There’s something subtly disorienting about seeing a place you think you know from an angle you’ve never experienced.

This image was part of my exhibition Malmö Upside Down in Slottsträdgården a few years ago. The premise was straightforward – take familiar places and shift the perspective enough that recognition is no longer immediate. Not to complicate things, but to interrupt the habit.

What you’re looking at is no longer just a place to walk, swim, or pass through. It becomes geometry. Lines, intersections, balance. A kind of unintended design that only reveals itself when you step away from ground level.

And then there’s the light.

I shot this from a plane when the sun set low enough to skim rather than flood, edges sharpened, and shadows stretched. The whole structure took on a slightly unreal quality, almost like an architect’s model – reduced, precise, detached from scale.

For those who recognise it, this is Kallbadhuset Kallis – one of Malmö’s more enduring landmarks. The tradition of cold bathing here dates back to the late 19th century, when seaside bathhouses were built as social and health institutions, often with strict gender separation and a certain sense of ritual. The current structure has been rebuilt and adapted over time, but the core idea remains intact: a place where architecture meets the sea directly, without mediation.

I think the historical layer adds something to the image. What looks almost abstract from above is, at ground level, a place shaped by routine – morning swims, winter plunges, quiet conversations in the sauna.

That was the idea behind Malmö Upside Down: not to show Malmö as it is, but to challenge how quickly or slowly we assume we recognise the familiar.