Bødvar Hole

Dyré is this guy I have come to know, a forest ecologist at a liminal point in his life and practice. We met on a walk in Haagse Bos. I was walking as research for my thesis. He was walking to ease his mind. We would go for several of these walks the coming months, exchanging our findings from the path. At the time we met, he had already started to question his own professional practice, weighed down by its heavily institutionalized framework. He’s been feeling squeezed in between. In between culture and nature, in between science and subjective self, and in between the notions he has about his context and the language he uses to express them. 

He wants to break free, and (re-)discover the curiosity, wonder, humility and presence he felt in nature before he became a tool for an institution. To do so he started walking with no end-goal in sight. Observing, wondering, resonating, relating, playing, collecting, organizing and writing. A leisurely activity soon turned into a more-than-part-time-obsession, and Dyré found himself building a shed to practice and accumulate traces of his second life. 

Upon a sudden departure this winter, in a car heading east, this dwelling was left as an open book of Dyré’s mind. He handed me the ownership and responsibility of the shed and its contents, to do what I want with. As an ode to Dyré, and as an invitation to the same fascination I felt when encountering his work and hobby, I re-created the scene that met me the first time I entered his shed to be experienced by a broader public. Parallell to this scenography, a book was created as a document of our relationship.