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.

The soundtrack of my life.

You think some people are immortal, as if they're not really made of flesh and blood, as if they are untouchable. And then you wake up to the news, like we did this morning, and you learn that one of the greatest ones, that living icon, is not here anymore, that he has taken wings and left us.

Lately, I have had a severe case of nostalgia. I have been thinking back so much, on different periods of my life, with that bittersweet sense of everything was so easy/ fun/ special then. I think it's because this autumn and winter has been rough, with everything around Ulv, all the effects of his health condition and how we all have tried to cope and barely have held head above water. And then, with winter on top of this, with darkness and isolation, I have caught myself dreaming away a lot.

And so today, dearest Bowie, when you passed, nostalgia took a turn for the worse, because I have been thinking about you, and me, and all the chapters of our life together all day. I have thought about Hunky Dory, about the laughing at the beginning of Andy Warhol, about playing the album on repeat for ages and ages. I have thought about that time me and a friend got stoned and made up the rest of the story of Major Tom from Space Oddity, we were going to write a book about what happened to him after the song was finished. I have thought about the millions of times I have danced to Modern Love, about the first time I saw the China Girl-video when I was little, how strange I found it, and how intriguing you were. I have been back in a flat with no furniture in Edinburgh, where I lived and dreamed your Berlin years, playing Low, Heroes and Lodger over and over and over, never growing tired of you, and those grooves, and those dreams. I have been in Portugal, in a dusty countryside village, where I lived in a tiny house and played Heathen and The Man Who Sold the World for months. And then there was that summer day thirteen years ago, when I saw you, only a few meters from me, with that impeccable style, so flawless in every way. I remember how you noticed it was raining on us, your audience, and you said you were so sorry about that, and then you made us all forget the rain and swept us in your music. Your amazing, mysterious, endless music. I realised today that you have been there, by my side all along, with different albums hand in hand with different periods of my life. Your voice, your persona, your wonderful elegance and kookiness, your abundant creativity, it will never cease to amaze me. 

Today was a sad day, but it was a beautiful day too. I remembered your greatness, and I realised how lucky I have been to have had you by my side all these years. As someone wrote somewhere; If you're sad today, just remember the world is over 4 billion years old and you somehow managed to exist at the same time as David Bowie.

Thank you, Bowie. I will cry and dance and drink for you again.