ca poate a venit timpul. A venit timpul sa incep aceasta zi cu un gand de care nu m-am mai lovit pana acum. Un gand de care radeam si pe care il vedeam doar in filme. E o decizie grea. Acea cutie care sta infipta in perete imi aminteste de casa din copac facuta impreuna, toata din lemn. Un spatiu mic si intunecat pe care credeam ca il voi avea pentru totdeauna. O cutie de lemn in care te simteai protejat, in care nimic nu era rau si totul era bine.
Iesind pe usa, imi arunc tigara langa primul copac. Ma opresc si privesc. Parca puteam sa simt acel iz de fum, de scrum care se stinge din cauza vantului. Privesc in sus, iar tot ce vad sunt crengi rupte. Crengi pe care am stat impreuna razand si construind casuta noastra. Acum nu mai e nimic. Totul a cazut pe pamant, formand o gaura mare. Ma uit spre usa, el e tot acolo, pe canapea pierdut in gandurile sale. Imi deschid glasul si ii spun – tata, haide, casa imi e gata -

It's a new day. It is that moment when I wake up and feel the fresh smell of coffee calling me to start the day. I walk down the hall, looking for the fragrance, passing in front of my living room where a gentleman sits on the couch, alone, waiting for a decision that he did not think he should take. That man, who looks at a large, empty wall, doesn't know what to do. His mind can think of nothing but us. The wooden boxes in front of him remind him of a feeling of uneasiness, uncertainty.
I light a cigarette and look at the clock. I look at the clock and I think maybe the time has come. It's time to start this day with a thought that I haven't hit before. A thought that I laughed at and only saw in movies. It's a tough decision. That box that is stuck in the wall reminds me of the tree house made together, all of wood. A small, dark space that I thought I would have forever. A wooden box where you felt protected, where nothing was bad and everything was fine.
Going out the door, I throw my cigarette at the first tree. I stop if I look. As if I could feel that smoky, ash-like smell that goes out because of the wind. I look up, and all I see are broken branches. Branches we had together laughing and building our little house. Now there is nothing. Everything fell to the ground, forming a large hole. I look at the door, he is still there, on the couch lost in his thoughts. I open my voice and say - Dad, come on, my house is ready -

Robert Sasarman (1BA)


We kijken naar het portret van een vrouw. Haar gelaat is niet duidelijk zichtbaar. Het wordt namelijk bedekt door een tweede huid. Het is de doorzichtbare, vervelde huid van een slang, die als een tweede laag het volledige hoofd van de vrouw omhult, van kruin tot onder de kaak. De slangenhuid zit strak en toont veel detail. De textuur van elke schub van dit transparante vel is zichtbaar. Er zijn plooien in haar werkelijke huid aanwezig die de benauwdheid benadrukken.
De vrouw lijkt zich te verzetten tegen deze tweede huid. Haar ogen zijn toegeknepen en ze tracht haar mond te openen om te kunnen ademen. Daarnaast is ook haar linker hand in beeld boven haar hooft. Dit hand poogt om het gezicht te bevrijden van dit spannende vlies. Tussen de vingertoppen van haar duim en de andere vier vingers heeft ze vat op een deel van de slangenhuid. Echter lijkt het beeld stil te staan in tijd. Kan de vrouw zich van deze huid ontdoen?

Het beeld gaat over het verlangen om naar buiten te gaan. Buiten is hier niet de plaats waar de voordeur gepasseerd wordt. Het gaat hier niet over naar buiten gaan in de open lucht. Het gaat over mentaal een luchtje kunnen scheppen wanneer de onrust binnenin te groot is.
Een slang heeft de bekwaamheid om te vervellen. Vanaf dat de opperhuid de strak zit rond het lichaam zal deze plaats moeten maken voor een nieuwe sprankelende, glanzende huid. Ook wij zouden zo af en toe moeten vervellen voordat de spanning te hoog is en we barsten.
Het transparante slangenvel dat hier wordt weergegeven heeft dus een metaforische betekenis. Het is de laag van interne en externe stressoren. Het is onze fictieve tweede huid, een barrière die ons tegenhoudt om dat mentaal luchtje te scheppen.

We look at the portrait of a woman. Her face is not clearly visible. It is covered by a second skin. It is the transparent, peeling skin of a snake, which, as a second layer, envelops the entire head of the woman, from the crown to the jaw. The snakeskin is tight and shows a lot of detail. The texture of each scale of this transparent sheet is visible. There are folds in her actual skin that emphasize the tightness.
The woman seems to resist this second skin. Her eyes are narrowed and she tries to open her mouth to breathe. In addition, her left hand is also in view above her head. This hand aims to free the face from this exciting fleece. Between the fingertips of her thumb and the other four fingers, she has a hold on part of the snakeskin. However, the image seems to stand still in time. Can the woman get rid of this skin?

The image is about the desire to go outside. Outside is not the place where the front door is passed. This is not about going out in the open. It's about being able to breathe mentally when the unrest inside is too great.
A snake has the ability to shed. As soon as the epidermis is tight around the body, it will have to make way for a new sparkling, shiny skin. We too should shed occasionally before the tension is too high and we burst.
So the transparent snake skin shown here has a metaphorical meaning. It is the layer of internal and external stressors. It is our fictional second skin, a barrier that prevents us from creating that mental odor.

Iris Maselis (1BA)


Deja que te diga que mi fotografía no huele a ropa recién tendida. Hay ropa en ella, sí. Está en cuerdas tendida al sol. Una detrás de otra. ¿Conoces el sabor del agua? sus sábanas tienen ese color, son blancas. El blanco no sabe a nada, no huele a nada y está frío, muy frío. Tan frío como cuando te mojas y el viento sopla.
Ayer llovió. Huele a barro.
Arriba blanco. Abajo...barro.
El cielo es gris y es verano. El gris-verano es algo cálido.
No puedo verte pero tus zapatos están ahí. Estás escondida detrás de una de esas sábanas del sabor del agua fría. Sólo veo tus pies y están sucios.
Casi vas a manchar mi fotografía gris-verano agua fría y barro mojado ¡No te muevas!

Let me tell you, my picture doesn't smell like freshly laid clothes. There are clothes in it, yes. It is on ropes stretched out in the sun. One after the other. Do you know the taste of water? their sheets have that color, they are white. White tastes like nothing, smells like nothing and is cold, very cold. As cold as when you get wet and the wind blows.
It rained yesterday. Smells like mud.
Up white. Down ... mud.
The sky is gray and it is summer. Summer gray is a warm thing.
I can't see you but your shoes are there. You are hidden behind one of those sheets the taste of cold water. I only see your feet and they are dirty.
You're almost going to stain my gray-summer photograph with cold water and wet mud. Don't move!

Violeta López (MA)


Ik wandel in een straat gelijkaardig als de Meir, de gebruikelijke winkelstraat in Antwerpen. Daarentegen merk ik hier geen kledingwinkels. Enkel drogisten en kleine superetten voor het hoognodige.
De om de vijf stappen, repeterende bloembakken splitsen de laan. De bakken zijn gevuld met iet wat exotisch uitziende bloemen. De een wat exotischer als de ander. Hun kleur wordt gecomplementeerd door de pastel blauwe bijliggende huizen. De een ook exotischer dan de ander. De straat is druk gevuld met mensen die niet van hier lijken, hoewel ze ook in pastel gekleed zijn. Buiten pastel worden deze mensen gekenmerkt door een zonnebril een waaier en een zonnehoed. Grappig, omdat geen enkele zonnestraal de straat effectief bereikt. Alleemaal gevangen in het web van elektriciteitsdraden en hoog reikende palmtakken.

Vijf bloembakken verder staat een iet wat armoedige vrouw, die tevergeefs vriendelijk tegen haar voorbijgangers praat. Het dag bezoek heeft vandaag enkel oog voor het decor dan voor zijn spelers.
Naarmate ik de vrouw benader wordt haar klederdracht duidelijk.
Gele teenslippers, een beige short en een topje met horizontaal gekleurde streepjes die haar ronde buik mooi accentueren. De navel is net niet zichtbaar.
Ze leunt op een van de bloembakken. Achter haar schouder komt een van de exotische bloemen tevoorschijn die benadrukken hoe de kleuren van haar kledij er ooit ook uitzagen.
Naarmate het eerste oogcontact spreekt ze mij gelijk aan in een taal waar ik enkele van versta.
Het wordt al snel duidelijk dat ze mij om een gunst vraagt voor haar baby. Hoewel die baby volgens haar thuis zou moeten zitten, lijkt het wel aan haar aandringende en smekende toon of de baby nog in haar buik zit en elk moment geboren gaat worden. Hongerig zal zijn en zal schreeuwen om melk. Een melk die zij niet te bieden heeft, aangezien haar leeftijd.
Uit gewoonte kijk ik de andere kant op en zie ik een muur met kogelschoten. De schoten moeten het gebit van de vrouw ook gepasseerd zijn. Ik wend mijn blik terug naar de vrouw die op een steeds hogere toon begint te praten. Na haar vraag nog eens te herhalen lacht ze en kijkt ze mij aan met een aandringende blik. Een emotie die nog is blijven hangen bij haar vorige vraag en zich pas later zal voegen bij haar lach.
Hoewel ik gewoonlijk hier niet aan zou toegeven, maakte de paradoxale situatie toch iets bij mij los. Vruchtbaar en onvruchtbaar, lelijk en mooi, jong en oud, lijken hier zo goed in elkaar te gaan.

I walk in a street similar to the Meir, the usual shopping street in Antwerp. On the other hand, I don't notice any clothing stores here. Only drugstores and small superettes for the essentials.
The repetitive flower boxes every five steps split the avenue. The boxes are filled with some exotic looking flowers. One more exotic than the other. Their color is complemented by the pastel blue adjacent houses. One also more exotic than the other. The street is crowded with people who don't seem to be from here, although they are also dressed in pastel. Outside of pastel, these people are characterized by sunglasses, a fan and a sun hat. Funny, because no sunbeam actually reaches the street. All caught in the web of electricity wires and high reaching palm branches.
Five flower boxes away is a somewhat poor woman, who talks in vain friendly to her passers-by. The day visit today only has an eye for the decor than for its players.
As I approach the woman, her dress becomes clear.
Yellow flip flops, a beige short and a top with horizontally colored stripes that accentuate her round belly. The navel is just not visible.
She leans on one of the flower boxes. Behind her shoulder, one of the exotic flowers emerges that emphasizes how the colors of her clothes once looked.
As the first eye contact she speaks directly to me in a language I understand some of.
It soon becomes clear that she is asking me a favor for her baby. Although according to her that baby should be at home, it seems from her insistent and pleading tone that the baby is still in her belly and will be born every moment. Will be hungry and scream for milk. A milk she doesn't have to offer, given her age.
Out of habit I look the other way and I see a wall with bullets. The shots must have passed the woman's teeth. I turn my gaze back to the woman who starts to speak in an increasingly high tone. After repeating her question again, she smiles and looks at me with an insistent look. An emotion that has lingered with her previous question and will only join her smile later.
Although I would not usually give in to this, the paradoxical situation still triggered me. Fertile and barren, ugly and beautiful, young and old, seem to work together so well here.

Ean De Maeyer (2BA)


Szene: Schlafzimmer irgendwo zwischen Aqaba und Amman. Raum ist erleuchtet durch Mondschein. Boden ist komplett mit Teppich ausgelegt. Weiterer Teppich hängt von linker Wand. Frontaler Blick auf Bett das mit der langen Seite an die Wand gelehnt ist. Zwei Frauen liegen im Bett mit dem Rücken zum Publikum. Die Formen ihres Körpers werden vom Mondschein zart umspielt. Person A hat ihren Arm um die unbedeckte Hüfte von B geschlungen. Rechts vom Bett befindet sich ein Fenster das Blick auf Marslandschaft offenbart. Links vom Bett steht ein Nachttisch mit Blumenvase und Strauß. Oberhalb des Nachttisches an linker Wand hängt eine Schwarz-Weiss Fotografie die zwei Männer in langen Gewändern vor einer Höhle zeigt.
A: Welcome to Mars B: Es fühlt sich so an als wären wir die Auserwählten.
... A: Weist du eigentlich wer die zwei Männer auf dem Foto vor der Höhle sind? B: Nein keine Ahnung. Aber ich glaube die leben da. A: Vielleicht sind es Verwandte von Mohammed. Auf jeden Fall total lieb mit dem Blumenstrauß. Hat mir mein Vater auch immer auf den Nachttisch gestellt wenn ich lange nicht mehr zu Hause war.
...A: Bist du noch wach? B: Mhm A: Dass der Mond genau in diesem Moment durch dieses Zimmer scheint. Passiert so auch nur einmal.
...A: Ich weis gar nicht mehr wie sich Zeit anfühlt.
...B: Ich bin zu Hause für eine Nacht.

Scene: Bedroom somewhere between Aqaba and Amman. Space is illuminated by the moonlight. Floor is completely carpeted. Another carpet hangs from the left wall. Frontal view of the bed with the long side leaning against the wall. Two women are lying in bed with their backs to the audience. The shapes of her body are delicately played around by the moonlight. Person A has her arm wrapped around B's uncovered waist. To the right of the bed is a window that reveals a view of the Martian landscape. To the left of the bed is a bedside table with a flower vase and bouquet. A black and white photograph hangs above the bedside table on the left wall, showing two men in long robes in front of a cave.
A: Welcome to Mars B: It feels like we're the chosen ones.
... A: Do you actually know who the two men in the photo in front of the cave are? B: No I don't know. But I think they live there. A: Maybe they are relatives of Mohammed. In any case, totally lovely with the bouquet. My father always put it on my bedside table when I was away from home for a long time.
... A: Are you still awake? B: Mhm A: That the moon is shining through this room at this very moment. It only happens once.
... A: I no longer know how time feels.
... B: I'm home for one night.

Sarah Kirchner (1BA)


We kijken naar de voorgevel van een semi modern appartementsblok net buiten de stad. We hebben zicht op 3 verdiepingen waarbij elk appartement ook een klein balkon heeft. Het is avond. We kijken binnen door grote ramen die kaders vormen voor verschillende scenes.Een oudere vrouw staat op het balkon en klemt haar handen rond de ijzeren buis die de beveiliging vormt van het balkon. Ze rookt een sigaret en staart recht voor zich uit met een afwezige blik. Haar haar is grijs, lang en ongekamd. Donkere cirkels onder haar ogen zijn waarneembaar. Een oudere man is zichtbaar in een zetel achter haar aan een beademingstoestel. Hij laat zijn hoofd hangen als een verwelkte bloem en staart naar een televisie waarop landschappen van de koers te zien zijn. Een lampenkap naast de zetel van de man verlicht de ruimte. Het balkon wordt verlicht door één lamp aan de muur.
Op de tweede verdieping zit een koppel van middelbare leeftijd. De vrouw heeft geblondeerd haar en een streng gezicht. Ze hebben allebei een moderne leesbril op het puntje van hun neus. De vrouw scrolt op een iPad en de man staart naar zijn gsm. De man houdt zijn hand voor zijn mond en houdt een geniepige glimlach in. Ze dragen elk een witte badjas die lichtjes open hangt. De vrouw onthult zo bleke huid van haar borsten die een contrast toont met haar zonnebankbruine lichaam. De man onthult een grijs behaarde borst en een dikke buik. Er staat een uitgebreid diner voor hun neus koud te worden. Ze zijn omringt door kaarslicht. Een gezellige ruimte die toch enorm koel aanvoelt door de afwezigheid van interactie tussen de personages.
Een verdieping lager zien we een jong koppel in discussie. Een baby kruipt op de grond en huilt. Op het aanrecht ligt ook een baby met blote billen. Eén gigantische berner senner slaapt op de vloer naast de huilende baby. Een kleinere border collie blaft mee met de discussie en staat op zijn achterpoten in het midden van een sprong. Een poedel snuffelt aan de baby op het aanrecht. De vrouw is zwanger en houdt met een smekende blik een huilende baby vast met uitgestrekte armen die naar de man reiken. Het raam naar het balkon scheidt hen. De man staat op het balkon met een vuilzak en kijkt omhoog naar de oudere vrouw op het balkon op de derde verdieping. Er staan babyflesjes op het aanrecht. Ongezellig wit licht verlicht de ruimte gelijk.
Ik stel me hier drie generaties voor. De oudere man en vrouw zouden een koppel kunnen zijn. De vermoeidheid en levensmoeheid druipt van de personages. De vrouw toont in haar blik dat ze denkt aan een ander leven. Aan hoe het zou zijn gegaan als hij er nooit was geweest of als hij er nu niet meer zou zijn. Het balkon is een ontsnapping. Het contrast van de vrouw die rookt en de man die naar adem snakt aan het beademingstoestel voelt sinister. Ze worden beiden door aparte lichtbronnen belicht, zo wordt getoond dat ze allebei in verschillende werelden leven en niet meer samen in het leven staan.
Het koppel op de tweede verdieping zit daarentegen heel comfortabel in deze positie van passief samenleven. Ze hebben elkaar niet nodig. Ze maken het appartement gezellig alsof ze van elkaars aanwezigheid willen genieten, maar doen dit dan totaal niet tot in het extreme. Ze leven allebei in hun eigen virtuele wereld. Ik stel me hen voor als een koppel met elk een druk werkleven. Een uitgedoofd huwelijk dat enkel wordt samengehouden door het comfort dat ze bij elkaar voelen.
Het jonge koppel op de eerste verdieping leeft in complete chaos. Te veel kinderen en te veel dieren die hun aandacht vragen. Voor mij symboliseert dit koppel onze generatie die aan veel verwachtingen moet voldoen, maar hier soms helemaal niet klaar voor is. De jongeman zijn blik is gericht op de oudere vrouw op de derde verdieping. Zij kunnen een bepaald gelijkend gevoel in elkaar terugvinden. Heeft hij wel de juiste keuze gemaakt? De oudere vrouw toont de gevolgen van ongelukkige keuzes.

We look at the facade of a semi-modern apartment block just outside the city. We have a view on 3 floors, each apartment also has a small balcony. It is evening. We look inside through large windows that frame different scenes. An elderly woman stands on the balcony and clasps her hands around the iron tube that protects the balcony. She smokes a cigarette and stares straight ahead with an absent look. Her hair is gray, long and unkempt. Dark circles under her eyes are visible. An elderly man is visible in a seat behind her on a ventilator. He hangs his head like a wilted flower and stares at a television showing landscapes of the course. A lampshade next to the man's seat illuminates the room. The balcony is illuminated by one lamp on the wall.
A middle-aged couple is sitting on the second floor. The woman has bleached hair and a stern face. They both have modern reading glasses on the tip of their nose. The woman scrolls on an iPad and the man stares at his mobile phone. The man holds his hand to his mouth and keeps a sly smile. They each wear a white bathrobe that hangs slightly open. The woman thus reveals pale skin on her breasts that shows a contrast to her tanning bed. The man reveals a gray hairy chest and a big belly. An extensive dinner is getting cold in front of them. They are surrounded by candlelight. A cozy space that still feels very cool due to the absence of interaction between the characters.
One floor below we see a young couple in discussion. A baby crawls on the floor and cries. A baby with bare buttocks is also on the counter. One giant Berner Senner sleeps on the floor next to the crying baby. A smaller border collie barks along with the discussion and stands on its hind legs in the middle of a jump. A poodle sniffs the baby on the counter. The woman is pregnant and beggingly holds a crying baby with arms outstretched reaching for the man. The window to the balcony separates them. The man is standing on the balcony with a trash bag and looking up at the older woman on the third floor balcony. There are baby bottles on the counter. Cozy white light immediately illuminates the room.
I imagine three generations here. The older man and woman could be a couple. The characters are tired and fatigued. The woman shows in her gaze that she is thinking of a different life. How it would have been if he had never been there or if he were no longer there. The balcony is an escape. The contrast of the woman who smokes and the man who breathes at the ventilator feels sinister. They are both illuminated by separate light sources, so it is shown that they both live in different worlds and are no longer living together.
The couple on the second floor, on the other hand, are very comfortable in this position of passive living together. They don't need each other. They make the apartment cozy as if they want to enjoy each other's presence, but do not do this at all to the extreme. They both live in their own virtual world. I imagine them as a couple, each with a busy working life. An extinct marriage that is only held together by the comfort they feel together.
The young couple on the first floor live in complete chaos. Too many children and too many animals that demand their attention. To me, this couple symbolizes our generation that has to meet many expectations, but is sometimes not ready at all. The young man's gaze is on the older woman on the third floor. They can find a certain similar feeling in each other. Has he made the right choice? The older woman shows the consequences of unfortunate choices.

Catherine Smet (1BA)


Se eu pudesse voltar no tempo eu teria tirado um retrato do meu falecido Avô. Meu avô era uma figura ímpar, não era um homem com habilidades especiais, com uma história espetacular, mas era uma pessoa ímpar. Ele faleceu e eu não estava por perto. Eu nunca visitei o túmulo dele e sei somente aquilo que me contaram dos últimos momentos antes de sua morte. Mas a imagem dele permanece aqui e a fotografia que eu nunca tirei foi um retrato dele, do meu avô.
DENOTAÇÃO Por detrás de uma pequena janela gradeada, um homem de mais ou menos uns 70 anos, cabelos grisalhos, sem camisa, pele morena e falando ao telefone. O telefone é de um branco meio amarelado, daqueles convencionais, que você ainda pode ver o cabo conectado na base. O homem está de pé, meio que sorrindo e com as mãos sobre a própria barriga e é só o que se consegue ver dele. Ele está meio que escorado na estante que apoia o telefone e alguns outros objetos. Atras desse homem, no plano de fundo, um pequeno altar com uma imagem de nossa senhora e uma vela de 7 dias acesa. Do lado do altar uma televisão, tambem daquelas antigas. A televisão está ligada e passando o que parece ser um jogo de futebol. A luz amarelada do ambiente tambem nos permite ver o pedaço de uma rede de pano atravessada nessa sala, e por trás dessa rede uma porta vedada com um pedaço de madeira e um pedaço de pano que parece bandeira vermelha e preta cobrindo parte do que a porta por si só não é capaz de cobrir.
CONOTAÇÃO Pela expressão no seu rosto o homem parece estar tendo uma conversa sobre algo agradável e com alguem que ele se sente a vontade. Pelo que se é possível ver no ambiente, como o jogo de futebol passando na televisão e pela bandeira do seu time preferido nos fundos a conversa pode ser sobre futebol ou algo relacionado a isso. Ele parece passar boas horas do dia naquele ambiente, deitado na sua rede e assistindo televisão. O pequeno altar mostra que é um homem religioso, mas me parece mais do tipo que faz suas orações em casa e não frequenta a igreja regularmente. Pelos moveis e objetos, essa foto parece ter sido tirada há muito tempo atras, quando boa parte da tecnologia que temos hoje em dia ainda não estava disponível. Pela luz que ilumina o ambiente e o fato de homem estar sem camisa com a janela aberta, o lugar parece ser bem quente e aquele momento ao telefone não só serve pra colocar o papo em dia com o amigo, mas tambem pra aproveitar a brisa que bate no rosto e refresca a pele suada do calor miserável do lugar onde ele mora.

If I could have gone back in time I would have taken a picture of my late Grandfather. My grandfather was a unique figure, he was not a man with special abilities, with a spectacular history, but he was a unique person. He passed away and I was not around. I never visited his grave and I only know what was told of the last moments before his death. But his image remains here and the photograph I never took was a portrait of him, of my grandfather.
DENOTATION Behind a small barred window, a man of about 70, gray hair, shirtless, dark skin and talking on the phone. The phone is a slightly yellowish white, of the conventional type, that you can still see the cable connected to the base. The man is standing, half smiling and with his hands on his own belly and that's all you can see of him. He's kind of propped up on the shelf that supports the phone and some other objects. Behind this man, in the background, a small altar with an image of our lady and a 7-day candle lit. On the side of the altar there is a television, also from the old ones. The television is on and is playing what appears to be a football game. The yellowish light of the environment also allows us to see the piece of a cloth net crossed in this room, and behind that net a door sealed with a piece of wood and a piece of cloth that looks like a red and black flag covering part of that door alone is not able to cover.
CONNOTATION From the expression on his face, the man seems to be having a conversation about something pleasant and with someone he feels comfortable with. From what you can see in the environment, like the football game on TV and the flag of your favorite team in the back, the conversation can be about football or something related to that. He seems to spend good hours of the day in that environment, lying in his hammock and watching television. The small altar shows that he is a religious man, but he seems more like the type who says his prayers at home and does not attend church regularly. By the furniture and objects, this photo seems to have been taken a long time ago, when much of the technology we have today was not yet available. Due to the light that illuminates the room and the fact that a man is shirtless with the window open, the place seems to be very hot and that moment on the phone not only serves to catch up with his friend, but also to enjoy the breeze that hits his face and freshens his sweaty skin from the miserable heat of the place where he lives.

Bruce Bomfim (2BA)


Sokat gondolkodtam azon mit választanék, ha egy olyan lehetőség esne az ölembe, mint amit a feladat kínál. Arra jutottam, hogy a családomról készítenék portrét. Bár ez könnyen kivitelezhetőnek hangzik, de sajnos nem így van. A köztünk lévő 1400 kilométer csak az első akadály. A több mint 10 éve felhalmozott frusztráció és szociális elhidegülés egy sokkal vastagabb falat húz közénk. Véleményem szerint a kapcsolat értelmezése egy művészeti alkotás formájában terápiás adottságokkal bír. Áthidal sok személyes indulatot és az emberi esszenciára fókuszál, ami mind két fél számára fontos. Ha csak egy alanyt választhatok, akkor édesanyámat választanám. Ő egy olyan mély depresszív körforgásban él, amit én (még) nem tudok felfogni. Értem a körülötte lévő történéseket, de a miértjük sok esetben kérdés marad számomra. Az ő mivoltát, illetve kettőnk kapcsolatát lenne a legérdekesebb és legfontosabb számomra feltárni. Reményeim szerint ez segítene nekem is legyőzni a felgyülemlett ellenérzéseimet és ő is közelebb kerülne ahhoz, hogy megértse a saját maga motivációját.
A témából fakadóan közép- vagy nagyformátumú fekete-fehér filmre fotóznék. A filmnek mindig is volt egy komolyabb hangulata, illtetve a monokróm is a drámai hatást erősití. A nagyobb formátum fontos hogy minél több részletet megelevenítsen. Beállításában közeli portré lenne, hangsúlyozva a tekintetet. A helyszín vizuálisan nem lenne fontos a közeli beállítás miatt mégis a szüleim otthonában fotóznám. Csakis közvetlen, természetes fénnyel dolgoznék. Ez ad a képnek egyfajta egyenességet, ami a cél szempontjából nélkülözhetetlen, illetve ki is hozná édesanyám arcából azt amit meg szeretnék jeleníteni. Smink és ékszer nélkül ültetném le, hogy a lehető legkevesebb figyelmet tereljem el a tényleges valójáról. Szemből vagy félprofilból fotóznám és ráhagynám hogy a kamerába néz vagy sem.

I thought a lot about what I would choose if an opportunity fell on my lap like the task offers. I came up with a portrait of my family. Although this sounds easy to do, unfortunately it is not. The 1,400 kilometers between us are just the first obstacle. The frustration and social alienation accumulated over more than 10 years draws a much thicker wall between us. In my opinion, the interpretation of a relationship in the form of a work of art has therapeutic endowments. It bridges a lot of personal anger and focuses on the human essence, which is important to both parties. If I could only choose one subject, I would choose my mother. She lives in a deep depressive cycle that I can’t (yet) comprehend. I understand what is happening around her, but in many cases why we remain a question to me. It would be most interesting and important for me to explore her nature and the relationship between the two of us. I hope this would help me overcome my accumulated resentments as well and bring her closer to understanding her own motivation.
Due to the subject, I would photograph on medium or large format black and white film. The film has always had a more serious vibe, and the monochrome also enhances the dramatic effect. The larger format is important to bring as much detail to life as possible. Her setting would be a close-up portrait, emphasizing the look. The location wouldn’t be visually important because of the close setting yet I would take photos in my parents ’home. I would only work with direct, natural light. This gives the image a kind of straightness, which is essential for the purpose, and would also bring out of my mother’s face what I want to show. I would plant it without makeup and jewelry to divert as little attention as possible from the actual reality. I would take a photo from the front or half profile and let her look at the camera or not.

Aron Viszló (2BA)


Om mijn ultieme, niet-bestaande beeld te maken zou ik de regels van tijd moeten overtreden. Ik zou terug willen gaan naar de jaren ‘40, naar mijn overgrootouders, de grootouders van mijn moeder, die toen ongeveer mijn leeftijd hadden. Graag zou ik hen in hun leefwereld willen vergezellen op café of op een feestje, gezellig, zoals ik en mijn vrienden allerliefst onze vrije avonden spenderen. Ik ken hun gezichten goed van bewaarde familiefoto’s en kan hun karakter min of meer samenkneden uit gefragmenteerde verhalen die mijn grootmoeder telkens weer over hen verteld want zelf heb ik hen jammer genoeg nooit kunnen ontmoeten. Mijn verbeelding van dit beeld is gebaseerd op een bestaande foto die van mijn grootmoeder en grootvader is getrokken, in de jaren ‘60 op een feestje in het dorp waar zij, en ik nu nog steeds, woonden. Een tweede inspiratie van het beeld is gebaseerd op het fotoboek Café Lehmitz van Anders Petersen. Mijn eigen beeld zouden wel meer gecontroleerd zijn, en misschien ook wel meer nuchter. Ongetwijfeld zijn ze ook zwart-wit.

Als fotograaf zou ik tegenover hen zitten aan een tafel. Op de voorgrond van het beeld is een deel van de tafel zichtbaar. Op de tafel staan hun drankjes, een kleine handtas en een assenbak met twee brandende sigaretten. De middengrond is gevuld door het koppel. Hun gezichten worden verlicht door een flauwe spot die boven hen hangt. Hun gezichten krijgen hierdoor karakteristieke schaduwen. Hij, Frans, heeft zijn arm over haar schouder geslagen, dominant als hij was. Zij, Yvonne, houdt haar hoofd wat gekanteld, dichter naar het zijne toe, en haar lichaam wat gebogen onder het gewicht van zijn arm. Ze hebben allebei een scheef lachje op hun gezicht. Hij meer zelfzeker dan haar. Hij draagt een wit hemd en zij een donker kleed met een ronde, aansluitende neklijn. Hij heeft kort haar, geschoren bij de oren. Zij heeft haar haren opgestoken. Haar handen zijn niet zichtbaar en rusten onder de tafel op haar schoot.Op de achtergrond leeft het rumoer van het café. Druk maar donker. Silhouetten van mensen maar geen details.

Dit beeld speelt al langer in mijn hoofd. Ik ben vaak bezig met mijn genealogie. Zeker nu ik heel de tijd thuis ben, ben ik terug in de archieven en in de foto’s gedoken. Iets waar ik normaal veel minder focus aan kan geven. Ik fantaseer graag over wie zij waren en vraag me af hoe het toen allemaal was. Natuurlijk zijn deze twee mensen maar een klein deel van mijn bloedlijn maar zij leven meer in mijn verbeelding door de gefragmenteerde anekdotes die mijn grootmoeder over hen vertelt. Toen ik nog kind was, bleven de verhalen eerder oppervlakkig maar naarmate ik ouder werd kregen ze meer diepgang. Mijn beeld van hen transformeerde dus doorheen de jaren. De weinige foto’s die ik van hen heb, zijn of wel genomen in een fotostudio, stijf en braaf, of zijn genomen door hun kinderen toen ze zelf ouder waren in de jaren ‘70 en ‘80. Nauwelijk van hen samen. Nauwelijks jong. Uit anekdotes weet ik dat zij een moeilijke relatie hadden. Er zijn trieste maar goede verhalen aan hen verbonden. Vandaar mijn verlangen om deze subtiel vast te leggen op beeld. Ik wil mijn verbeelding van hen samen tot leven brengen in een foto. Ze moeten jong zijn om het schone van een prille relatie weer te geven. Maar hoe ze poseren moet min of meer een suggestie zijn naar hun gehele relatie. Ik wil het niet verbloemen, maar wel misschien wel romantiseren.

To create my ultimate nonexistent image I would have to break the rules of time. I would like to go back to the 1940's, to my great-grandparents, my mother's grandparents, who were about my age at the time. I would like to join them in their world at a café or at a party, cozy, as I and my friends love to spend our free evenings. I know their faces well from preserved family photos and I can more or less mold their character from fragmented stories that my grandmother tells about them over and over again because unfortunately I have never been able to meet them. My imagination of this image is based on an existing photo taken of my grandmother and grandfather in the 1960s at a party in the village where they, and I still live, today. A second inspiration for the image is based on the photo book Café Lehmitz by Anders Petersen. My own image would be more controlled, and perhaps more sober. Undoubtedly they are also black and white.

As a photographer, I would sit opposite them at a table. Part of the table is visible in the foreground of the statue. On the table are their drinks, a small handbag and an ashtray with two burning cigarettes. The middle ground is filled by the couple. Their faces are illuminated by a dim spot hanging above them. This gives their faces characteristic shadows. He, Frans, put his arm over her shoulder, dominant as he was. She, Yvonne, tilts her head slightly closer to his, and her body slightly bent under the weight of his arm. They both have a crooked smile on their faces. He's more confident than her. He wears a white shirt and she has a dark robe with a round, connecting neckline. He has short hair, shaved by the ears. She has put her hair up. Her hands are not visible and rest on her lap under the table. In the background the buzz of the cafe is alive. Busy dark. Silhouettes of people but no details.

This image has been playing in my head for some time. I am often busy with my genealogy. Especially now that I am home all the time, I have gone back into the archives and into the pictures. Something I normally can give much less focus to. I like to fantasize about who they were and wonder what it was like back then. Of course, these two people are only a small part of my bloodline, but they live more in my imagination because of the fragmented anecdotes my grandmother tells about them. When I was a child, the stories remained superficial, but as I grew older they got more in-depth. So my image of them transformed over the years. The few photos I have of them are either taken in a photo studio, stiff and good, or taken by their children when they were older in the 70s and 80s. Hardly of them together. Barely young. I know from anecdotes that they had a difficult relationship. There are sad but good stories about them. Hence my desire to capture it subtly on image. I want to bring my imagination of them together in a photo. They must be young to reflect the beauty of an early relationship. But how they pose should more or less suggest their entire relationship. I don't want to cover it up, but I might want to romanticize it.

Anke Defossé (2BA)


Barranquilla, Colombia
Cuando era una niña, decidir quien iba a usar la hamaca era una guerra. Mis primos eran mayores que yo, y yo siempre perdía la batalla. A veces había treguas y la compartíamos.
Recuerdo perfectamente esa sensación de tranquilidad y paz, de estar tumbada sola, sentir la brisa del caribe sobre mi piel, y dejarme mecer. Pensar sobre la vida cuando era solo una niña, mis sueños y luchas. De aquella la inocencia me confortaba. Yo estaba dentro de mi capullito, como una oruga, y lo que pasara fuera no me importaba.
Esa es la imagen que tengo en mi cabeza:
Una tarde soleada, bajo las copas de los arboles.
El patio de casa de mi tía.
El suelo de baldosas rojas, separadas por líneas de cemento y piedrecillas.
Un gran “palo” de mango a la izquierda y una palmera de coco a la derecha, creando una especie de marco que encuadra el centro de la imagen
A su vez sujetan una hamaca de colores vacía.
Unos arbustos tupidos de hojas y pequeñas flores blancas y amarillas tapan las paredes del fondo.
Pareciera como si la selva llegara a la ciudad.
Te sientes parte de la escena, tus ojos son quien capturan esta imagen.
El aroma de las flores te envuelve, y el mundo se detiene.
El sol se cuela entre las ramas, creando una luz tenue, pero no plana. Modela la escena con gran delicadeza.
Ver esta imagen da una sensación de serenidad y confort. Casi se puede sentir la brisa cálida y el cantar de los pájaros como si estuvieras allí. Todo lo que ocurre fuera no existe.

Barranquilla, Colombia
When I was a child, deciding who would use the hammock was a war. My cousins ​​were older than me, and I always lost the battle. Sometimes there were truces and we shared it.
I perfectly remember that feeling of tranquility and peace, of lying alone, feeling the Caribbean breeze on my skin, and letting myself rock. Think about life when I was just a girl, my dreams and struggles. Of that innocence comforted me. I was inside my little hood, like a caterpillar, and what happened outside did not matter to me.
That is the image I have in my head:
A sunny afternoon, under the tree tops.
The patio of my aunt's house.
The red tile floor, separated by lines of cement and pebbles.
A large mango "stick" on the left and a coconut palm on the right, creating a kind of frame that frames the center of the image
In turn they hold an empty colored hammock.
Bushy bushes with leaves and small white and yellow flowers cover the back walls.
It seems as if the jungle comes to town.
You feel part of the scene, your eyes are the ones who capture this image.
The scent of flowers envelops you, and the world stops.
The sun seeps through the branches, creating a dim light, but not flat. Model the scene with great finesse.
Seeing this image gives a feeling of serenity and comfort. You can almost feel the warm breeze and the singing of the birds as if you were there. Everything that happens outside does not exist.

Ana Lucía Fernández (1BA)


Casa mea sta pe marginea unei stanci, si jumatate e stabilita de stalpi de sustinere infipti in roca.Cand vin musafiri in casa mea, ceea ce nu se intampla des, raman uimiti. Poate din cauza sentimentului de instabilitate fata de cum e constuita,dar si de cat de perfect si curat e spatiul. Totul are locul lui calculat. Cand impingi usa de la intrare, spatiul se dechide complet,tavanul se inalteaza, geamurile ocroteasc o lumina aproape sfanta, si ramai asa...uimit. Stau pe un varf de stanca, deci intra lumina de la rasarit pana la apus. Peretii sunt acoperiti de oglinzi care deschid camera si mai tare. Fiecare oglinda are obucata de material pusa in coltul drept, pentru a inrepta-o milimetric inspre usa.Pe tavan sunt candelabre din bucati delicate de cristale care imprastie lumina in toate colturile. In mijloc e masa acoperita cu o bucata de cearceaf alb pe care sta o vaza de sticla cu hortenzii uscate. In jurul ei stau patru scaune de lemn,trei pe partea stnag, unul pe partea dreapta.Pe lanag praful de pe jos, se afla mici conserve de care ma impiedic cateodata, dar nu le ridic niciodata. In stanga mesei, rezemat de peretele de est, sta o canapea albastra, fara pernedoar cu o patura semi aurie si semi prafuta pe ea. Langa ea se afla o lampe, cu pietre mari pozitionate perfect intr un cerc la baza acesteia. De pe canapea, daca te uiti in fata, exista un sir de scari care duc inspre dormitorul nostru si camera lui de studiu. Nu am mai intrat acolo de cand a murit.In drapta scarilor este o mica biblioteca, cu toate cartile pe care le-am colectionat in aventurile noastre. El a citi fiecare carte. Mie mi-e frica. Langa biblioteca sta un cuier cu carlige lipite de perete,la care baza sunt exact 4 perechi de papuci, pusi varf in varf. Musafirii se tiganesc tot timpul ca sa-i las sa se descalte, ca asa se face la roman acasa, dar nu ma inteleg!!!
Ne-ar pune pe toti in pericol.
Totul in casa mea e un pericol. Daca deschizi usa de la intrare complet, se va tranti de peretele de est, care ar misca oglinizle, ar cadea bucata de material, oglinile ar fii indreptate inspre soare, care s-ar reflecta in lant, ai ar intra lumina prin vaza de sticla, pe fata de masa, care ar lua foc. De asta hortenziile mele sunt uscate. Ca focul sa nu se prelinga in sus spre candelabru, fiindca ar incalzii toate bucatile delicate de cristal care apoi la randul lor s-ar spulbera intr-un milion de particule care te-ar putea orbi. Langa mase sunt 3 scaune pe partrea stanga fiindca inniciun moment nu pot fii mai multe persoane pe partea dreapta a casei, adica partea sustinuta de palnii, fiindca ar putea dezechilibra structura si s ar prabusi casa in stanci. La fel si lampa de lanaga canapea, daca se impiedica cineva de ea, poate sa cada si sa se sparga becul, si cadrul ei s-ar infige in al doilea scaun de pe partea stanga. Nu mai urc pe scari deoarece exista posibilitate sa, mi prind piciorul intre trepti, sau sa rupa caddrul scarilor, sa instabilizeze acoperisul, si sa cada pe mine. Carligele de la cuier sunt lipite de perete in caz de furtuna, fiindca pot sa te omoare cu marginile taioase daca se desprind. Papucii sunt pusi varf in varf pe orizontala ca sa nu se rostogoleasca pe partea din fata a casei, si din cauza greutatii sa se prebuseasca. In casa mea e frig fiindca asa m am obisnuit. Dar fiidca mi e frica ca radiatorul sa explodeze, sau frigiderul sa cada peste mine.
Am mici conserve pe jos in caz ca vin hotii si nu vreau sa dau fata-n fata cu ei. Nu vand casa ca mi e frica de agenti imobiliari. Nu plec de aici ca mi-e frica de straini.
Nu plec, ca mi-e frica de mine.

My house sits on the edge of a rock, and half is set up by pillars supporting supporters in the rock. When guests come to my house, which does not happen often, they are amazed. Maybe because of the feeling of instability in how it is built, but also how perfect and clean the space is. Everything has its calculated place. When you push the front door, the space opens up completely, the ceiling rises, the windows protect an almost holy light, and you remain so ... amazed. I'm sitting on a cliff top, so the light comes from sunrise to sunset. The walls are covered by mirrors that open the room even harder. Each mirror has a hollow of material placed in the right corner, to straighten it millimeter to the door. On the ceiling are chandeliers of delicate pieces of crystals that scatter light in all the corners. In the middle is the table covered with a piece of white sheet on which stands a glass vase with dried hydrangeas. Around it are four wooden chairs, three on the left side, one on the right side. To dust the floor, there are small cans that sometimes prevent me, but I never lift them. To the left of the table, supported by the east wall, stands a blue sofa, without a pillow with a semi-golden and semi-dusty blanket on it. Near it is a lamp, with large stones perfectly positioned in a circle at its base. From the couch, if you look in front, there are a series of stairs leading to our bedroom and his study room. I haven't come in since he died. Inside the stairs is a small library, with all the books we have collected in our adventures. He read every book. I'm scared. Next to the library is a hanger with hooks fastened to the wall, at the base of which are exactly 4 pairs of slippers, placed tip to tip. The guests are gypsy all the time to let them get off, like this is done at home, but I don't understand!
It would put us all at risk.
Everything in my house is a danger. If you open the front door completely, it will break through the east wall, which would move the mirrors, the piece of material would fall, the mirrors would be directed towards the sun, which would be reflected in the chain, you would enter the light through the glass vase. , on the table, which would ignite. That's why my hydrangeas are dry. So that the fire does not go up towards the chandelier, because it would heat all the delicate pieces of crystal which then in turn would break down into a million particles that could blind you. Near the masses there are 3 chairs on the left side, because in no time can there be more people on the right side of the house, that is, the part supported by the funnels, because it could unbalance the structure and collapse the house into rocks. As well as the couch lamp, if someone prevents it, it can fall and break the bulb, and its frame would be infested in the second seat on the left. I no longer climb the stairs because there is the possibility of catching my foot between the steps, or breaking the ladder frame, stabilizing the roof, and falling on me. The hooks on the hanger are glued to the wall in case of a storm, because they can kill you with sharp edges if they come off. The slippers are placed tip to tip on the horizontal so that they do not roll on the front of the house, and because of the weight they fall. It's cold in my house because that's how I used to. But I'm afraid that the radiator will explode, or the refrigerator will fall on me.
I have small cans on the floor in case the thieves come and I don't want to face them. I'm not selling the house because I'm afraid of real estate agents. I'm not leaving here because I'm afraid of strangers.
I'm not leaving because I'm afraid of myself.

Daria-Ana Oprean (1BA)


Een afgelegen, verlaten, kleine heuvel, ergens in ‘no man’s land’. Ik hoor het geluid van een kabbelend beekje onder mij, een zacht maar onmiskenbaar geluid. Het doet me beseffen dat ik ergens anders ben. Net zoals het indringende gesjirp van krekels bij valavond me eraan herinneren dat ik in de Provence ben. De zon staat al lager boven de horizon, maar haar stralen schijnen nog fel door de linnen doeken en projecteren bontgekleurde lichtvlekjes op de takken en de bladeren van de bomen. Ik zit in een boomhut, een plek om samen met vrienden te ontsnappen aan de drukte, om samen een andere betekenis te geven aan die drukte en alles rondom ons te vergeten.
De eerste etage bevindt zich ongeveer tweeënhalve meter boven de grond en bestaat uit dikke, vergrijsde boomstammen vastgesjord met verschillende soorten touw. Op de vloer liggen rood-blauwe, versleten, Perzische tapijten. Ze zorgen voor een soort van huiselijke gezelligheid. Aan één van de stevigere takken links van de hut hangt een zelf geknutselde schommel, gemaakt van meters ruw touw en een verkleurde, groene zeildoek. Op gelijke hoogte aan de andere kant liggen drie vrienden in twee grote hangmatten. Tussen de schommel en de hangmatten - op het platform voor de hut, dat dienst doet als terras – staat een zetel vervaardigd uit skateboardplanken. Als ik vanop de eerste etage de trap van takken naar boven volg, zie ik de uitkijkpost waar onze uitgerafelde, kleurloze vlag triomfantelijk wappert aan een kromme tak.
Het is één van de eerste warme zomerdagen, en zo voelt het ook. Voor de boomhut in het gras staat de nog smeulende BBQ, daarnaast een met lege bierbakken geïmproviseerde tafel, bedolven onder plastieken borden, vuil bestek en etensresten. Dit zijn niet de enige sporen van ons dagenlang verblijf op deze speciale plek. Speelkaarten en gemorste nootjes liggen verspreid in het gras. Halfvolle en lege bierflesjes, staan of liggen in elk denkbaar hoekje in, op, onder en naast de hut. Bikini’s en zwembroeken hangen te drogen aan de meest bereikbare takken en mijn camera ligt alweer ergens op een vergeten plek, …
Rust vinden in de chaos van mijn vrienden en de wilde verzameling van takken. Zorgen vergeten en wegdwalen in mijn eigen wereld. Urenlang praten, nadenken en samen filosoferen over de wereld waaruit we even zijn ontsnapt tijdens deze eerste zwoele zomerdagen. Het gevoel van verlossing, bevrijd van studie- en andere stress. Het gevoel van stilte en rust. Dan plots weer uitbundig gelach, iedereen praat door elkaar en het maakt niet meer uit welke muziek er speelt.
Her en der kringelt de rook van sigaretten omhoog, opgelicht door de stralen van de avondzon. Gebruinde huid met de gemengde geur van zweet en zonnecrème, alles is vies en plakt, vuil onder mijn nagels, …
Het nostalgische gevoel van zich verliezen in de natuur, verloren en vergeten, een intens gevoel van vrijheid. Een gevoel dat ik de wereld aankan als ik de hoogste top van de boom bereikt heb.

A remote, deserted, small hill, somewhere in "no man's land". I hear the sound of a babbling brook below me, a soft but unmistakable sound. It makes me realize that I am somewhere else. Just as the penetrating chirping of crickets at nightfall reminds me that I am in Provence. The sun is already lower above the horizon, but its rays still shine brightly through the linen cloths and project brightly colored spots of light on the branches and leaves of the trees. I am in a tree house, a place to escape the crowds with friends, to give another meaning to the crowds and to forget everything around us.
The first floor is located about two and a half meters above the ground and consists of thick, greyed tree trunks lashed with different types of rope. On the floor are red-blue, worn Persian carpets. They provide a kind of homely cosiness. On one of the sturdier branches to the left of the hut hangs a self-crafted swing, made of meters of rough rope and a discolored, green tarpaulin. At the same height on the other side, three friends lie in two large hammocks. Between the swing and the hammocks - on the platform in front of the hut, which serves as a terrace - is a chair made of skateboard boards. When I follow the stairs from branches on the first floor, I see the lookout where our frayed, colorless flag flies triumphantly on a crooked branch.
It is one of the first warm summer days, and that is how it feels. In front of the tree house in the grass is the still smoldering BBQ, next to it a table improvised with empty beer boxes, covered with plastic plates, dirty cutlery and food scraps. These are not the only traces of our days stay in this special place. Playing cards and spilled nuts are scattered in the grass. Semi-full and empty beer bottles, stand or lie in every conceivable corner in, on, under and next to the cabin. Bikinis and swimming trunks are drying on the most accessible branches and my camera is already somewhere in a forgotten place,…
Find peace in the chaos of my friends and the wild collection of branches. Forgetting and wandering away in my own world. Talk, think and philosophize together for hours on end about the world from which we escaped during these first sultry summer days. The feeling of redemption, liberated from study and other stress. The feeling of silence and peace. Then suddenly exuberant laughter, everyone talks together and it no longer matters what music is playing.
Here and there the smoke of cigarettes curls up, lit by the rays of the evening sun. Tanned skin with the mixed scent of sweat and sun cream, everything is dirty and sticky, dirt under my nails, ...
The nostalgic feeling of losing yourself in nature, lost and forgotten, an intense feeling of freedom. A feeling that I can handle the world when I have reached the highest peak of the tree.

Eva Thurman (2BA)



APRIL 3, 2020

Photography and intimacy

The distance one can have from the other is divided into four zones: the intimate, the personal, the social and the public. For this assignment you will limit yourself to the first, which extends to an arm's length around the body. Uncovering this space is anything but obvious: it is the place where we meet our loved ones, where we are alone with ourselves or identify each other's small flaws as vulnerable signs of personality. Our gaze always starts from the intimate circle, no matter how far that gaze reaches.

"There's nothing more intimate in life than simply being understood. And understanding somebody else."
Brad Meltzer

Robert Sasarman (1BA)




“For some, photographing intimate subjects is a life instinct, for others it is more of a death wish. It is the ‘psychoanalyst’s couch."
Henri Cartier-Bresson

Ana Lucía Fernández (1BA)





"Intimacy is the state of purgatory that lies in between care and self-destruction."
Radu Vancu

Daria-Ana Oprean (1BA)



“We substitute, or we rather hide, this fear of real intimacy by a superficial kind of friendliness, which is quite nice, but nevertheless, very shallow.”
Erich Fromm

Sarah Kirchner (1BA)



"there's nothing more intimate in life than simply being understood. And understanding someone else."
Brad Meltzer

Eva Thurman (2BA)




“What I'm trying to describe is that it’s impossible to get out of your skin into somebody else’s... That somebody else’s tragedy is not the same as your own.”
Diane Arbus 

Catherine Smet (1BA)




“There is an intense relationship between proximate objects, a much weaker one between objects further away, and as for the really distant ones there is none at all, and that is the nature of God.”
László Krasznahorkai

Aron Viszló (2BA)





"No man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true."
Nathaniel Hawthorne

Bruce Bomfim (2BA)




“My work is more about alienation than intimacy—the only type of intimacy might be with oneself and not the outside world or even with others.
But even so, my work might be more about feeling alienation from oneself, too."
Eva O’Leary, photographer.

Anke Defossé (2BA)




“Solitude is very different from a 'time-out' from our busy lives. Solitude is the very ground from which community grows. Whenever we pray alone, study, read, write, or simply spend quiet time away from the places where we interact with each other directly, we are potentially opened for a deeper intimacy with each other.”
Henri Nouwen

Iris Maselis (1BA)




"Trust leads to intimacy, which leads to healing and meaning. We can only be intimate to the degree we can make ourselves vulnerable.
But when we open our hearts, we can get hurt."
Dean Ornish

Jaïr-Marc Castillo (1BA)


"La cerámica es frágil, fuerte y bella a la vez, como las personas. Al igual que nuestra vida, puede romperse, pero también puede reponerse si sabes cómo." (Ceramic is fragile, strong and beautiful at the same time, like people. Like our life, it can be broken, but it can also be replenished if you know how.)
Tomás Navarro (Kintsukuroi: El arte de curar heridas emocionales, 2017)

Violeta López (MA)




"You keep doing things that life demands of you, for a number of reasons, but mainly out of habits.
You have recognized, perhaps instinctively, the absurd nature of that habit.’’
Albert Camus

Ean De Maeyer (2BA)





March 27, 2020


Appropriation means taking possession of or claiming something that is not yours, or adopting something from other cultures and integrating it into your own culture.
For me, appropriation can be interpreted and applied in both a positive and negative sense. When it comes to mere stealing an image, an idea, a creation or an invention, I find that unacceptable. The work belongs to its original creator, because the result found both its origin and its destination thanks to that artist. It is clear to me that purely copying or using an original is not possible without the express permission of the creator.
But you can also integrate creations in your own work in many ways. It may happen that an image gives you the inspiration to create something completely new with it. You can use both the underlying idea or the method used, or even the result itself to create something new that you do own. It is important that the added value predominates and that the "borrowed" elements of the original are subordinated to the message you want to spread with your work. In this way, a new original is born, the authorship of which lies with you as an artist.
But the line between design and copy, between create and steal can be very thin and mainly depends on from whose point of view you look at the work. In my opinion it is therefore the responsibility of the person who borrows elements from another artist to do this in a very careful and respectful way. A good guideline can be: treat others (and their work) as you (and your work) want to be treated by them.

Eva Thurman (2BA)



Appropriation is the act of taking something such as an idea, custom, or style from a group or culture that you are not a member of and using it yourself.
Using an image that already exist could be turned into it’s own piece of art but in the same time it will remain just a copy.
Living in this busy technological world, all of us are or did used in a way or another ideas or photographs as inspiration but there should be a limit that divides them.
I think all the artist should always be mentioned in order to keep a fair line between originality, creation and just inspiration.

Robert Sasarman (1BA)



Before entering art school I briefly studied journalism. We often had to find images to accompany our texts and we were drilled to be cautious. Since then I feel slightly unsettled using somebody else's content. Today I really looked for the most impersonal images, without any individual style or creativity, to make myself feel as disconnected as possible to the person on the other end. Knowing that this is possibly a faint excuse I tell myself. I still don’t know where I should draw the line.
I think working with found footage is a tricky part of artistic work. Working with the work of another is not wrong in itself but asking for consent should be normalized.
I belief claiming the act of creating images in the artistic field is not only good but possibly even essential in today's society. Works of this nature shouldn’t get lost in the enormous stream of our visual culture. Since I began studying photography I became more aware of the necessity of claiming my photographs. Yet, if someone would like to use my images for an artistic reason I would be glad to borrow them. Creation is a wonderful proces that shouldn’t be limited but should be treated with respect in return. There is nothing wrong with collaboration and all names responsible for the resulting image should be mentioned.

Anke Defossé (2BA)


The basis of every new creation is inspiration. Often times that inspiration comes from pre existing works of art. Inspiration can also be taken a step further by borrowing, adopting, sampling or recycling parts or the entire form of the original. In my opinion art is not there to be claimed by the maker it is there to be shared and inspire others. There is of course limitations. A plain copy remains just a plain copy. There is no evolvement in it. As soon as the adopted work raises a new awareness, interpretation or understanding it has its valid place without being a plain copy.

Sarah Kirchner (1BA)




Appropriation means borrowing, recycling, sampling images that existed before and were made by someone else. A question arises. Who is the real creator of the work and the one who deserves the authorship? I think appropriating an existing image has it’s own form of authenticity. The image is being used in a different context and gets a whole different meaning because of this. You could say that appropriating an image is succesful when the meaning of the original image is kept in some way but there is still a subtle change in perceiving it because of the context and use of different elements. Because of the extreme presence of visual incentives in our daily lives we all posess an extensive image memory. We associate meaning to images as a result of our culture, experiences and ideas. The other way around an image can also resurface a certain meaning or feeling. This enhances the originality of an appropriated image even more.

Catherine Smet (1BA)




I believe that the first thing is important to acknowledge is the difference between appropriation and plagiarism. They both are, in technical terms, different situations, although neither of them is correct. Appropriation is directly taking over the someone’s creation. In the field of arts, no matter which field, the strongest connection there is between a work of art and the artist is his point of view on the artwork itself. This is a very delicate situation considering that art has, by its own nature, the quality of transformation, recreation, adaptation and reinvention. When using other people’s image, the authorship must be respected. The way those images will be reused will affect the originality but not the authorship. Our responsibility as artists, is to make sure that the reusage or adaptation will not affect the value nor the importance of the artwork. The necessity of respecting the artist and the artwork itself are of equal value. The artist is always the artist as long as his point of view and intention of using someone’s work is clear and humbly settled.

Bruce Bomfim (2BA)




In the world of law, appropriation is the act of setting apart something from its application to a particular usage, to the exclusion of all other uses.
Authorship is the state or fact of being the writer of a book, article, or document, or the creator of a work of art.
We have to understand both of these terms to understand how can we handle a piece of art for personal use. In my opinion we have to respect other artists authority over there own work. There are events throughout history when artists adopted parts (or even more) from other artists work with and without consent. This lead to multiple law cases which resulted a quite strict guideline how we can use another person’s work. You have to get consent in writing and the original creator should be involved in the nature of your work (idea, message, etc.) The original artist should have been mentioned. About an appropriated artwork is hard to pin it down who is the artist. There is numerous cases stating the original creator as the artist, although in other cases the artist who appropriated got all of the rights for the art piece.

Aron Viszló (2BA)




Copying great artists has always been the great way of learning that we all have used it. It is impossible to create a completely original artwork. Art is based on previous images that the artist has collected, either keeping images in his mind or referen- ces taken from the reality itself. It is impossible to create without any influence.
But using references does not mean that you cannot create an original piece of art because you always reinterpret everything. Adding and innovating you get your own results, you get your own style.
In this series I have played with found footage imagines giving them a new life. Isolation plays a essential role in the pictures. As our environment is being the same everyday, I wanted to find new ways to relate to it. So I’ve recreated three differents relationships that I have developed with my sofa.

Violeta López




For centuries, in society, power has relied on a pyramid structure. A leader at the top and his people as a carrier. Over the years, with the arrival of the media, these people have become more aware of things that they previously had no knowledge of. Knowledge that was only destined for the higher society is now accessible to everyone. As a result, this pyramid structure is starting to flatten more and more. A good case?

Ean De Maeyer (2BA)




I like to think that all my ideas start from myself, , but it is pretty naive from me to act like i am the first and only person that ever thought of creating an image the way that I have. Being honest with each other, anything that you think about, has already been done. My approach to the arts then turns 180°: Every new piece of art resonates to the hole history of humanity, and in a personal way, it is an act of reappropriation.
So, where does originality lay? Each of us have a certain way of doing things. Our lifes, experiences and education have a big role in what we do and the way we do it. And that is something that you can really see in the work of my classmates: We all start from the same point when we are presented an assignment, yet you can see how different the results are.
Taking material, or images, or ideas, and transforming them, is what makes us artists. Nothing has been created from scratch.

Ana Lucía Fernández (1BA)




“Appropriation in art is the use of pre-existing objects or images with little or no transformation applied to them.“ E.g. Sherrie Levine reproduced as her own work other works of art, including paintings by Claude Monet and Kasimir Malevich. Her aim was to create a new situation, and therefore a new meaning or set of meanings, for a familiar image. In my opinion, she does not really have the authorship of her artwork. Maybe she had authorship on the idea of appropriation, but if Monet, or Walker Evans did not exist, her artwork would also not exist. Authorship refers to the originator of the work or artistic concept. And in my opinion, if there were no transformations applied, then it still belongs to the original artist.
In my opinion nothing is ever really original. Everyone gets his inspiration somewhere, so I think it is difficult to be original. We are all influenced by the images and other artworks of others. But on the other hand it’s impossible to do something exactly the same way, so an artwork is also never the same. Even if you use pre-existing objects or images like in appropriation. So it’s actually like a paradox.
In general I believe there are thin lines in the answer to the questions whether an artwork is original or not, authentical or not and who the artist is. But I believe that If the pre-existing objects or images that are use in appropriation are really drawn out of context and make you see or connect it with something else than before, you can be the artist of that work. But I also believe that it needs a reference to it’s original artist.

Iris Maselis (1BA)




Over het algemeen vind ik dat het geen probleem moet zijn wanneer een kunstenaar besluit afbeeldingen van een ander kunstenaar te gebruiken. Als dat mij zou overkomen zou ik mij vereerd voelen dat ik iemand heb kunnen inspireren met mijn kunst (afbeelding). Het is maar hoe je het zelf interpreteert.
Het is wel zo netjes om je bron bij te vermelden van waar je het vandaan heb eventueel.
Als het gaat om originaliteit blijft het daar ook bij te twisten. Hiermee wil ik alweer duiden op het manier hoe het tot stand is gekomen.

Kortom is het maar hoe je het zelf wilt interpreteren.

Jaïr-Marc Castillo




Nothing comes from nothing. Everything we create, speak of, or even think about is induced by context, feelings and ideas. Every idea is based off of another idea. Just like every theory is based off of another conflicting theory. It’s in our nature to have this ego-driven desire of privatization and ownership, even though there will never be a clear origin in anything. Think about the never-ending question of who discovered The New World, or the ownership of the Machu Picchu artifacts, or Newton vs. Leibniz on who invented calculus. Think about the fact that there are tens of medical staff working on a vaccine for COVID-19, yet they will not post their evolution publically in fear of losing ownership. Even at the end of the long conflicts, and expensive law suits, the “rightful owner”, gains power by “owning”.
In my opinion, ownership and authorship is nothing more than a power. We have to realize that everything flows through everything and originality is pretty much a non-existent concept. However, I do believe that in the industry there has to be a law of conduct in relation to authorship, and to me that would be crediting other people’s work, and crediting their inspiration, openly.

Daria Oprean (1BA)





March 20, 2020


“Je raakt gewend aan je eigen woonomgeving en daardoor kijk je er niet meer naar. Als je op reis bent verwacht je van een heleboel dingen dat ze interessant zijn en daardoor ben je ontvankelijk voor bijna alles. Als ik naar het postkantoor loop denk ik: dit is thuis, dit ken ik allemaal. Terwijl ik in Amsterdam denk: oh kijk, interessant. Het moet wel bijzonder zijn, want het is hier anders. Niet dat Londen saai is, maar daar woon ik. Als je met iemand trouwt, komt er een moment dat je niet meer nadenkt over hoe bijzonder die persoon is. Als je partner dan een auto-ongeluk krijgt denk je opeens: oh god, hij of zij had wel dood kunnen zijn. Het idee dat je iets kunt verliezen is helaas een belangrijk deel van onze motivatie om iets op te merken.
Omdat we doorgaans maar korte tijd op vakantie gaan, zijn we onderweg erg ontvankelijk voor alles wat we zien. Je krijgt de kans niet te wennen aan het gebied dat je bereist. Jij komt naar Londen en jij ziet dit dorp, een dorp dat erg leuk is als je niet elke dag vanaf hier naar Picadilly Circus moet voor je werk. Een kleine afstand, maar het kost je wel anderhalf uur. Dat soort dingen. Je kijkt selectief, want je bent reiziger.
Alles is al gezien en gebeurd, alles is al beschreven. Veel reisboeken van nu gaan over hoogst ongewone dingen: hoe ik de Mount Everest beklom, hoe ik het Kanaal overzwom; gekke rare inspanningen. Ik denk dat de echte uitdaging niet ligt in het hebben van een nieuwe ervaring, ik denk dat je de oude ervaring in een nieuw daglicht moet proberen te zien. Niet de ervaring is interessant, maar wat jij maakt van die ervaring.”

Alain de Botton, uit De kunst van het reizen

Fish acknowledging their world got a little bit smaller.
Robert Sasarman (1BA)

Research: Sian Bonnell


Winter is gone and with it our hope will soon be gone too. (...) there is no return to the past. All we have are some memories that we cannot even trust.
Ana Lucía Fernández (1BA)

Marguerite Bornhauser, Plasic Colors


Outside the box.
Daria-Ana Oprean (1BA)

Research: Chema Mendoz

Noise off, past and present, no escape, I can breathe again.
Sarah Kirchner (1BA)

Research: Cang Xin, Communication Series, 1996-2006


We need to disconnect to ever reconnect.
Eva Thurman (2BA)

Research: Max Pinckers, Margins of Exess, 2018


When time stands still, it feels like nothing is going forward, but only the worse can get worse and that makes it difficult to see good changes happening. Things that we don’t notice very quick but things around us are still happening and changing very slow where we will maybe see vitamin see again.
Valentina Stellino (Alumnus)

Research: Laura Letinsky, Untitled #40 Rome, 2001


De smaak naar volkssoevereiniteit.
Ean De Maeyer (2BA)

Research: Stephen Shore Room 125, July 18, 1973


Today felt like a horrible day filled with sadness and i wish i hadn’t gotten out of bed this morning because my foot hurts and it won’t stop hurting.
Catherine Smet (1BA)

Research: Martin Parr


When I looked out the window I’ve realized that now we have been shelved.
Aron Viszló (2BA)

Research: Will McBride, Overpopulation, 1969


When your enemy becomes your best friend, the nature of this relationship transforms not only itself but your very perception of yourself as a whole.
Bruce Bomfim (2BA)

Research: Stephen Shore


When the only things around me are the ordinary, I’m waiting for my imagination to take over.
Anke Defossé (2BA)

Research: Takashiya Sumara, A Spice Rack, 1999


distressingly close
keep using those pretty lungs
Iris Maselis (1BA)

Research: Anna and Bernhard Blume, Küchenkoller - Kitchen Frenzy, 1986


The inside when its open.
Jaïr-Marc Castillo (1BA)

Research: Martin Parr, Space Dogs


Caught in an open trap.
Violeta López (MA)

Research: Maurizio Cattelan-Betsy, 2002











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