Tristine, my first macro photograph, was taken on a sad morning. The sky was as gloomy as my thoughts. I sat at the kitchen table and after my second coffee all I wanted to do was go back to bed, pull the covers over my head. My empty gaze stared out the kitchen window as if remotely controlled. Suddenly I found myself in a completely different world. Deep black and beautiful, I saw all my despair in a single little raindrop. Suddenly I was with myself again. Suddenly I felt understood. Suddenly I was no longer alone in my grief. Fascinated and magnetically attracted, I opened the door to the garden and stepped out to capture this gift of nature forever.

Soon I had found in the rain a friend in the loneliness of grief and the hopelessness of parting. Gray rainy days became my allies and gave me the backdrop for countless more photographs. I could participate in life again, had to be awake and present to capture these ephemeral phenomena in the wind, rain and cold. Raindrops became my faithful companions. They were there for me, always and at any time, then when I needed them. Like beings from another time, never asking, expecting nothing, unlike the many good people to whom I no longer found access.

The first images of the series Drops of Hope reflected the first stages of my grieving process. Shock, disbelief, anger, frustration, hopelessness, deep sadness and depression became visible, tangible and experienced. These drops became witnesses to my saying goodbye, to me giving farewell to my star child, Chris († 30/12/2015).