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?
The Sensorium
The Sensorium is the immersive, transductive installation; a space where environmental phenomena such as light, humidity, and plant breath are translated into sound. But more than that, the Sensorium is a site of shared perception, where the boundaries between sensing and being sensed dissolve. It is not just a place. It is a field of entanglement. A living system composed of light, sound, space, bodies—both human and more-than-human—and the mediating technologies that bind them. The Sensorium begins in the terrarium, where sunlight meets glass, moisture condenses, and plants exhale into the air. These ecological events shape the light. That light is captured and interpreted by a camera-laptop system. Through a custom code, the light’s behaviors—its brightness, color, movement, diffusion—are transduced into an evolving soundscape. This soundscape radiates outward into a secondary space—the wooden structure—enveloping those who enter. The sound does not explain the data; it expresses the atmosphere. It moves beneath the skin. It is sensed before understood. The Sensorium is a transductive ecology, where data becomes feeling, light becomes breath, and presence becomes relational. It is a more-than-human field of narration, in which narrative is not told but co-experienced. It is a resonant space that invites deep listening, slow movement, and attentional drift. And it is a network—woven not from language or logic, but from resonance, vibration, and sensation. It is where you do not observe the story from the outside—you are inside the sentence.
The Sensorium came to life through meaningful human collaborations.
Rommert Schrijver translated my initial sketch into a physical structure, giving tangible form to what had only existed in concept. Parvin Dianati transformed my original code into rich, evocative soundscapes—extending the sonic imagination of the project far beyond what I had envisioned.
