An ongoing series that commenced in 2018 is presently in its third iteration, delving into portraying the unseen, the invisible people of a city. In the latest installment, I increasingly focus on absence, the fleeting shimmer of someone who was once there, now vanished from sight, yet known to us as spectators. The inaugural series (2018) plays with the notion of things not entirely visible, while the second (2021) draws closer to the humanity we typically overlook during our daily commutes. The third (2023) builds on the concept of neglected 'homes,' as if someone once inhabited the photograph, with the hope of bringing the viewer closer to an awareness of this state of existence. As someone hyper-aware of the looming specter of homelessness, capturing these spaces deeply resonates with me; they illustrate the life of someone deserving more than the streets.

As a person of mixed Dutch and Iranian heritage, without a definitive place to call home, and having been in Brussels since 2013, I’m trying to call Brussels my home. However, inherent tension arises immediately, as never before have I been so confronted with the reality of life on the streets. While the idea of 'homelessness' has always lingered in the corners of my life, here in Brussels, I have witnessed a different reality— from Roma children brushing their teeth on the roadside to entire families concealed behind makeshift cardboard walls. The trajectory of the three series resembles an investigation: how does one communicate to the viewer the dire situation to which we have all grown accustomed? It is an ongoing quest for a visual language that seizes the viewer's attention, compelling them to pause and become cognizant of the tragedy in their surroundings, the human condition that drifts by in its own bubble.