In late spring, southeastern Sweden’s Österlen region is famous for its rolling fields of golden-yellow canola flowers. These fields are nothing short of mesmerizing, their rhythmic sway in the breeze creating a hypnotic, almost otherworldly allure. A few years ago, while photographing in Österlen, I stumbled upon this perfectly spherical dried dandelion, its seeds still attached to their delicate parachutes, poised to launch into the wind.

I had intended to focus solely on the vibrantly blooming canola flowers, but as usual, my wandering mind had other plans. I’ll admit, I’m easily distracted – a trait that’s both a blessing and a curse. It’s probably a form of ADD; I prefer to think of it as an ongoing battle between focus and fascination. When I’m out in nature, especially in a place as striking as Österlen, my senses go into overdrive. Every hill, every shadow, every shift in light demands my attention. The world becomes a chaotic symphony, and I’m the conductor struggling to stay on tempo.

But maybe that’s the magic of being an artist – allowing these moments of distraction to transform into something meaningful.

As I knelt to frame the dandelion, the chaos receded. Its intricate design absorbed me completely, and suddenly, the canola field became the backdrop rather than the subject.

Perhaps the distractions are the story. They pull me off my conscious path, guiding me toward new discoveries. Maybe they’re a covert means of giving me distance from what I’m “supposed” to focus on, so when I return, I see it with fresh eyes – and make it better.