A few years back, a friend of mine decided to build a wooden sailing boat. It took him three years just to build all parts of the hull in a 6x3m garage. In October 2007, the frame was finally assembled in a hangar in our local yacht marina. I was hooked by the beauty of the boat’s skeleton and spent hours crawling between the frames, together with my friend the boat builder, and a growing number of visitors.

The ugly hangar progressively turned into a place of worship, where people came to pay their respect to a man who chose wood instead of plastic. It was a place rather like a concert hall, echoing the sounds made by the tools, the boat builder and his friends, their thoughts and jokes, as well as the comments of bystanders.

After two years, the boat was turned into an upright position and moved from the hangar to an open space for completion. Although this was a highly anticipated moment and she was far from being finished, all the magic had suddenly gone for me. I felt my job as a photographer was finished. The symphony was over, the haunting bass line of the hangar disappeared, together with the melody of the hull and keel. The boat would make its own music in the future.

Birth of a Ship is my attempt to convey the atmosphere created by the clash of warm, pliable wood with cold, stiff concrete; the elegance of the boat’s frame and the awkwardness of the hangar, both products of human creativity and thought, completely unalike, and yet strangely beautiful when superimposed upon each other.

(To be published as an artist book)