The Silence and the Storm

The Statues in the Moor

After having taken many turns down little, country-side roads no-one ever passes and thought to have been lost at least a few times, you finally see the sign. “Tegner’s Museum”.  It shows you down an even more suspiciously abandoned dirt road. The November atmosphere didn’t make it any better. Just crows on the fields and a howl from the small metal gate caused by the continuous wind. It’s there to keep in the sheep. If it weren’t for them, the whole area would be forested. Not that I mind forest – you should know that by now – but the sheep help maintaining the moor. It’s a natural park and a museum at the same time. Spread out in the area closest to the museum building, you find several statues by Tegner. All with the same dramatic and somewhat unnerving character. Perhaps a mix of his Danish heritage and his more southern inspirations. They somehow look weirdly misplaced in the Danish landscape, yet somehow fit it perfectly…


Tegner’s Museum


The Old Main Road

My street is a narrow, countryside dirt road. Full of holes created by the (endless) rain.I know every little detail of that street. I used to walk or bike the whole thing to get to my grandparents’ farm. It’s long and straight. Now, there’s an even longer and straighter street parallel with it. New, with its concrete and no holes. But back in time, my old puddle-heaven used to be the main road. It connected the town of Frederiksværk with the fisherman village of Liseleje. And in between, there was the forest of Brødemose and my little town. A few farm houses. Some of them still stand. They date back to around 1600-1700. And they’re beautiful! If I end up settling in Scandinavia one day, I’d love to live in one of those…


Some Years After the Storm

In Denmark, there was a big storm a few years ago. I was safely hidden inside the Copenhagen apartment where, as a student, I was renting a room. In fact, the West Coast of Jutland was hit the worst. As always. It’s not a coincidence that the place is famous for (wind)surfing. But in my region, the northern part of the island Sjælland, it didn’t go unnoticed either. As you walk the forests, you will still see many fallen trees. Many have cut up for firewood. But here and there you’ll find paths that are impossible to pass or an unveiling of the impressive roots of a big tree. Nature has its ways…


My Danish Garden

My childhood garden is, like my childhood home, is a place full of little details to explore. It isn’t very cared for or very proper… but it’s beautiful that way! And it represents an oasis for all sorts of animals in a neighbourhood of increasingly bare and ‘perfect’ lawns. We have squirrels and foxes and an occasional deer stopping by. The latter, to the distress of our apple trees and my mum – but to the childish joy of me!


Somewhere Along the Coast

Liguria. Somewhere along the coast. The most charming little town. Difficult to reach. An excessive amount of bends and turns. And a view you won’t forget. “Somewhere along the coast”, what is your name??


The Love Stories of Noa

We haven’t left Liguria yet. In fact, now we’ve travelled a bit further down the coast. The name of the town I don’t remember… but I’ve been there once before when I was visiting Liguria for the first time with my then Italian boyfriend. But I adore it, that’s for sure. So many little details that I forget to look where I’m going. Accompanying  my this time is Noa. Oh yes, and Laura – the one at the end of Noa’s leash. Noa is a dog, by the way. The most friendly dog in the world. He’s also a bit of a charmeur. I’ve had lots of fun shooting the endless love stories of Noa as we went around in North Italy… I miss that little guy.


The Light of Last Year

These pictures were taken exactly one year ago. I was living in Italy. Apart from a few fading trees, it seems like summer. Sure, it is south. The spectacular Finale Liguria to be precise. But the light of that winter was out of this world. Warm, too. But it wasn’t a real winter. We were in t-shirts in the sun in November. I love the cold, the freezing, when you can see your own breath, the ice on the grass in the morning, the snow… But I have to say, I’ve never had as much light in my life as last year.


Twilight Walks in Winter

I guess it’s a kind of survival technique. When you walk in the Danish nature at this time of year you won’t see so terribly many colours. Even the autumn leaves are starting to give up a bit. Yet, my eyes are instantly drawn to those few burning red berries or stubborn plants. You have to dig a bit in the landscape, but they’re there. I’m on an introvert retreat in my home environment while writing my master thesis. I’m spending most of the day in my parents’ wooden, cabin-like, strange, little house in the countryside of North Zealand, Denmark. From my workstation, I’m in safe nearness of the fireplace. From the window, I see the little street and our neighbours’ beautiful, traditional house with thatched roof. In the afternoon, I go for my solitary walks in the forest or down to the coast. The nature is more raw than I remembered. Not because the conditions are as difficult as in those mountain tops I keep missing. But because it’s so bare. Hostile. Here and there, you see dead, old branches. They look a bit like old bones. Like the ones you see in fairy tales next to the yet-to-be-concured dragon. Some have been carried far away from the nearest tree by the strong wind. The cold wind. Chilling to the bone…. Yet, every afternoon I come home from those twilight walks with flushing, red cheeks and a big smile.


From Here to the Sea

It’s around 2 kilometers in a straight line. You can choose to walk through the forest or over the moorland. It’s a windy area. In the 16th century, it was disappearing under the massive amount of sand the wind brought from the coast. People fled their homes. It was not until the Danish king let a forest be planted there – Tisvilde Hegn (“The Fence of Tisvilde”) – that the desertification stopped. The soil is still very sandy. And the wind still as strong. A bit of snow fell yesterday, as I made my way to the sea. Small, hard flakes that didn’t stay for long. I didn’t have so much time before the sun would go down. The darkness came earlier than I remembered. I had been roaming around in the forest for a while, trying out tracks I didn’t know.Now,  I entered out in the open landscape of the moor. I wanted to catch a glimpse of the sea before turning back. It was around 16 PM when the sun set and the last rays of orange light fought its way through the heavy cover of clouds. Luckily, it’s easy to find your way home from there. With the sea and the wind in my back, I kept to the path and headed towards the little, glittering lights of my birth-town Asserbo.


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