But my first half of 2025 was a total disaster.
The knee problems came back. And not just a little knee pain, but the real deal. At times, I couldn't walk at all. What followed were more doctor visits than in the previous ten years combined. I became a permanent fixture in waiting rooms. At least at the orthopedist's office, there aren't any coughing germ factories sitting around.
Soft piano music drifts from the speakers. My thoughts wander. I'm used to the waiting by now. I think about how my piano teacher broke up with me when I was about 14. After roughly two years of lessons, I come to him, dutifully hand over his 10 marks at the end of the session, and he says dryly: "That was your last piano lesson today." Me, suddenly dismissed. I still have to laugh about it. I simply wasn't good enough, and his talent was too precious to waste on desperately trying to teach me piano.
My thoughts drift further. Eventually I wonder what the editorial meeting at MTV must have been like when the program director announced his news: "Listen up, folks, from now on we're not showing music videos in the evening anymore. We're just going to air SpongeBob instead. I think it's hilarious. We're just going to roll with it." What must that have been like?
Then my neighbor distracts me. Something keeps flashing on her smartphone. She's glued to the screen like an addict. I do the math. If you spend four hours a day on TikTok or Instagram, only six days remain from a seven-day week. You've wasted an entire day. Insane.
The phrase "happy place" pops into my head. I thought it was nice when someone recently told me the karaoke bar was his happy place, and just as I'm wondering whether I have a happy place too, my name is called.
In July, I took matters into my own hands. Decided I was going to get healthy again. That I would completely heal myself. I radically changed my diet (vegetables, vegetables, vegetables) and lost 22 pounds. When my hairdresser asked if I was taking weight-loss injections, I had to laugh. No, I'm living super healthy now. I'd already banished sugar a while ago, same with alcohol. But since this isn't a health blog, I'll spare you the details. Just this: my new self feels damn good.
But enough of the vegetable gospel. The second half of the year was intense, in a positive way. Finally being able to work properly again!
Katherine in front of the camera was like hitting the reset button on my creative soul. She inspired me so much that we spontaneously brought Tenerife into play.
I'm already looking forward to photographing her there in 2026.
And then Aleksandra. We laughed our heads off. She actually had a penis tattooed on the sole of her foot. I mean, who does that? "So I always know what I stand for," she said dryly. I had to put the camera down from laughing so hard.
Because the year had slowed me down so much earlier, I really hit the gas in fall. Four models, three weeks in Fuerteventura. What could go wrong? Everything, as it turned out. At 4 AM, the refrigerator exploded. Not metaphorically, but with an actual bang and flash.
The cockroaches interpreted this as an invitation for a house tour.
My Spanish neighbor (let's call him Antonio) easily managed 40,000 words a day. The sheer number would have been bearable if he hadn't screamed every single one of them. After three nights, I knew more about his private life than I ever wanted. I even knew his wife's cycle by then, because that was the only time there was a ceasefire in their bedroom next door.
The karaoke bar across the street became my personal antechamber to hell. Drunk tourists belted out "The Power of Love" on repeat. My happy place? Definitely somewhere else.
Still: 1 TB of image material. Shorts weather, sunshine, four completely different personalities in front of the camera. One is extremely shy and doesn't want to be seen by strangers even from a distance; the other walks to the bakery naked (okay, that's an exaggeration, but you get the idea).
One does nothing without my instructions; the other hates it when I talk too much. After 15 years in this job, it still surprises me how good I've become at adapting to each type.
Like a chameleon, only with a camera.
Same area every year, but please, no repetitions. That's the challenge. Sure, the models are the focus, their beauty is the star, not my photographic antics. Still, I haul half a costume rental shop to Fuerteventura every time. The cowboy boots alone felt like they weighed more than my own clothes this year.
I always arrive a few days before the models, cruising around in the rental car, scouting new locations. Sometimes I discover places just three meters from the main road that look like they're from another universe.
In November, it's too cool for the sacred golden hour — you know, that magical time when photographers get misty-eyed. Instead, I work in the harsh midday sun. Blasphemy, I know. Colleagues would stone me. But it works, I promise. I still experience the perfect light though, when I drive the models home in the evenings. Full moon, empty roads, and my photographer's heart bleeds a little because I'm experiencing these moments through the windshield instead of the viewfinder.
On my day off, I stumbled upon a Christmas village in the middle of Fuerteventura. 81 degrees, palm trees, and right in the middle a 75-foot Christmas tree made of crocheted granny squares. Hundreds of colorful squares, lovingly crocheted together by grandmas (and presumably a few grandpas too). Surreal and wonderful at the same time. Just like this whole crazy year.
Thank you so much for your support, whether through books, calendars, or as loyal Patreon members. Without you, I'd probably still be sitting in that waiting room thinking about failed piano lessons. Have a great New Year!