For Vrij Nederland's summer issue we shot a series about the recent efforts that are made to save the black-tailed godwit, or grutto. This famous Dutch meadow bird's numbers have been dwindling at an alarming rate due to the destruction of their habitat. Scientists, government, businesses, and farmers are coming together to reverse the process, but the task ahead is daunting at best.
In all my life as a half-Brazilian, I have never visited the jungle proper. But now, I have the unique opportunity to live with a tribe of natives for three weeks in the Amazonian state Acre, near the Peruvian border, where I will spend day-to-day life with them, and go on as many hunts as I can to create the next chapter of my project Isabella Hunts.
After five flights and a 7 to 20-hour boat ride—depending on water levels—and without electricity or running water, I'll be as offline as can be, so no new posts til I come out the other end! So what does one pack for such an adventure? Only the bare necessities of course. Plus plenty of nail polish. Haux!
For the occasion of the tenth anniversary of Dutch hip-hop group De Jeugd van Tegenwoordig, they published a book, which features photos I took of them while I followed them on the road.
Quote sent me out to cover the gatherings of young supporters of the arts, at the classical ballet and a private viewing of the Rembrandt exhibit at the Rijksmuseum.
"We tear back to the farm and Sjoerd mentions that he has received a text from his friend, who is stationed in a blind a couple of fields over. According to the text, Franz Joseph is down—”a joke, obviously,” he says. Finishing a hunt in a matter of 15 minutes rarely occurs, and we can hardly believe it just happened to us. But as we drive past his hunting blind, we notice the hunter’s car is gone. Why would he leave so soon if he hadn’t shot anything? And who is Franz Joseph anyway? When we get to the farm, we pull up to the garage. Every hunter is gathered around an enormous body suspended from the ceiling. The neck and head are draped on the floor while gargantuan antlers jut out across the room. Today was Franz Joseph’s last day. ... "
Campaign for smoke-free bars & restaurants in the Netherlands
"Hunting season is coming to an end so I’m going on one last big game hunt in Germany. I’ll be hunting deer, boar, and other large mammals with Sjoerd Evenhuis, a young guy who runs “Wild van Wild,” a company that turns wild animals into charcuterie, stews, and other delicacies and delivers them to high-end restaurants and stores in Amsterdam. Sjoerd is the first hunter I’ve met from my generation in Amsterdam. As I’ve mentioned before, hunting in Holland is hardly an urban (or youthful) affair, so it’s a rare pleasure to meet someone like him. And just like me, he’s in it for the food. ... "
For Vrij Nederland's entirely female-produced issue, I photographed cardiologist Hariëtte Verwey, who researches the differences between heart failure in women and men.
This hunting season I got the cover of Volkskrant's Vonk, for a very interesting interview with wildlife biologist and hunter Geert Groot Bruinderink, who has an unusual take on the reasons behind hunting.
Vice Magazine now has a platform for food-inspired journalism: Munchies. In their column "hunter-gatherer", my first piece was just published on duck hunting with Dutch aristocrats. Check out the first article about duck hunting with Dutch aristocrats. Stick around for the next issue about duck sausage making!
Quote Magazine sent me to the coast of Croatia and Montenegro for a summer special. Here is a sneak preview of two rare Montenegrin beauties at the grand opening of a hotel in the local yacht harbor. More to follow!
Literary journal Cooper Street recently published my short story "The Hilton", a short piece about brain throbbing, eyeball awareness and other travel delights. Read the full story here!
9:04 PM. My flight was uneventful. No delays, no customs trouble, no luggage left behind. I wore my most comfortable airplane ensemble, repeatedly lathered my face with cream and hydrated constantly. Still, my brain feels swollen, throbbing numbly. A buzzing sound follows me across the airport terminal.
My glassy eyes will only focus the second after I squint them super hard, so I grind into them with my fists. I try to calculate how many hours I’ve been awake, but there’s a time difference I can’t figure out because I’ve been awake for however many hours it is I’m unable to calculate.
9:14 PM. In line at Avis Rent-A-Car. The light has the same sickly fluorescent glow now as at 4 AM, so even if my watch can tell what time it is, my body can’t. The only thing I’m really aware of is that my eyes are opened very widely. I stare at my green-hued reflection in the brown windows, blinking like an owl, until it’s my turn.
Who knows how long this takes—all of a sudden I’m facing a girl whose name I read off her tag and forget instantly. The light renders the color of her hair so drab I can’t put a name to it either. The girl asks me “Higoodeveninghowareyoutonightdidyouhaveaniceflight?”