In collaboration with The Milena Principle. During this residency, I worked on a short film, currently in development, shaped by walking and listening in the landscape of Beveren and alongside its local community. Walking was my way of arriving slowly in a place and letting its people and its history speak. The work continues my research on walking, oral history, and grief, and asks how places and the people who live in them hold loss.
During this residency, I worked on a short film along with 4 co-directors, called Made Out of Pine. A marine archaeologist studies an old navy ship from the 1800s and uncovers the secrets of its past, including how the ship's chemicals affected the island's ecosystem. The film is about what a ship leaves behind long after it has gone: slow damage to water, land, and living things.
I approached the film through walking, moving slowly along the shore and paying attention to what remains, what has changed and what has quietly disappeared. It connects to my wider research on ecological grief, walking and loss, where I think about grief not only for people but also for places and ecosystems.
Worked on a short film called Mother, they took me away
One of the last shamans in the mountains of Pakistan walks from village to village, keeping his ancestral practices alive. As he moves through the landscape, helping others carry their pain, he is also confronted with a grief of his own. His walking becomes a passage between villages, between generations, and between the living and the lost. Through his journey, the film explores grief, faith, healing, and the ways people carry what cannot be easily spoken.
During my residency at Tasweerghar in Lahore, I made small boxes of memory using photographs, objects, and fragments of text. I walked through Lahore, collecting impressions and encounters from the city and letting these walks become part of the work. I also visited the Wagah border between India and Pakistan. Standing at this highly tense and symbolic border made me think about separation, memory, identity, and the stories that places can hold. The residency became a way for me to collect and connect personal memories with the histories and atmosphere of a place.
In the remote mountains of Nepal, along the Annapurna Circuit, lies the village of Marpha. During a two-month residency with the Mapha Foundation, I spent several days walking through the surrounding valleys, following trails and moving between villages. Along the way, I wrote, photographed, observed, and mapped the landscape through my own encounters with it.
The walks became a way of slowly getting to know the valley—not only its geography, but also the traces, objects, stories, and small details found along the way.
The residency resulted in three forms of memory: a collection of writings, a wooden box containing things I found during my walks, and a series of photographs documenting the journey.
Together, these works form a personal map of Marpha—not simply a map of places and routes, but a record of walking, noticing, collecting, and remembering.
WALKING AND ATTACHING: TEACHING AS A FORM OF HEALING
Teaching in the mountains of Pakistan became an extension of my own walking practice a way of moving through landscape while building relationships with place, community, and one another. In Hunza and Gilgit-Baltistan, I worked with children through drawing, painting, photography, and walking, allowing the landscapes they inhabited to become both our classroom and our material.
We walked together through valleys, along rivers, and across mountain paths, paying attention to what the landscape revealed through movement. Mountains, stones, plants, water, and everyday encounters became points of departure for making and imagining. Through walking, we learned to look slowly, to notice, and to become attached to the places around us.
For me, this practice was not simply about teaching artistic skills. It was about creating a space where walking, making, and being together could become forms of care. The act of walking alongside another person creates time for listening, observing, and connecting, both to the landscape and to each other.
Teaching therefore became a form of shared healing: not something I was giving to the children, but something we entered into together through movement, attention, and artistic practice. Walking became a way of reconnecting with the land, with imagination, and with the possibility of seeing familiar places differently.