Two years after the pandemic struck, what can still be said that has not already been said, both in words and images? Nothing much, really. Empty streets, the sound of birds in empty skies, tourists locked on boats erring around in far-flung seas, deserted airports - we have seen or heard it all. 

It took me a while to get to grips with the photos I have taken in this period. I was not happy with them, nor was I happy with the situation. As everyone else, I was stuck at home most of the time, with the occasional walk around the block in the dystopian world that greeted us outside. 

And yet, there was a moment there that allowed us to take a deep breath, figuratively not literally, to inspect ourselves and our lives. These lives, they could have been artificially shortened thanks to the virus, and suddenly all the relationships we entertained with friends and family had to be put on hold, given some distance, and inspected. Were there pandemic deniers among them? Secret worshippers of hydroxychloroquine? Closet conspiracy theorists? Or just born homebodies like us? 

In the end, we could only stay sane by focusing on ourselves and our immediate environment. As a photographer, my flat suddenly became my studio, and once all the still lives and family portraits were out of the way, a mysterious new way of finding expression slowly emerged…