The Details

“Nothing that came from her hands was incomplete, she focused her care on every physical object in the world, and when I came to a party, I could tell right away whether she was there or not, because her shoes were always neatly stored in the shoe cabinet or in a corner next to the chaos of shoes of the rest. Her hands naturally created pleasure in their movements, there was tenderness towards the objects, which in turn seemed to be brought to life by her. When she told me that the sparkling water machine she had received as a gift from a customer was ugly, she told me in a soft voice so that the object in question would not hear it and feel insulted, and when she put the thing in a cabinet that already contained a plastic coffee maker, a microwave oven and a number of other ugly kitchen equipment, she did so, as it were, gently and with the same systematic inspiration with which she redecorated furniture and tended her father's grave, in an eternal respect for all the details of physical existence.”

This fragment from Ia Genberg’s “De Details” (2022, 114) moves me every time I read it. It resonates deeply with how I think, observe, and interact with the world. What stays with me is the narrator's ability to recognize her friend’s presence – not by the appearance of her shoes, but by their placement. That subtle awareness feels both loving and precise.

It makes me think of my own friends and the way they handle objects around them with unintentional tenderness. I can close my eyes and see one of them in her kitchen, her touch a quiet collaboration with each utensil. Or I remember the moment another friend, when her laptop froze, gently pressed her forehead to the screen and stroked it – as if soothing it. And the way she holds the small brush while painting my nails: every movement is a small act of affection.

When I reflect on my different projects – and even on these blog posts – a clear pattern emerges: I return again and again to the relationship between people and the objects that surround them. This connection is something I find endlessly compelling. Photography, for me, is a way of preserving that connection. It’s a tool for keeping, remembering, capturing – a way to trace what was once there, if only for a moment. I turn to the camera to honor the beauty in the mundane, to give attention to the spaces, objects, and gestures that, though small, speak volumes about who we are.

Marens van Leunen is part of »Guest Room: Aaron Stern«

Check out her Artist Feature Helmersstraat.