The night and I have a love-hate relationship.

These are my night diaries. Years of nights I couldn’t sleep, filled with Polaroids, paint, lace and a few words.

Not everything in them is ready to be seen. But some pages are.

De liefde is eeuwig en het leven is eeuwig, en de rest is slechts een horizon; en een horizon is niets anders dan de begrenzing van ons gezichtsveld.

Love is eternal and life is eternal, and the rest is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing but the limit of our sight.

After a prayer attributed to William Penn

Missing someone changes everything.

Not in what is there,

but in what is missing.

And it stays.

In Dutch, a nachtvlinder is a woman who lives at night.

After a period of deep grief, I began to wander at night.

It’s dark. No one sees me. In that anonymity, my feelings run free.

The night confronts me and sets me free at the same time.

The night is my friend.

She runs, plays, does as she pleases.

That freedom was won by the women before her.

Strong and independent.

But not everywhere.

And not for everyone.

The child in me doesn’t think. She just does.

Present, unrestrained, sometimes awkward, always honest.

Not a theme, but a source. Not an explanation, but energy.

Unpolished. Intuitive. My own.