A mother of four, photographer, nature lover. Someone trying to make sense of it all, through photos and stories. 

I try to be free in all senses of the word, so I made the leap and now work with what I love doing; taking pictures, storing this life in moments, both for myself and for clients. My heart is in photographing birth and motherhood, but I take on just about any photography job. 
(See my birth photos at www.birth.no and the rest of my work portfolio at www.mariavatne.no.)

I live on a farm in Norway with my man Nik and my children Ronja, Freja, Falk and Ulv, plus a bunch of animals. We grow our own food as far as the seasons allow it, we don't go to kindergarten, the three youngest ones will be homeschooled.

We govern our own lives, we strive for independence, we want to be in this life wild and free and full of love.


(I have a feeling I've written about this before, but anyway:)

As long as I can remember, I have had a fascination for trees. Maybe we all do? I don't know, but to me, they are a big part of my everyday, of my recording of this world, of what I register in my surroundings. I always notice them. I'd even go so far as to say I fall in love with them, a little bit.

(I don't mean to sound weird, but I am aware that I do. I assure you, I don't bimble around wooing every little spruce bush I can see. I'm not that weird.)

So wherever I have lived and in all the landscapes I have journeyed through on a regular basis, there has been a tree or two that has caught my heart a little bit more than the others. One that I always have had to look at when passing, that I always want to photograph, that I always want to climb. When I was little, it was a beautiful pine tree standing completely alone in a big field. It had the most perfect shape, and its solitude struck me as sad and majestic at the same time. I would look at it every time I went past it with the school bus, twice a day. I hadn't seen it for years until I happened to be back on old pastures last week. It was still there. Still alone, but not so visible as before, because other trees had grown between the road and the field. I saw it clearly though. My tree. 

I felt a bit bad for having abandoned it, and for having a new favourite: The oak. It stands on a hill, in a field on the way to town. I watch it through the seasons, as it changes its coat and colour, so breathtaking in its rawness and drama, so quiet and still, such a beautiful giant.

I have never touched it. I have stopped the car many times, I have taken many photographs of it, and every time I move a little closer, but only a little. I think I am scared of shattering its mystique by moving too quickly. I don't know. Maybe I should just get over there, and hug it. Thank it for its beauty and stamina, for always being there, for always leaving me in awe.

Yes, I think I will. And the pine tree, too. 

Greetings from The Weird Tree Lady.


Spending time.

Saturday morning.