When I turn the camera on myself, it is not just because I am often alone but because my sick body - with its scars, metal implants, and fragility - is the landscape I know best. Frida Forever is based on my forthcoming book, to be published by Disko Bay in January 2025. The project sheds light on life as disabled and chronically ill, along with the many challenges that come with it. In 2012, I was in an accident that broke my back and left me paralyzed. Additionally, I have experienced cell changes, leading to over a hundred surgeries, countless medical treatments, and radiation therapy. I have spent more than half of my adult life in hospitals. Through photographic self-portraits and images from my hospital stays, I document the life of illness and contrast it with the vibrant, youthful life outside hospital walls. The project unveils the hidden aspects of living with illness and disability, often invisible to others, and challenges what it means to be young and chronically ill. Frida Forever embraces the intersection of being young and sick - or both at once. From the sterile surroundings of the hospital to energetic snapshots of life beyond, the work employs a raw yet playful photographic expression to tell a deeply personal and vulnerable story. For me, it has been a necessity to shape my identity in the liminal space between illness and health. It has been a fragmented process of trying to construct my sense of self within a vacuum of normalcy. Photography becomes my mirror - a way to capture the fragmented parts of myself and my identity. Through the lens of the camera, I reclaim a sense of control and create a narrative where I am not just a patient but also a curator, reshaping the gaze of illness into something deeply personal and meaningful. I live in the borderlands between the healthy and the sick, and it is in these spaces that my project has taken shape - a testament to life on both sides of the hospital walls. Frida Forever is not only a depiction of illness; it is also a story of youth, freedom, and the vulnerability of the human body.

On a hill at the end of a long gravel road far away from society lies Moldova's biggest institution for adults with mental and physical disabilities. Here live approximately 300 adults with varying degrees of disabilities, outside the small village of Bădiceni. This story captures their daily life. Gate guarded around the clock, this institution is supposed to be a temporary home for people, before reintegrating into society. However, the graveyard just a stone's throw away tells another story. The people in Bădiceni mostly are diagnosed with skitzofrenia, mental retardation, and dementia. Many of them have lived much of their lives in institutions, and very few have family who visit them. Large institutions remain a part of society in Moldova, even 30 years after the fall of the Soviet Union. Almost 1700 patients are still placed in these institutions despite Moldova's deinstitutionalization efforts in the last ten years. UN’s OHCHR has critiqued the institutions for the use of forced medication, isolation of patients, and examples of violence against patients. As Moldova entered membership negotiations with the European Union in December 2023, the country plans to reform this kind of treatment for people with disabilities. However, Human Rights NGO's criticize that plan as vague, inactionable, and underfunded. The goal is to have removed half of the patients living in these kinds of institutions by the end of 2026, relocating them into small houses in countryside villages instead.

In Filling in the Gaps, artist Marcus Gustafsson delves into the deeply personal and complex story of his father’s alcoholism, exploring its impact on himself, his family, and even his father. This project is a symbol of Marcus attempting to reconcile fragmented memories—his own and those of others—to better understand the circumstances that shaped his life and relationships. At its heart, the work is also an attempt at healing, where Marcus seeks to rebuild a connection with his divided family. He reflects: “We still call each other father, son, and brother, but it has been a very long time since those titles held meaning. What we’ve been through has pushed us away from one another, and to some extent, from ourselves. It’s been a necessity for survival.” The project confronts the dualities of growing up with an alcoholic parent: the struggle to break free while remaining tethered to a shared history, the chaos of a fractured family, and the void left when the family’s unifying figure passes away. Filling in the Gaps examines how addiction alters the inner workings of familial relationships, leaving lasting marks and challenging the possibility of ever moving forward. Marcus utilises photography as his primary medium, combining original imagery of his family with archival photographs from the families photo albums. The archival family images are physically manipulated through painting, taping, and drawing. The artist’s manipulation of the photos transforms them into both intimate acts of reclamation and sites of inquiry. Through his childlike, gestural approach, Marcus symbolically reclaims memories that originally belonged to others, infusing them with his own voice and agency. The process reflects a vulnerable yet powerful reimagining of his family’s shared history, filtered through the lens of his own experience. Filling in the Gaps is an emotionally charged exploration of trauma, memory, and reconciliation, underscoring how process and diving into memories of a troubled past can serve as a means of understanding, and making peace with the story.

In 1945, Allied forces uncovered old ammunition shacks hidden within a dense forest in central Germany. These structures, constructed by the National Socialists during the 1930s, originally served as facilities for manufacturing and storing ammunition. Following the end of World War II, the shacks were repurposed— initially as a camp for war refugees and later transformed into a modern planned settlement for displaced persons. Over time, the settlement evolved into the town of Espelkamp.In post-war Germany, many viewed the influx of refugees with suspicion and hostility, often fueled by xenophobia. Despite this, the refugees made significant contributions to the „economic miracle“ of the 1950s, helping to rebuild a nation in ruins. Espelkamp became a celebrated example of successful integration, known for its remarkable diversity and resilience.Today, Espelkamp once again finds itself at a crossroads. In recent years, hundreds of refugees from Syria, Libya, and Iraq have sought safety and a new beginning in the town. Yet this new wave of migration has brought with it a resurgence of hostility. Attacks on shelters, graffiti bearing far-right symbols, and a surge in support for the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party in local elections signal a troubling echo of past prejudices. Espelkamp’s story feels like history repeating itself. A town once heralded as a beacon of integration now grapples with the same forces of division and xenophobia it once seemingly overcame. The town’s evolving story serves as a microcosm for the broader, persistent presence of fascist ideologies worldwide—manifesting not as singular, historical events, but as recurring phenomena that adapt to new contexts and generations.„Where there is a will…“ captures this unsettling continuity, transforming the town into a metaphorical canvas on the verge of being set aflame.