ruben timman photography
portfolio
projects
- Looking for Hope
- The Buddy project
- The people of Zheleznodorozhnyy
- Illegal
- Oranje Fonds
- My eyes on the world....
- Dutch Homeless Cup
My eyes on the world....
Thank God You gave me eyes... and a camera.
Images with a personal story
- Eyes, thirst and tears. I find myself in a sea of cups, cups waiting for water. People push and pull, it is taking too long. Then he stands before me; comfortless he stares right through me. Confrontation, human pain, guilt feelings; hesitant I record the moment. Then comes the water. Today enough for everyone. Back in the Netherlands I read Matthew 25: 35 and 36: “I was hungry and you gave me to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me to drink. I was a stranger and you took me in, naked and you clothed me. I was sick and you visited me, in prison and you came to me.” I think of him, without a name, just a look. I close my eyes and wonder where was God and … where was I.
- The orphanage of Kon Tum. I come unannounced. The sewing lesson is over, the girls linger, dreaming. The afternoon sun is low in the sky and its warm light penetrates to the back of the classroom. Colors become more intense, the stars on her dress seem to shine. Everything falls into place for just a few minutes. For a moment I think I am in heaven. Then a gesture, they are waiting for me. The classroom is locked, the children sent to their rooms. Back to hard reality: the children are orphans.
- I stand eye to eye with this girl as she shows me all she owns. I am struck by her eyes, they shine. These eyes teach me to appreciate what I have.
- The light is marvelous, the room empty. Our eyes meet, a questioning look, a vulnerable moment. I stand with empty hands, take away only what I see.
- For a report on the Jewish community in the Ukraine I follow a family. Every year they go to the Holocaust monument to commemorate the horrors of the Nazi regime. During the ceremony I am moved by this moment between a father and his daughters. The hands speak of a warm bond, and bring comfort and safety. Loved, treasured and surrounded by affection they stand in all their innocence and vulnerability. My thoughts wander, this priceless moment reminds me of my own youth, my father, his love. I realize how precious he is, feel his warmth and tenderness, experience a deep joy.
- It looks like a picture from a vacation brochure, white beaches and blue sea. But things are not what they seem. Behind me a ravaged city, cutters rusting on the beach offering shelter to refugees. Sixteen years of war have left gruesome tracks. I make my way in confusion. Then I meet these fishermen, displaying their catch with pride and dignity. I use my flash because the contrast is too great.
- In the barracks of the refugee camp I meet two remarkable people, Ankica and her grandfather Ivan. I ask them to pose for my camera. I cannot speak their language, but their eyes tell stories, stories about the horrors of the war, the anguish and the fear. But also their bond with each other, two lives vulnerable and scarred, in search of peace and safety. Then come the photos; bound carefully with string they lie on Ankica’s bed. Black and white images from other days, precious moments: her father, her brothers, other loved ones. Then I realize that here, among women and children, Ivan is the only man… On the way to the hotel I ask God why; silence. In the distance a grenade strikes home. Disheartened I pray.
- A village on the Nile; in an old decrepit house the walls tell their stories. In the corner this painting, behind it letters from another time, a card, a memory. The woman who lives there looks at me with pride in her eyes as if to say “the man in this painting, is my Jesus.”
- In front of his house I meet him. An open Book, blind eyes, looking for the right words... “Blessed are those who do not see and yet believe.” John 20:2
- I am doing coverage on persecuted Assyrian Christians in Iraq. Here I meet 43 women, each with a harrowing story: their husbands and sons have been kidnapped, tortured and murdered. One of the women is Merfed; she tells the story of her husband Oday. On April 8 2007 he was captured by masked men, and up until today she has heard nothing more from him. Her daughter Amer shows me a photo, Amer and her father in better times, she sitting on his lap with his strong arms around her. Her eyes question me, I hide behind my camera while the shutter does its work. Driven, I record everything: names, dates and the story, in the hope that it has been carefully documented. Then a soldier commands us to leave. On the way back to the relative safety of Dohuk I look at the pictures and see her again. Her questioning eyes keep following me. On our flight home I decide that this is something the world must know.
- New York, Ground Zero. Shaken she stares at the photos, images that remind us of 9/11. Her hands tense and unmoving. Behind her a wall full of portraits: missing. A desperate search for survivors. Now, eight years later a tribute to the 3056 victims. That day the world stood still, masses with eyes glued to television screens. I remember the fear, searching in panic for something to hold on to. But also our wedding text, Romans 8: 38 and 39.
- Wall Street subway station. New York, the city that never sleeps, constantly in motion, always under way. It is early. Armed with my camera I explore the city, on the lookout for images, fortuitous moments, passersby in the décor of the street. Then surprise, only for a few seconds. Three musicians cross my path on their way to a square or street corner. I get into the bus, it pulls out. A bit later I dream and hear their music as with abandonment and passion they play for all they’re worth.
