June 19th and 29th I will be shooting some portraits in Amsterdam (and Zaanstad) and I still have a couple of spots available. PM for prices. ❤️
June 19th and 29th I will be shooting some portraits in Amsterdam (and Zaanstad) and I still have a couple of spots available. PM for prices. ❤️
June 19th and 29th I will be shooting some portraits in Amsterdam (and Zaanstad) and I still have a couple of spots available. PM for prices. ❤️
June 19th and 29th I will be shooting some portraits in Amsterdam (and Zaanstad) and I still have a couple of spots available. PM for prices. ❤️
June 19th and 29th I will be shooting some portraits in Amsterdam (and Zaanstad) and I still have a couple of spots available. PM for prices. ❤️
June 19th and 29th I will be shooting some portraits in Amsterdam (and Zaanstad) and I still have a couple of spots available. PM for prices. ❤️
January 24th I will be shooting some portraits in Amsterdam and I still have a couple of spots available. PM for prices. ❤️
January 24th I will be shooting some portraits in Amsterdam and I still have a couple of spots available. PM for prices. ❤️
January 24th I will be shooting some portraits in Amsterdam and I still have a couple of spots available. PM for prices. ❤️
January 24th I will be shooting some portraits in Amsterdam and I still have a couple of spots available. PM for prices. ❤️
No.1 or No.2? Randy with his dog a couple of months ago. Wish I could be there now. ❤️
No.1 or No.2? Randy with his dog a couple of months ago. Wish I could be there now. ❤️
Episode 6, Wichita Falls, Texas From the interstate, I see a dilapidated, yellow motel flash by on my right. I don’t really feel like stopping, but the fear of missing out takes over. When I park my car a little later, I spot a pregnant girl hanging in the doorway of her room in the distance. I try to remember her room number, but – unsurprisingly – end up standing in front of the wrong door. Instead of the expected pregnant teenager, a very skinny man opens the door. “Come in.” He moves slowly, and I’m surprised he can still walk. Discreetly, I try to sit on an open plastic bag so that my bare legs don’t touch the chair’s grubby seat. I’mm embarrassed by my behavior, and as a compromise, I smile particularly kindly at the man. John’s is his name. By now, he – like many others – has been living here for a few years, waiting for a better life. “Do you happen to know if a pregnant girl lives here?” I ask him. “Two doors down.” Everyone knows everybody. Motels here are like villages. Girl located. Savannah (18) has been living in this room with her two siblings, father, boyfriend, two dogs, and a lizard-like animal for two years. Before this, they did motel-hopping, and before that, they lived in a car. “How did you guys end up in this situation?” I ask them. The stories that follow are not only too big for a few small paragraphs, but certainly for the short lives of these young people. There is much suffering to be found in this 12m2 motel room. From being born into addiction, to maternal death from diabetes. From not wanting to live to not being able to live the way you want. From a kid having a kid to a dad wanting to die. In the evening, Savannah asks if I want to photograph her in the bathtub. The bathroom walls are clammy. The bathtub rim is slippery. I stand on my toes and press my buttocks firmly against the wall, hoping my feet won’t show in the frame below me. Savannah is floating in the water calmly and seemingly carefree. Her self-made pink dress clings to her porcelain skin. The sharp nails surround what she holds dear. “I am terrified, but everything will be okay.”
Divine. 🧜♀️
Robin as The Receptionist, Raton, New Mexico. For her new project The Receptionist, De Puy dives into the role of motel/hotel receptionist. Having grown up in a hotel herself, she knows the role of the receptionist all too well, because it is something she has done since childhood. Many people have shared their stories with her: where they have come from, and what they have experienced. Sometimes, it is not so much about the stories as it is about the contact itself; finally, someone who will listen to you. A motel owner from Raton, New Mexico, casually pointed the importance of motels out to De Puy: “You know, you have to realize that we are probably the only representatives to our city for a visitor. Because they stay with us and probably have no contact with anyone else, except maybe the guy at the gas station or the staff at the restaurant. In fact, we have a responsibility to make sure that we can help people, be their friend, whatever their needs are. We are connected.” And that is exactly how it feels for De Puy and what still rings true to her. A motel — or a hotel — is a place where there will always be someone there to lend an ear if you need one, regardless of your ideas, views, or opinions. When De Puy travels, she actually does the same thing. She first goes to the person behind the reception desk of the motel/hotel. A motel is an inexhaustible source of stories, a place where you can be curious, where you can withdraw or reveal yourself. Sometimes it is even a place where life begins or even ends. The Receptionist is an ode to the hotel industry and everyone working in it. Many thanks to the greatest team: @mvrossem @sam.verberne @sandragovershairandmakeup @banana_wessner
Robin as The Receptionist, Raton, New Mexico. For her new project The Receptionist, De Puy dives into the role of motel/hotel receptionist. Having grown up in a hotel herself, she knows the role of the receptionist all too well, because it is something she has done since childhood. Many people have shared their stories with her: where they have come from, and what they have experienced. Sometimes, it is not so much about the stories as it is about the contact itself; finally, someone who will listen to you. A motel owner from Raton, New Mexico, casually pointed the importance of motels out to De Puy: “You know, you have to realize that we are probably the only representatives to our city for a visitor. Because they stay with us and probably have no contact with anyone else, except maybe the guy at the gas station or the staff at the restaurant. In fact, we have a responsibility to make sure that we can help people, be their friend, whatever their needs are. We are connected.” And that is exactly how it feels for De Puy and what still rings true to her. A motel — or a hotel — is a place where there will always be someone there to lend an ear if you need one, regardless of your ideas, views, or opinions. When De Puy travels, she actually does the same thing. She first goes to the person behind the reception desk of the motel/hotel. A motel is an inexhaustible source of stories, a place where you can be curious, where you can withdraw or reveal yourself. Sometimes it is even a place where life begins or even ends. The Receptionist is an ode to the hotel industry and everyone working in it. Many thanks to the greatest team: @mvrossem @sam.verberne @sandragovershairandmakeup @banana_wessner
Robin as The Receptionist, Raton, New Mexico. For her new project The Receptionist, De Puy dives into the role of motel/hotel receptionist. Having grown up in a hotel herself, she knows the role of the receptionist all too well, because it is something she has done since childhood. Many people have shared their stories with her: where they have come from, and what they have experienced. Sometimes, it is not so much about the stories as it is about the contact itself; finally, someone who will listen to you. A motel owner from Raton, New Mexico, casually pointed the importance of motels out to De Puy: “You know, you have to realize that we are probably the only representatives to our city for a visitor. Because they stay with us and probably have no contact with anyone else, except maybe the guy at the gas station or the staff at the restaurant. In fact, we have a responsibility to make sure that we can help people, be their friend, whatever their needs are. We are connected.” And that is exactly how it feels for De Puy and what still rings true to her. A motel — or a hotel — is a place where there will always be someone there to lend an ear if you need one, regardless of your ideas, views, or opinions. When De Puy travels, she actually does the same thing. She first goes to the person behind the reception desk of the motel/hotel. A motel is an inexhaustible source of stories, a place where you can be curious, where you can withdraw or reveal yourself. Sometimes it is even a place where life begins or even ends. The Receptionist is an ode to the hotel industry and everyone working in it. Many thanks to the greatest team: @mvrossem @sam.verberne @sandragovershairandmakeup @banana_wessner
Robin as The Receptionist, Raton, New Mexico. For her new project The Receptionist, De Puy dives into the role of motel/hotel receptionist. Having grown up in a hotel herself, she knows the role of the receptionist all too well, because it is something she has done since childhood. Many people have shared their stories with her: where they have come from, and what they have experienced. Sometimes, it is not so much about the stories as it is about the contact itself; finally, someone who will listen to you. A motel owner from Raton, New Mexico, casually pointed the importance of motels out to De Puy: “You know, you have to realize that we are probably the only representatives to our city for a visitor. Because they stay with us and probably have no contact with anyone else, except maybe the guy at the gas station or the staff at the restaurant. In fact, we have a responsibility to make sure that we can help people, be their friend, whatever their needs are. We are connected.” And that is exactly how it feels for De Puy and what still rings true to her. A motel — or a hotel — is a place where there will always be someone there to lend an ear if you need one, regardless of your ideas, views, or opinions. When De Puy travels, she actually does the same thing. She first goes to the person behind the reception desk of the motel/hotel. A motel is an inexhaustible source of stories, a place where you can be curious, where you can withdraw or reveal yourself. Sometimes it is even a place where life begins or even ends. The Receptionist is an ode to the hotel industry and everyone working in it. Many thanks to the greatest team: @mvrossem @sam.verberne @sandragovershairandmakeup @banana_wessner
Robin as The Receptionist, Raton, New Mexico. For her new project The Receptionist, De Puy dives into the role of motel/hotel receptionist. Having grown up in a hotel herself, she knows the role of the receptionist all too well, because it is something she has done since childhood. Many people have shared their stories with her: where they have come from, and what they have experienced. Sometimes, it is not so much about the stories as it is about the contact itself; finally, someone who will listen to you. A motel owner from Raton, New Mexico, casually pointed the importance of motels out to De Puy: “You know, you have to realize that we are probably the only representatives to our city for a visitor. Because they stay with us and probably have no contact with anyone else, except maybe the guy at the gas station or the staff at the restaurant. In fact, we have a responsibility to make sure that we can help people, be their friend, whatever their needs are. We are connected.” And that is exactly how it feels for De Puy and what still rings true to her. A motel — or a hotel — is a place where there will always be someone there to lend an ear if you need one, regardless of your ideas, views, or opinions. When De Puy travels, she actually does the same thing. She first goes to the person behind the reception desk of the motel/hotel. A motel is an inexhaustible source of stories, a place where you can be curious, where you can withdraw or reveal yourself. Sometimes it is even a place where life begins or even ends. The Receptionist is an ode to the hotel industry and everyone working in it. Many thanks to the greatest team: @mvrossem @sam.verberne @sandragovershairandmakeup @banana_wessner
Slowly trying to crawl out of my shell. ❤️🩹 ‘The Unintentional Swim’ Director / idea: Robin de Puy @robin_de_puy DoP: Maarten van Rossem @mvrossem Camera operator: Bas Andries @basandries Soundmixage: Recsound @recsound_amsterdam Gaffer: Erwin Smit @erwinsmitlighting Diver: Sjouke Brunia @sjoukebrunia Styling: Renske vd Plleg @rensvdploeg Runner: Manon Dijkman @manondijkman On show in: Het Scheepvaartmuseum, Amsterdam @hetscheepvaartmuseum
Last episode The Americans / De Volkskrant – T’keyah, Casper, Wyoming “They call it the White Mountain”, she says while laughing as if a funny story will follow. T’keyah is sitting in the driver’s seat of a black pickup truck in which her soon to be husband Nick (33) lives. She herself is living together with her little son Shannon – and many sex offenders – in the shelter at the end of the street. Nick has been abused in the past and refuses to sleep in the same building as the enemy. Also, he finds the strict curfew a problem. He delivers meals in the evening, and they can really use the money. Sleeping in the car is his best option for now. “The students in school had been bullying my sister for years”, T’keyah continues. “The school didn’t do anything and ignored her cry for help. Eventually she couldn’t handle it anymore and she ran away. Three days later we found her on that white mountain – she had shot herself through the head with our dad’s gun.” The smile shown before appeared as an attempt to push away the grief. … Read more #linkinbio W/ @mvrossem
Worth watching, promise! ❤️ Levi (35) – the zombie I just discovered – presents me his house with pride. When I think of zombies I usually think of chaos and filthiness, but this one is remarkably organized. The boxes of cereals are neatly placed in a row and sorted by brand, his caps are sealed in plastic, and his bed is orderly made. Bella, his pit bull, sits on a panther blanket upon the couch and is wearing a red leather collar that matches Levi’s outfit. “Why do you have that tattoo?” I point to the bloody-open-scull tattoo around his mouth. Levi firmly answers: “One: I love zombies. Two: it’s unique.” As he is squeezing the words out, his body is twitching constantly and uncontrollably. Later, it becomes clear that the muscle spasms are caused by the hereditary Huntington’s disease. Talking becomes more tiresome, as well as sitting, walking and sleeping. His grandmother also had this disease, and she died a slow death, a fate that also awaits Levi. “I am therefore hoping for an Apocalypse. COVID, but then worse. It could be any kind of disaster.” Besides the fact that an Apocalypse will save him from a slow death, “the world can use a reset”. Levi’s brain is slowly dying and if that wasn’t already enough, life has been though on him. After being abused at a young age, having to stop school, the death of his mother and grandmother, and on top of all that a meth addiction, he ends up in prison eventually. During his time in prison, he becomes friends with white supremacists. “You either eat or be eaten”. He earns some swastikas on his back in ways he rather not mention. “But I had a high rank”. Once he got out, he unlearned his hatred towards black people. The swastikas are covered up with deep black sawblades. “Now I just hate everybody equally.” The room becomes silent. “I have been clean for two years now.” I see a little smile. “My grandmother and mom were strippers. I would like to start my own, female-friendly strip club. Nobody judges you there. It is a kind of free counseling, you could say.” Finally, I start to understand why Levi is not terrifying me. Although Levi wishes for the death, I realize that he is telling me the opposite:
