Years Favorites of 2025

Photography as the rhythm of the year...

When you spend a year taking photographs, you learn to experience time differently. Seasons become shifts in light, color, and atmosphere rather than calendar pages. Photography gave my year rhythm. Sometimes in complete silence, sometimes in company — both equally valuable, each in their own way.
Being out on your own sharpens your gaze. It slows you down. You hear more, see more, doubt less. At the same time, photographing together brought something else: reflection. Conversations along the way, brief observations, a different way of looking that made my own choices just a little more conscious. Not to change them, but to deepen them.

Memory 1: Sunrise at the Port House in Antwerp and wandering through the deserted streets of Doel...

Some mornings linger in the memory, not because everything was perfect, but because everything came together. One such morning began in the dark with a photographer friend, with cold hands and a city that was not yet fully awake. The Port House slowly emerged against a discolored sky. As the sun rose cautiously, the steel and glass of the building changed from cool and distant to warm and almost soft. It was a moment when waiting came naturally — because the light promised it would be worth it.
The cold made everything sharp. Not just the fingers, but also the gaze. Every reflection, every line seemed to be chosen more consciously. The Port House demanded precision, but left room for interpretation. As the light continued to shift, it became clear that this is not a place you can just “take in” quickly. It is a building that needs time — and that time is reflected in layers, rhythm, and atmosphere.
After sunrise, attention shifted to the harbor. Between rows of shipping containers stood St. Lawrence Church, an old church tower that paid no attention to its industrial surroundings. The contrast was striking, almost surreal. Centuries-old stones versus steel and logistics. Silence versus movement. It was the kind of scene you don't need to direct; you just need to look and recognize that some images already exist before you lift the camera.

The morning ended in Doel. A deserted village, hidden in the shadow of the nuclear power plant, where emptiness speaks its own language. Boarded-up windows, silent streets, and traces of what once was. It didn't feel like a place to use many words. Here, photography became subdued. Observant. Respectful. Not to emphasize the decay, but to capture the atmosphere — as if the village itself wanted to be seen for a little while longer.
It was an early, cold morning. But above all, it was a rich one. Not only because of the images that were created, but because of the feeling that some places give you something when you are willing to look slowly and stay until the story unfolds.

Landscapes that keep calling you back...

Many images from 2025 were created in places I visited frequently. The Sallandse Heuvelrug, where the light is rarely the same twice. The Hierdense Beek, where mist makes mornings smaller and more intimate. The Frisian mudflats, rugged and open, and the vast beaches of Zeeland, where the horizon leaves room for thoughts.
Sometimes I stood there alone. Sometimes not. But there was always that same moment of attunement: waiting for the landscape to reveal something. For me, landscape photography is not a search for grandeur, but for balance. For that one moment when everything feels right — without being able to explain exactly why.

Waiting, wandering, and the unexpected...

2025 was all about delays. About waiting without expectation. Staying in one place for hours without knowing if anything would happen. And that's precisely where the space for the unexpected lay.
Sometimes it yielded nothing — and sometimes everything. A cloud that shifts just right. A bird that unexpectedly enters the frame. A ray of light that suddenly lifts the landscape. These are moments you cannot force. Only recognize.
Wandering played a big role in this. Not always knowing where you'll end up. Sometimes deliberately leaving a path untrodden. Sometimes taking a wrong turn. Alone or together, the result was often the same: images that weren't planned, but linger.

Memory 2: From nature to speed during Jack's Racing Day...

Not every memory from 2025 took place in silence. In August, together with a photographer friend, I stepped into a world that was completely different from what I was used to. Where I normally listen to birdsong and the rustling of leaves, here I was surrounded by roaring engines, speed, and gleaming steel. The TT Circuit Assen was the setting for a day that revolved around movement, power, and timing.
It was my first real introduction to automotive photography. A discipline in which waiting gives way to anticipation, and silence to chaos. Cars flashed by, the light changed constantly, and every second offered a new composition — or made it disappear again. I had to let go of my usual rhythm. There was no room for doubt here, only for reaction.
After that day, doubt struck me for a moment. That moment when you think images have been lost, that everything you saw and felt may not have been captured. A brief moment of panic, followed by relief when it turned out that the memories were safely stored after all. That relief felt almost as intense as the sound of the engines themselves.
Looking back, this experience was more than just a trip outside my comfort zone. It was a reminder that inspiration sometimes lies in contrast. That your gaze becomes sharper when you force yourself to look differently. Not by slowing down, but by opening up the throttle.

From detail to overview...

I photograph broadly. Not out of strategy, but out of wonder. The world cannot be captured in a single genre — and why should I even try?
In 2025, macro and detail photography brought me closer to the small things. Mushrooms hidden among moss and leaves. Flowers opening in the soft morning light. These are moments that demand attention and patience, often in silence.
In contrast, there were landscapes and architecture, where overview and structure are central. The Port House in Antwerp, with its clean lines and reflections, called for a different approach. Just like the deserted streets of Doel, where emptiness becomes almost tangible. This variety kept my gaze sharp — and my curiosity alive.

People, animals, and respect for the moment...

In addition to nature and landscape, I also found inspiration in people and animals in 2025. Wildlife, birds in full plumage, portraits in the Archeon Museum Park — moments where observing is at least as important as capturing.
Photographing living subjects requires restraint. Sometimes that means keeping your distance. Sometimes it means lowering your camera. Or waiting for the moment to present itself — or pass by.
Being in company sometimes helps you to stay calm. Being alone, on the other hand, helps you to become completely absorbed in the moment. Both forms taught me the same thing: respect is always more important than the image.

Memory 3: Magical sunrises on the heath...

Some mornings begin without promise. Only fog, muffled sounds, and a landscape that has yet to reveal itself. Such mornings were had on the Ermelosche heath and the Posbank. The world seemed to stand still, as if everything had paused for a moment. The heath lay silent, colorless and reserved, waiting for something yet to come.
And then the sun broke through. Not hesitantly, but determinedly. Behind me, soft light glided over the purple heath, subtle and almost shy. In front of me, a sky unfolded that seemed to be ablaze — orange, yellow, and red, as if the day were reinventing itself. The contrast was so great that just looking was enough. Photography came only afterwards.
Just when the moment seemed to reach its peak, something small revealed itself. Spider webs, barely visible in the halftone light, turned out to be covered with dewdrops. Each thread carried a string of glittering pearls. These were details you only see when you slow down, when you decide not to immediately move on to the next image.
These mornings reminded me why I take photographs. Not to seek out the spectacular, but to be present when it presents itself. Because sometimes the magic unfolds not in one grand moment, but in a succession of small wonders — for those who dare to stand still and keep looking.

The Top 100 as a visual diary...

Compiling the Top 100 photos of 2025 was once again a process of choosing and letting go. Not because there were too few images, but because there were too many memories attached to them.
For me, these hundred photos form a visual diary. They show where I was, but above all how it felt to be there. Some images remind me of silence. Others of brief conversations at the side of a path. Of coffee in the cold. Of waiting for the light to return.

What 2025 taught me...

Looking back, I don't see a year of extremes, but one of balance. Between being alone and sharing. Between searching and finding. Between capturing and letting go.
2025 taught me once again that you only really see when you take the time. That nature continues to surprise, even in places you've been a hundred times before. And that a photo is more than just an image: it's a memory of a moment — exactly as it was.

Memory 4: Back to the past at Archeon Museum Park...

Sometimes photography does not require traveling further, but looking deeper. A visit to the Archeon Museum Park felt like a form of time travel, not through distance, but through imagination. What started as a regular day of photography took on a different meaning after a lecture on narrative photography. The idea that a photo can be more than a snapshot — that it can tell a story — stuck in my mind that day.
With that thought in mind, my attention shifted from the surroundings to the people. From faces to postures. From costumes to expressions. Romans, cavemen, Vikings, and medieval monks turned out to be not extras, but storytellers. Every detail — from a hand gesture to a piece of clothing — contributed to a world that was portrayed with visible pleasure and conviction.
What made these portraits special was the passion of the people for their roles and for the history they brought to life. Photographing felt less like capturing and more like meeting. Not directing, but giving space. Not searching for perfect light, but for the right moment when past and present briefly touched.
That day showed me once again how powerful portrait photography can be when you are willing to listen before you look. And how photography, like history, is ultimately about stories — told without words, but captured in a single image.

Some photographic highlights from 2025: