Perspectives - Bois de la Cambre
Brussels, Summer 2026
Before becoming a photographed object, this crate was put to work
It comes from the Frères Boch workshops in La Louvière and was used to transport items from the factory, particularly cups. The wood still bears the marks, inscriptions and signs of wear from that time.
For this series, the crate leaves the world of the workshop and travels to the Bois de la Cambre. It arrives there much as it might once have arrived somewhere after leaving the factory: carried, set down, loaded. First of all, the presence of the worker recalls what it once was — a humble object serving other objects.
Then, little by little, the crate reveals its secrets.
Its contents emerge, piece by piece. The objects are lifted out, take their place in the landscape, and begin another life.
Once the crate is empty, its role is not yet over. It in turn becomes a stand, an improvised table, the setting for a tea party, then a picnic. What once carried the crockery now hosts the gestures and objects it was originally designed to protect.
From one image to the next, the crate thus changes its status without ever losing the memory of its first existence.
Familiar objects become landscapes, details, traces of a story that everyone can continue in their own way.
The photographs follow this metamorphosis. The few words and haikus that accompany them offer alternative interpretations, between industrial heritage, displacement, and imagination.
From photograph to photograph, a thread takes shape: that of displacement and of the gaze. Seeing in a new light what we thought we knew. Letting the old object enter into dialogue with a place, a light, a season.

culture to be shared...

a picnic now can begin,
the forest welcomes.

reflected on a Boch teapot,
shadows drift away.

reflected on a Boch teapot,
shadows drift away.

cutlery catching the light,
a sated awakening.

madeleines gone dry with time,
and waiting grows strong.

realities out of step,
as if layered thin.

a Boch service left in grief,
the hours pass away.

and worry has joined the feast —
my dear guests, where are you?


so few, and yet...

the work of days gone by

a hand that would not yield...

by the raging kilns...

the work at last comes forth...

a gift of identity...