About the photo (no AI, made in 2016):
Can love for a child who does not yet exist lead to the decision never to let that child be born?
I once had names in mind, I dreamed, and I pictured a future with a son and/or daughter. But years of bullying because of my excessive body hair, followed by depression, fundamentally changed that desire. I ended up in a dark period in which my fear became greater than my hope: the fear that my children might inherit my physical traits and, with them, my suffering. That is something I absolutely do not want to inflict on a child.

About the project: Theatre of (Dis)Comfort and Growth
Excessive body hair has been part of my life since childhood. It led to bullying, shame, and an inferiority complex that turned into depression. My body became something to hide.
At 32, something small happened. After a night shift, exhausted, a neighbor looked at my arm and said: “Wow, you have a lot of hair on your arm.” He meant no harm, but it hit me hard.
Weeks later, well-rested on a beautiful day, a classmate said exactly the same thing: “Wow, so much hair on your arm.” This time I laughed and replied: “You haven’t seen my balls yet.”
The same remark. Two completely different reactions.
That’s when I understood: it’s not only about what others say, but about how I see myself in that moment.
I knew the principle of exposure. Afraid of spiders? Pick one up. Afraid of heights? Seek the height. Not to punish yourself, but to discover that the fear is bigger than the danger.
What if I did the same with my insecurity?
Instead of hiding my body, I decided to make it visible. Not a little, but big. I grew my hair out. I grew a beard – something I had never done before. I had never had long hair, I had never seen myself bald. For the first time, I consciously experimented with how I could be seen.
I had always said: think big, start small. Now it was time to think big and act big.
That’s how Theatre of (Dis)Comfort and Growth was born.
It became a photographic experiment where I am the subject, the actor, and the set. Through different roles, transformations, humor, absurdity and theatrical images, I explored what happens when you stop hiding what you are ashamed of.
For each of the seven final images, I wrote a screenplay/callsheet of at least four pages. With 20 volunteers and 20 sponsors, we worked from 09:00AM to 01:00AM. The result: seven images and a making-of.
In the end, it was never just about hair.
It was about shame, fear, self-image, vulnerability, and the freedom to show yourself as you are.
Growth doesn’t always start when you feel stronger. Sometimes it starts when you decide to stop hiding your weakness.
I no longer wanted my insecurity to define how I saw myself.
I wanted to look it straight in the eye.