The Falling Man Projects
About Jeroen Zwaap
About Jeroen Zwaap
In several projects the artist deals with the impact and implications of having seen Richard Drew's 'Falling Man' image as he tries to answer questions like: why is this picture such a strong resonating one? How did this image shape the view on the American trauma? What are the moral implications of watching a man falling to his death?
"Although I cannot exactly remember what I felt when I saw the image of The Falling Man by Richard Drew for the first time, I can imagine what I felt. I can imagine that I saw the human vulnerability in the most intimate of moments in a human life. The grace of it. The calmness aimed head-down towards the inevitable. I must have seen the juxtaposition between the graceful fall and the horrific timeline that lead to this fall. I think I did not understand the power of photography yet (do I today?), but I must have seen how time had been suspended and created an aura, or maybe even a protective shield, of timelessness around the person.
And although there are no recognizable facial features, I would’ve recognized myself in this person. I would have asked myself: what would I feel, what would I do?
In several projects the artist deals with the impact and implications of having seen Richard Drew's 'Falling Man' image as he tries to answer questions like: why is this picture such a strong resonating one? How did this image shape the view on the American trauma? What are the moral implications of watching a man falling to his death?
"Although I cannot exactly remember what I felt when I saw the image of The Falling Man by Richard Drew for the first time, I can imagine what I felt. I can imagine that I saw the human vulnerability in the most intimate of moments in a human life. The grace of it. The calmness aimed head-down towards the inevitable. I must have seen the juxtaposition between the graceful fall and the horrific timeline that lead to this fall. I think I did not understand the power of photography yet (do I today?), but I must have seen how time had been suspended and created an aura, or maybe even a protective shield, of timelessness around the person.
And although there are no recognizable facial features, I would’ve recognized myself in this person. I would have asked myself: what would I feel, what would I do?
In several projects the artist deals with the impact and implications of having seen Richard Drew's 'Falling Man' image as he tries to answer questions like: why is this picture such a strong resonating one? How did this image shape the view on the American trauma? What are the moral implications of watching a man falling to his death?
"Although I cannot exactly remember what I felt when I saw the image of The Falling Man by Richard Drew for the first time, I can imagine what I felt. I can imagine that I saw the human vulnerability in the most intimate of moments in a human life. The grace of it. The calmness aimed head-down towards the inevitable. I must have seen the juxtaposition between the graceful fall and the horrific timeline that lead to this fall. I think I did not understand the power of photography yet (do I today?), but I must have seen how time had been suspended and created an aura, or maybe even a protective shield, of timelessness around the person.
And although there are no recognizable facial features, I would’ve recognized myself in this person. I would have asked myself: what would I feel, what would I do?
In several projects the artist deals with the impact and implications of having seen Richard Drew's 'Falling Man' image as he tries to answer questions like: why is this picture such a strong resonating one? How did this image shape the view on the American trauma? What are the moral implications of watching a man falling to his death?
"Although I cannot exactly remember what I felt when I saw the image of The Falling Man by Richard Drew for the first time, I can imagine what I felt. I can imagine that I saw the human vulnerability in the most intimate of moments in a human life. The grace of it. The calmness aimed head-down towards the inevitable. I must have seen the juxtaposition between the graceful fall and the horrific timeline that lead to this fall. I think I did not understand the power of photography yet (do I today?), but I must have seen how time had been suspended and created an aura, or maybe even a protective shield, of timelessness around the person.
And although there are no recognizable facial features, I would’ve recognized myself in this person. I would have asked myself: what would I feel, what would I do?
In several projects the artist deals with the impact and implications of having seen Richard Drew's 'Falling Man' image as he tries to answer questions like: why is this picture such a strong resonating one? How did this image shape the view on the American trauma? What are the moral implications of watching a man falling to his death?
"Although I cannot exactly remember what I felt when I saw the image of The Falling Man by Richard Drew for the first time, I can imagine what I felt. I can imagine that I saw the human vulnerability in the most intimate of moments in a human life. The grace of it. The calmness aimed head-down towards the inevitable. I must have seen the juxtaposition between the graceful fall and the horrific timeline that lead to this fall. I think I did not understand the power of photography yet (do I today?), but I must have seen how time had been suspended and created an aura, or maybe even a protective shield, of timelessness around the person.
And although there are no recognizable facial features, I would’ve recognized myself in this person. I would have asked myself: what would I feel, what would I do?
In several projects the artist deals with the impact and implications of having seen Richard Drew's 'Falling Man' image as he tries to answer questions like: why is this picture such a strong resonating one? How did this image shape the view on the American trauma? What are the moral implications of watching a man falling to his death?
"Although I cannot exactly remember what I felt when I saw the image of The Falling Man by Richard Drew for the first time, I can imagine what I felt. I can imagine that I saw the human vulnerability in the most intimate of moments in a human life. The grace of it. The calmness aimed head-down towards the inevitable. I must have seen the juxtaposition between the graceful fall and the horrific timeline that lead to this fall. I think I did not understand the power of photography yet (do I today?), but I must have seen how time had been suspended and created an aura, or maybe even a protective shield, of timelessness around the person.
And although there are no recognizable facial features, I would’ve recognized myself in this person. I would have asked myself: what would I feel, what would I do?
Jeroen Zwaap (1980) is a UFO-enthousiast and a Dutch-Turkish queer artistic researcher living and working in The Hague. He explores how stories emerge between humans, technologies, and more-than-human entities. Working with local (urban) ecological systems, technological entities and the material properties of digital photography, he creates Sensoriums; sensory installations that reframe perception and invite collaboration across species and media. Jeroen Zwaap studied at the Royal Academy of Arts in The Hague where he holds a BA in Photography and a MA in Photography & Society.
About my practice
I am an artist and researcher exploring how nature, technology, and sensory experiences shape stories together, without placing humans at the center. My work looks at how more-than-human elements—like wind, light, insects, and city spaces—actively participate in storytelling. Using experimental photography, ecological thinking, and new materialist ideas, I set up processes where humans collaborate creatively with their surroundings.
Right now, I’m creating immersive, site-specific spaces called Sensoriums. These installations invite visitors to slow down, tune into their senses, and experience the environment differently. Rather than controlling what happens, people become participants who notice and respond to natural phenomena as living narratives. Through these installations, my writing, and workshops, I build connections between abstract theories and tangible experiences, between local interactions and broader ecosystems.
I see myself as a kind of media-shaman—not mystical, but practical and playful—someone who bridges different worlds. Like a translator, I facilitate dialogue between organic life and technology, between visible structures and subtle sensations. My role is about careful listening and helping reveal the stories already unfolding in our environment, making the hidden voices of nature and materials easier to hear and understand.
"As a child, I created my own worlds; tying rubber bands to tree branches to let the wind sing or collecting spiders to weave a garden of sparkling webs. These early experiments weren’t just playful; they were my way of opening a dialogue with my environments and systems beyond human language and logic. I sought to create spaces that spoke in wonderful sensory ways, offering a refuge and a sense of connection in a world that felt uncertain at times.
Today, as an artistic researcher, I carry that same sense of wonder into my practice. My work explores how humans and the more-than-human world can meet, share stories, and create meaning together. At its core is the belief that rethinking our relationships with the world, and our place within it, requires embracing the agency of more-than-human entities as active participants in the narratives of our time.
Collaboration with nonhuman entities lies at the heart of my process. I see myself as a conduit, setting up conditions where the human and more-than-human together create new knowledge. These collaborations span a spectrum of entities: storms, trees, urban spaces, and technological systems such as cameras, code, and sound processing. Here, I explore the intersections of the more-than- human world, human perception, and technology.
Through my research, I invite people to meet the more-than-human world not as something separate but as an active storyteller and collaborator. These encounters invite viewers to reconsider their relationship to the world, imagining themselves as part of a larger, interconnected narrative where every entity (human or not) has a voice worth listening to."