HEDA & HAVA

Hasselt, 2015 - “I first encountered Heda and Hava on my way to the supermarket. They were riding small blue bicycles along the pavement in front of their house - two identical figures in light‑pink dresses and darker‑pink jackets, their long blonde hair lifting in the wind. I didn’t yet know their names, only that they moved with the easy synchrony of children who have never learned to be separate.

On my way back, I saw them again. This time they were hopping, laughing, pulling wildflowers from the roadside. The moment they noticed me staring, they darted indoors like startled cats. Their older sister appeared in the doorway, hands planted firmly on her hips, her expression open but alert.

I asked whether these girls were her sisters. She nodded. I asked whether I might photograph them. Her suspicion softened into curiosity, and she agreed.

The next day, Heda and Hava stood before my lens. They didn’t speak. They hardly smiled. They simply did what I asked, as if the act of being photographed was familiar to them. When we finished, I asked whether they could return next year — and the year after that — so I could photograph them again. They nodded without hesitation, then pedaled away on their blue bicycles, disappearing as quietly as they had arrived.”

This series begins with that first encounter: a brief, delicate moment in which two children allowed themselves to be seen, and a photographer understood that the story would unfold slowly, year by year.