Two figures stand separated by a gravestone and iron crosses in a coastal cemetery.

LØKKEN, DENMARK57°22'26"N 9°43'08"E · MARCH · EDITORIAL STUDY

A KIND OF SILENCE

Nobody had lost anyone. I still wanted to make photographs about grief.

Chris from Sturmsucht and I were teaching See Feel Create near Løkken in March 2025. He showed me a small cemetery by the coast. The two people we were photographing had brought black clothes. The wind was fucking brutal. My first thought was grief.

I gave them one situation. One person sits on a bench in a cemetery and waits for the other. I did not tell them who had been lost or what the loss was supposed to mean. I wanted to see what they would do with the space between those facts.

These photographs do not document an actual loss. I constructed the scene during a workshop. The wind made their eyes water and turned standing still into work. Between photographs they laughed and had fun. Both things happened. Leaving that out would make the pictures look more truthful than they are.

A wind-shaped tree and solitary gravestone above the grey North Sea near Løkken.
Rows of weathered gravestones in a small coastal cemetery in Denmark.
An iron chain crosses a field of old gravestones near Løkken.
One person sits on a cemetery bench while another stands behind them near the sea.
A windblown person in black holds a hand to their chest in the cemetery.
Two people dressed in black sit apart on a wooden cemetery bench.
Two hands meet lightly beside folds of black clothing.Clasped hands rise near a windblown face while another person stands out of focus.
One tearful person faces the camera while another stands directly behind them.
Two black-clad figures stand apart between large gravestones under a pale sky.
Two figures stand separated by a gravestone and iron crosses in a coastal cemetery.

Why grief? My father died in 2007. I have lost friends since. None of that was the conscious reason for making these photographs. I saw the cemetery, the black clothes and the storm, and the idea was simply there. But grief does not stay in the year when someone dies. It goes quiet, changes shape and turns up again when it feels like it.

There is another part of this that is less dramatic and probably just as relevant. I have listened to The Cure since the late eighties and played a ridiculous amount of Joy Division. For years I carried an idea for an editorial that borrowed something from the dark romantic world of The Crow. I never made it. Maybe some of that was still sitting in the back of my head when Chris showed me the cemetery.

We seem comfortable showing affection when everyone is smiling. Grief makes people awkward, so it gets pushed into private rooms and treated as something that should eventually be finished. I do not think it works like that. Losing someone does not cancel the connection. The absence exists because the connection did.

Two people in black hold each other tightly as the wind moves their hair.
A bent tree frames the rough grey North Sea below the cemetery.
Two small figures embrace behind a weathered fence and bare branches.
Black shoes walk through dry grass beside an old wooden fence.
A person covers their face with one hand while standing opposite another person in black.
Two people holding each other are partly obscured by iron cemetery railings.
One person holds another from behind as strong wind presses against their black clothing.
A windblown person opens their mouth while being held between dark tree trunks.
Two people stand in a quiet embrace framed by branches and gravestones.
Two distant figures embrace beside a bare coastal hedge and gravestone.
An eroded Danish cliff drops toward the rough North Sea.
Two people hold each other behind a screen of bare coastal branches.
A windblown person is held from behind among bare branches.
Two people in black look in different directions while standing close in the wind.
Hands hold a black-clad torso while another hand rests against a chest.
Two distant figures stand together among dune scrub and blurred branches.
Two figures stand apart beneath a wide pale sky near Løkken.

I chose these frames hard afterwards. Most of the laughter disappeared from the final sequence. That was a decision, not proof that the day felt the way the photographs look.

I still care about the work because it lets affection be heavy without explaining the weight away. In the last photograph, the two figures are standing apart again. I still do not know who they were waiting for.

A Kind of Silence is a conceptual photographic study made near Løkken, Denmark, in March 2025. Bjørn developed the cemetery scene while teaching the See Feel Create workshop with Chris from Sturmsucht. The two unnamed participants were given an open fictional situation about waiting and loss. The photographs do not document a real bereavement. Through constructed portraiture, coastal weather and a tightly chosen sequence, the work examines why grief is often hidden while joy is allowed to represent the full range of human affection.

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