It happened like this. That morning we had been taking photos when she, the model, sat on a chair and, letting her head fall back against the backrest, revealed her back through the delicate, half-open dress. The image moved me. And, like a flashback, the immense ferns I had photographed years before on a trip to Guatemala came to mind.

That day it was pouring rain, and as I was running for shelter, I suddenly saw them, soaked in an open-air courtyard. Where there were ferns, I saw backs. Hundreds of backs, which unfolded their bodies like a stage for the thousands of drops that begged to be seen. The rain no longer mattered to me, and I exposed myself as well. Standing in front of them with my camera, I took them out of anonymity.

From this first diptych that came to me by chance, I began to see in some features of nature my own femininity. Connections that weave us together. A preference for simple dressing and minimal adornment, for words spoken softly and textures that slow down the gaze. I was amazed to find a shared courage: the daring to show ourselves vulnerable as the only way to genuine connection and authentic expression. I understood that our vulnerability is, in fact, our greatest strength.