On my 37th birthday, I faced a deeply emotional and symbolic moment: the tree planted in my honor at my birth in the garden of my parents house had to be felled. This tree was more than just a plant to me; it was a living testament to my life, a legacy I had hoped to share with my future grandchildren. Its looming presence had always been a comforting, steadfast part of my existence.

However, when my father developed a severe allergy to its pollen, the reality of its removal hit me hard. It wasn't just about the tree; it was a stark reminder of my own mortality. The day I photographed the tree for the last time, capturing its grandeur for a life-size print, was bittersweet. Documenting its felling in still photographs felt like chronicling the end of an era.

The news from the landscape gardener that the tree was sick and needed to be removed regardless of the allergy felt eerily symbolic. It mirrored my own fears about the diseases and ailments that might affect me as I age. The tree's sickness and its inevitable end made me confront my own vulnerabilities and the finite nature of life. Its preserved wood now serves as a poignant reminder of this moment of realization, a tangible connection to the impermanence and fragility of existence.

Working Period:

2012