Conversation with photographer Dion Bierdrager interview by Santiago Neyra
‘I guess it’s true what they say, when you’re young, you’re your purest self’
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Next to us is Dion Bierdrager, an Amsterdam-based photographer who was featured in our last issue, taking us on a journey with “Jiyoon” in his most personal way.
First of all, could you tell us a bit about who you are, especially for those who haven't had the pleasure of meeting you?
Hi, I’m a photographer and filmmaker, born in a small village in the northwest of the Netherlands and currently based in Amsterdam. In my work, I explore humanity’s relationship with its surroundings, and how it is shaped by factors such as collective memory and the tension between human development and nature. At the core of my practice is a continual questioning of the meaning of home and belonging
What was your childhood like?
I’ve always been quite shy and reserved, and growing up in a place where I often felt like an outsider only amplified that. It never truly felt like home to me. Just a five-minute walk from my childhood house, there were endless green fields where the flat horizon disappeared into the distance. I remember feeling so trapped by that vastness. But looking back at it, it was also a safe space, and I’m grateful I got to grow up close to the beach and surrounded by so much green.
What did you learn and how did you grow after moving from a rural village to the
great metropolises?
When I was 24, I moved to Seoul for an internship and ended up staying for almost two years. The city’s chaos both excited and overwhelmed me. There’s a certain flow there that makes you incredibly productive. It was amazing to be part of that energy, but after a while, it also became a bit toxic. I realized I was longing for more space and greenery around me. I needed to reconnect with myself by disconnecting from city life. For now, Amsterdam feels like a nice middle ground. The pace here is definitely more chill, haha. What I appreciate most about cities is their diversity. When I first left my hometown, I realized how limited my idea of the world had been — and how subjective the idea of truth really is. That realization deeply influenced me at the time and became an important foundation for my work.
In your work, we see a deep sensitivity to nature, often intertwined with the characters you meet along your journey. Why is nature such an important element in your work?
Being in nature feels like being in the presence of something larger than myself. Nature isn’t good or evil, it simply is. These days, our lives, including my own, are so taken over by screens, and I feel a deep need to step away, to recharge by going on a hike somewhere to completely disconnect. I believe the only way to truly get to know yourself is by spending time alone. Now, with algorithms shaping what information we consume and even how we think, I find it more important than ever.
And I think being in nature helps to bring us closer to ourselves. My work is always, in some way, a reflection of where I am in my life, and right now I’m really interested in exploring the connection between the self and its environment.
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We know you develop your own film. Was this something you learned at school, or was it more of a personal pursuit?
I don’t develop the film myself, but I do print it in the darkroom. I learned by watching YouTube tutorials and through a lot of trial and error. It was during Covid, so it was the perfect time to lock myself in the dark and just simply experiment. I feel like there’s still a lot to learn, but it’s become an essential part of my practice. The entire tactile experience of the process is so special. It’s almost like a form of meditation for me. My mind is always racing, and this process forces me to slow down.
What does Seoul, South Korea mean to you? We especially loved “Beopjusa”!
I think Seoul really became my second home. I made so many amazing friends there, and I miss it every day. With the warmer weather here, I’m really craving Kong-guksu!!
Beopjusa, however, is actually not in Seoul. It’s deep in the mountains of central South Korea. I was there during Covid on a temple stay program, and I was the only visitor at the time. It was such a unique experience living there for a few days, eating with the monks, joining in the morning chants, and spending the rest of the day hiking in the area.
Being alone on top of the mountain at 9 a.m. felt like pure freedom.
Tell us a bit more about “What Can’t See”…
When I arrived in Seoul, I once again found myself searching for a sense of place in a new and unfamiliar setting. After a period of instability, I eventually found housing in Bogwang-dong, a neighborhood that felt like my first real home in Korea. Soon after moving, I learned that Hyundai’s large-scale redevelopment project was threatening the area’s existence.
As I photographed Bogwang-dong, I developed a strong connection with the neighborhood and its community. It was a place where nightlife, the LGBTQI+ community, the city’s only mosque, and various subcultures coexisted. It felt like a home to me in many ways — even though, as a foreigner, I was always aware of being a guest in their world. This project became a reflection of my emotional experience of the place. I aimed to create images that carried a sense of hope and resilience, while also acknowledging the visible decline of the area. Many buildings were falling apart, but nature was slowly returning. There’s a certain paradox in areas like this, they offer space for artistic and social freedom, but only because they’ve been abandoned by those in power in anticipation of redevelopment. In the end, it was the people who made it home. Seeing them lose that space became a strong drive for me, and it kept me working on the project for four years.
As of today, Bogwang-dong has been a ghost town for almost a year, and demolition will begin soon. It feels surreal to watch a place that was home to me for almost two years disappear like that. I can’t even begin to imagine how it feels for the people who’ve lived there their entire lives.
I’m also working on a publication, though there’s no set timeline for when it will be released
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With the story you created for our last issue, you invited us not only into your own world but also into Jiyoon's, the main character of the series. You have a rare sensitivity to capturing emotion through the lens. Why do you think you are able to make this feeling so real?
Thank you for the kind words. I think it’s because connection is really important to me when I’m photographing people. The camera is such a powerful tool — for good and bad — but as a shy and curious person, it allows me to get close to others. I’m not necessarily trying to represent people exactly as they are; instead, I’m fully embracing my own subjectivity within my work. For me, this way of working is the only way to create something that feels honest. So the final image is an emotional representation that formed. And in the end, the entire process before and after taking the image is just as important. The connection doesn’t stop after clicking the shutter.
Was it always your dream to become a photographer?
A few years ago, my mom reminded me that when I was really young, I wanted to be a nature
photographer for National Geographic. I guess it’s true what they say, when you’re young, you’re your purest self.
Finally, we're going to give you some words, and you’ll need to represent each one
with an image you’ve created.
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Home
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Big
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Pureness
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Structure
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Intimate
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Dreamland
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Thanks for sharing with all our readers your thoughts, emotions and your daily memories, its been a pleasure like always talking with you and being part of our last issue, we hope to have you in a future one.