Safe House is a visceral and visually eloquent body of work by South African-Belgian creator Lea Thijs, first introduced to the public in 2019. This compelling project transcends traditional narrative frameworks, offering a nuanced portrayal of familial connection amidst the shadow of mental illness. At its core, the series functions as a contemplative excavation of the artist's evolving relationship with her father following his diagnosis with bipolar disorder.
Rather than serving as a clinical case study or medical observation, Safe House becomes a deeply layered emotional cartography. Through her lens, Thijs constructs a profound testimonial, granting viewers access to an environment shaped by love, vulnerability, estrangement, and reconciliation. It’s an exploration where the domestic becomes symbolic, and the private transforms into a universal experience.
What makes Safe House particularly evocative is its ability to inhabit the liminal space between memory and reality. Using a slow, contemplative method of image-making, Thijs immerses viewers in the intangible essence of relationships altered by mental health complexities. Her work beckons those who have ever grappled with inherited emotional burdens or unspoken familial truths.
From Distance to Immersion: Rediscovering Home Through Intuition
The genesis of Safe House, a profoundly personal and emotionally resonant work by Lea Thijs, did not originate from a carefully mapped concept or theoretical framework. It arose instead from a moment of quiet introspection, born out of a sense of disconnection. At the time, Thijs was enrolled at Middlesex University in London, navigating the final year of her academic journey. Surrounded by the fast pace and impersonal rhythm of a foreign city, she felt unanchored, distant from the familiarity and emotional grounding that had once shaped her worldview.
This detachment was not merely circumstantial; it mirrored a deeper emotional restlessness—one that had yet to find expression. Without the clarity of a specific artistic goal, she made the intuitive decision to return to Johannesburg during the winter break. This visit back to the cradle of her upbringing would serve as a pivotal moment, one that ignited a path of inward exploration and transformation.
In Johannesburg, she found herself observing her familial surroundings with fresh eyes, particularly the presence of her father. Their interactions, the shared silences, the emotional nuances layered beneath everyday rituals—these became her focus. What began as a simple visual experiment slowly revealed itself to be the foundation of something far more profound: an emotional excavation wrapped in memory, complexity, and unspoken history.
This return home became not just a physical journey, but a spiritual and psychological reentry into spaces long held within her subconscious. The walls of her family home, the cadence of her father’s voice, the texture of their shared past—all became part of a rediscovered language of understanding. This process of intuitive exploration set the tone for what Safe House would become: a quiet and vulnerable dialogue between past and present, self and other.
Unveiling the Subtext: Recognizing Patterns in the Unsaid
As Thijs began engaging with her surroundings, what had initially seemed unremarkable started to resonate with deeper meaning. She captured still moments, everyday exchanges, and domestic interiors—not with the intention of constructing a narrative, but to observe and collect. These images, when later revisited and developed, revealed a quiet but persistent thread woven through them: the relationship with her father, whose recent diagnosis of bipolar disorder cast their shared history in a newly refracted light.
It was in this moment of retrospection that Thijs began to understand the layers her unconscious had already begun to articulate. The casual frames she had captured began speaking to her with intensity. The subtleties of posture, the quietness in her father’s gaze, the spaces in the home that once held conflict or connection—each image emerged as a mirror reflecting their emotionally complicated bond.
This realization did not unfold as a dramatic revelation but rather as a slow awakening to the emotional architecture underpinning her family life. Her father's diagnosis added a new lens through which to interpret past events, childhood impressions, and present behaviors. What had once been opaque or confusing suddenly found coherence. The images she had taken—initially without agenda—became a form of self-inquiry, allowing her to trace the influence of her father's mental health on her own development and understanding of love, security, and vulnerability.
The emergent themes of memory, identity, fragility, and resilience offered not just a personal framework for healing but an opportunity to contribute to a rarely spoken narrative: the child's perspective in a parent’s psychological journey. This rare vantage point is one often left unexamined in broader cultural conversations surrounding mental illness, yet it holds transformative potential, both for individual introspection and collective empathy.
Transforming the Familiar: A New Language for Emotional Reconciliation
The organic unfolding of Safe House is part of what lends it such emotional authenticity. There is no trace of artificiality or contrivance in its tone or structure. Instead, there is a raw honesty, shaped by a process that was as much about emotional endurance as it was about artistic growth. The project evolved from being a tentative exploration into an act of personal reconciliation, offering Thijs a space to process, reflect, and reframe her understanding of her father and herself.
The space that Thijs returned to—her family home—became more than a setting. It functioned as a vessel of layered meaning, holding within it echoes of affection, frustration, misunderstanding, and forgiveness. The physical structure of the house, with its rooms and hallways, mirrored the psychological interiors that Thijs was slowly beginning to revisit. Every doorway entered and every corner examined carried the weight of past interactions and unspoken tension, now revisited with maturity and clarity.
Rather than seeking neat conclusions or emotional closure, Thijs allowed the ambiguity of her experience to remain intact. There is grace in her willingness to sit with discomfort, to acknowledge the unanswered questions that linger between parent and child. This approach is deeply resonant for anyone who has grappled with complicated family dynamics, especially when mental illness adds layers of complexity to roles and expectations within the household.
The creative process became a bridge—not just across physical distance, but across emotional rifts that had long existed in silence. In choosing to revisit her father’s world with openness rather than judgment, Thijs initiated a form of non-verbal dialogue that allowed understanding to emerge gradually. This journey of reinterpretation offered not only a sense of relief but also provided a model for others seeking to reconcile with their own difficult inheritances.
A Testament to Healing: Connecting Personal Histories with Collective Realities
Perhaps one of the most compelling aspects of Safe House is its ability to maintain personal intimacy while touching on shared human experiences. Although the work is grounded in one family’s story, it resonates across cultural and emotional landscapes. The act of turning inward—of confronting emotional truths, facing familial legacies, and accepting the complexity of love—transcends individual biography and becomes universally recognizable.
For those who have grown up navigating the unpredictable terrain of a loved one’s mental health, Safe House offers a rare space for solidarity. It validates feelings often suppressed—grief without clear loss, love complicated by fear, guilt born from helplessness. These are not emotions that easily find space in public discourse, yet they are essential to understanding how we relate to ourselves and others. Thijs’s work brings these emotions to the surface, not to resolve them, but to honor their presence.
The journey from emotional disconnection to narrative clarity is never linear. Thijs’s process reminds us that healing often requires circling back, revisiting old wounds with new eyes, and granting ourselves the patience to evolve in our understanding. In doing so, we move beyond surface-level coping and begin to foster genuine empathy—for ourselves, for our families, and for those navigating similar emotional terrains.
Safe House stands as a quiet yet unflinching witness to the complexities of love shaped by mental illness. Through its evolving narrative, it invites others to reflect on the nuances of their own family histories, to confront inherited silences, and to find strength in vulnerability. It is a living testament to the courage it takes to look inward—and the profound liberation that can come from doing so.
The Ethics of Intimacy: Reimagining Representation with Empathy
In Safe House, Lea Thijs enters deeply personal terrain—navigating her relationship with her father through a lens that requires not only emotional vulnerability but unwavering ethical integrity. What distinguishes this work from many personal narratives is its profound sense of care, a quiet but firm refusal to objectify or oversimplify the complexities of another’s mental state. Her father, diagnosed with bipolar disorder, is not reduced to a symbol or specimen. He is honored as a full human being, with nuance, contradictions, dignity, and agency.
This ethical foundation anchors every aspect of the project. Thijs does not position herself as an interpreter of her father's experience but rather as a witness to its impact on their shared life. She acknowledges the limits of her perspective and allows space for uncertainty. This distinction is crucial—it transforms Safe House from a one-sided account into a relational project that honors the intersubjective nature of familial memory.
In contrast to exploitative or sensational portrayals often associated with mental health depictions, Safe House takes the radical step of slowing down. It invites the viewer to look without assuming, to witness without dissecting, and to feel without demanding resolution. The result is a compelling and respectful invitation into a private world that reflects the layered emotional reality of living with—and loving—someone navigating psychological extremes.
Shared Agency and Mutual Trust: Building a Narrative Together
A cornerstone of the ethical strength in Safe House is the collaboration that underlies it. Thijs’s father is not an object of observation—he is a participant in the unfolding dialogue. This sense of mutual trust is deeply embedded in the structure and process of the work. His involvement is not performative; it is real and significant, even extending into the creation of the images themselves.
One particularly resonant example is a photograph that he captured himself using a remote cable release. This act, while seemingly simple, carries profound symbolic weight. It represents more than mere cooperation—it embodies shared authorship, signaling that his presence within the project is active, not passive. He becomes both subject and co-creator, affirming that the story being told belongs to both of them.
This commitment to collaboration deepens the emotional resonance of the project. It softens the boundary between observer and observed, allowing for a relationship that evolves in real time within the work. In doing so, Thijs refuses to wield power over her subject, choosing instead to co-exist within a narrative built on mutual recognition. The process redefines what it means to represent another, especially within the fragile terrain of mental illness and familial bonds.
In many ways, Safe House becomes a rare blueprint for ethical storytelling, especially when the lines between personal experience and another’s vulnerability are blurred. It poses vital questions about responsibility: Who gets to tell a story? What permissions are needed, not just legally, but emotionally? And how can trust be nurtured when revisiting memories that may be painful or misunderstood?
Beyond the Diagnosis: Reclaiming Complexity in Mental Health Narratives
Central to Thijs’s vision is the rejection of reductive portrayals. Mental health—particularly bipolar disorder—is too often framed in extremes or clichés, with individuals either villainized or romanticized. Safe House stands in stark contrast to such tropes. It insists on complexity, showing how a diagnosis can reshape relationships without becoming the sole definition of a person.
Thijs carefully sidesteps the temptation to frame her father only through the lens of his condition. Instead, she reveals his contradictions, his humor, his quiet presence, and the ripple effects of his emotional states. The work is not a catalogue of symptoms but a meditation on what it means to love someone who experiences the world in unpredictable and sometimes overwhelming ways.
Importantly, Safe House also acknowledges the pain and difficulty involved—not just for the person diagnosed, but for those around them. This emotional honesty avoids the trap of glorifying suffering while still honoring resilience. The project offers a layered look at how trauma, misunderstanding, and love can co-exist. It demonstrates that mental illness exists not in isolation but in the web of interpersonal histories, cultural expectations, and generational patterns.
By creating space for both beauty and hardship, Thijs challenges the cultural impulse to seek closure or clear answers. Instead, she invites an acceptance of ambiguity—a place where empathy is more powerful than explanation. The resulting narrative is not about bipolar disorder per se, but about how its presence reshapes time, identity, and belonging within a family.
This approach invites viewers to reflect on their own relationships. How do we hold space for the emotional complexity of those we love? What do we inherit from our caregivers, both spoken and unspoken? And how do we move forward when healing does not come in straight lines?
Emotional Integrity and the Power of Listening
Underlying every frame of Safe House is a sense of emotional honesty that feels both unflinching and tender. Thijs does not manipulate or dramatize. Instead, she listens. The entire project functions as a form of active listening—not just to her father, but to herself, to their shared silences, and to the echoes of the past reverberating in their present.
This quality of listening transforms the work into something far more intimate than documentation. It becomes a dialogue with memory, a response to emotional inheritance, and an offering to others who might feel alone in their own familial struggles. Thijs’s refusal to speak for her father—and her insistence on letting him speak for himself—is a powerful act of respect, especially in a world that so often silences or misrepresents those with mental illness.
At the conclusion of the project, her father’s written words are presented alongside the visual work. This inclusion offers a necessary counterpoint, revealing not just how Thijs sees her father, but how he understands himself. The contrast between his raw, introspective voice and her gentle, interpretive images reveals the gap between intention and reception, between inner life and external perception. It is in this gap that much of the project’s emotional depth is found.
Thijs’s work does not pretend to bridge that gap entirely. Instead, she honors its existence. She acknowledges that love often means caring deeply without fully understanding, and that empathy does not require perfect insight. The project’s emotional integrity stems from this humble stance—not knowing everything, but choosing to care anyway.
Safe House ultimately stands as a testament to ethical engagement within personal narratives. It shows that when we approach difficult stories with humility, sensitivity, and collaboration, we create spaces that can hold pain without collapsing under it, that can reflect difference without judgment, and that can transform silence into connection.
Origins of a Sanctuary: The Psychological Weight Behind the Name
The title Safe House carries with it a profound resonance that transcends its literal meaning. It was drawn from a deeply introspective place—specifically, a chapter in The Examined Life by Stephen Grosz, a book exploring the intricacies of the human psyche. When Lea Thijs gifted this book to her father, it was more than a gesture of thoughtfulness. It was an invitation into a shared emotional dialogue, one grounded in a desire to understand, to listen, and perhaps to forgive.
Among the book’s contemplative passages, the chapter titled “Safe House” struck a chord with her father. He spoke about his home not simply as a structure of bricks and walls but as a protective shell, a boundary between his internal world and the unpredictability of the external environment. He described the way he had planted thick bamboo around the perimeter—not for aesthetic reasons, but as a psychological barrier. He longed for solitude, for distance from perceived threat, for a bubble where the noise of the outside world could be kept at bay.
This concept of a home as both haven and fortress became foundational to the emotional landscape of Safe House. Thijs embraced this layered metaphor not only for its relevance to her father’s life but also for its capacity to encapsulate broader emotional realities. The notion of a “safe house” began to represent the fragile tension between protection and isolation, between safety and silence, between retreat and entrapment.
Her father’s articulation of his surroundings became a framework through which she could navigate her own memories. The name took on dual meanings, reflecting both his need for retreat and her own yearning to enter into the emotional interior of their relationship—a place fortified, but not impenetrable.
Emotional Architecture: Mapping the Interior World of Family Memory
In the structure of Safe House, Thijs constructs an emotional cartography that mirrors the literal layout of her father’s home. The project invites viewers to move through a sequence of spaces that echo the natural flow of entering a residence—beginning in the outer garden, moving into interior rooms, and finally stepping back outside. But these spaces do more than mimic the physical passage through a house; they serve as symbolic thresholds to psychological states.
The garden, lush yet guarded, represents the threshold of entry—the first impression of safety, beauty, and distance. It is a curated boundary that invites but also deters. As viewers are drawn further inward, they encounter intimate corners of domestic life: a dining table, a hallway, personal artifacts. These elements are not merely visual details—they act as emotional cues, each revealing a layer of the family’s past, each holding memory like sediment.
These spaces are not uniformly comforting. Some rooms feel emotionally charged, dense with unspoken history. Others radiate warmth, hinting at reconciliation or quiet acceptance. This interplay between emotional shelter and exposure allows the title Safe House to unfold like a psychological map, where the act of entering a room becomes synonymous with revisiting buried memories.
Thijs does not instruct viewers on how to feel. Instead, she allows them to explore the interior terrain at their own pace, much as one would cautiously navigate a childhood home long left behind. The familiar becomes strange, and the strange becomes familiar again. This fluid sense of space deepens the understanding of why the term "safe house" is so apt—it reflects not only a physical refuge but also the mental and emotional architecture that defines family legacy and emotional inheritance.
The Duality of Shelter: Between Isolation and Connection
The phrase Safe House evokes contrasting images depending on one's perspective. For some, it is a refuge—a sanctuary from the storm. For others, it may represent emotional confinement, a place of solitude that borders on estrangement. Thijs embraces this duality, using the ambiguity of the term to emphasize the multifaceted nature of familial relationships, particularly those shaped by mental health complexities.
Her father’s home, fortified by towering bamboo and distant from neighbors, is not simply a place of comfort. It is also a place where difficult conversations echo in hallways and where long-standing silences have taken root. For Thijs, entering this space meant confronting not only the person her father had become but also the unresolved emotional residue of their shared past.
This internal conflict—between the desire to protect and the fear of emotional distance—is what gives the title its potency. A safe house, after all, can protect both from external threats and from facing internal truths. Thijs does not shy away from this contradiction. Instead, she leans into it, allowing the project to act as a bridge between these opposing forces.
The emotional landscape depicted is rich with ambivalence. A house can be a retreat but also a place of loneliness. It can offer clarity and simultaneously obscure. Within these paradoxes lies the true strength of Safe House. It does not promise safety in the conventional sense. Rather, it explores what it means to seek safety in emotional honesty, in revisiting the past, and in choosing to understand the complexities of those we call family.
This nuanced exploration helps viewers confront their own definitions of safety. What are the walls we build to feel secure? Who do we let in, and why? And what happens when a safe house becomes too safe—so much so that it keeps out healing as well?
Memory in the Walls: Inviting the Viewer into Private Spaces
The metaphor of the safe house reaches its crescendo in how it invites the viewer not just to look, but to enter. Thijs’s work is a quiet invitation to step inside a space that is not theirs, to witness without intrusion, and to sense the atmosphere shaped by years of layered memory. The work’s quiet restraint encourages presence without judgment, reflection without resolution.
Each image resonates with the echoes of past conversations, tensions, reconciliations, and things left unsaid. Silence is its own character here, inhabiting spaces where words have failed or been withheld. This is not silence born of emptiness, but of emotional density—a type of silence that asks to be felt rather than filled.
By guiding the viewer through a structured but non-linear journey, Thijs encourages a meditative experience. The absence of overt exposition allows personal interpretation. One can sense the protective impulse behind her father’s actions, but also the emotional implications for a daughter trying to find entry points into a fortified world.
The title Safe House thus becomes more than a label—it is a living metaphor, an active participant in the narrative. It evolves with every room entered, every image studied, and every memory re-examined. For the viewer, the safe house may begin as a physical structure but ends as an emotional concept—complex, contradictory, and deeply human.
Ultimately, Safe House serves as a deeply personal yet universally resonant meditation on what it means to create boundaries, to seek sanctuary, and to reconnect across emotional distance. Through the interplay of space, metaphor, and memory, the title becomes a thesis in itself—a distillation of the project’s central question: How do we make ourselves safe, and what do we lose or gain in doing so?
Crafting Stillness: Embracing the Slowness of Process
In a time when rapid content production has become the norm and immediacy often takes precedence over meaning, Safe House stands as a meditative outlier. The deliberate pace embedded in the project’s creation echoes its emotional tenor—measured, intimate, and contemplative. Central to this ethos was Lea Thijs’s choice to engage with a slower, more methodical working style that demanded intention over spontaneity.
Rather than opting for fast or reactive methods, Thijs gravitated toward a deeply immersive process that required her full attention and emotional investment. This extended engagement became essential in exploring the layered, often fraught dynamics of her relationship with her father. The process, like the subject matter itself, could not be rushed. It needed time to breathe, to settle, and to speak with honesty.
Each visual frame thus became an act of patience. Every session unfolded through a rhythm of quiet preparation, mutual consent, and emotional attunement. This approach allowed for deeper introspection—not only within the subject but also within Thijs herself. The creative method mirrored the emotional journey: tentative, revealing, and at times difficult to navigate.
By making space for slowness, Thijs emphasized the value of mindfulness in personal storytelling. The stillness at the heart of Safe House is not a passive stillness but an active, searching quiet—one that invites viewers to linger, observe, and feel their way through each unfolding layer of familial complexity.
Consent and Collaboration: Establishing Emotional Reciprocity
The process behind Safe House was not only about crafting images—it was about crafting relationships. Thijs chose to involve her father in the act of creation in a way that ensured trust, clarity, and mutual respect. This was not a subject placed under scrutiny; this was a person being seen and heard with intentional care. That distinction—between documentation and collaboration—sits at the ethical heart of the project.
Each image was planned, discussed, and often constructed through conversation. Thijs took the time to explain her intent, to invite her father into the process, and to listen when he responded. This open dialogue transformed what could have been a one-sided exploration into a shared emotional territory. He was not only aware of being represented—he was consciously participating in that representation.
One of the most emblematic instances of this dynamic is a frame captured not by Thijs but by her father, using a cable release. This gesture holds a deeper resonance: it demonstrates agency, involvement, and symbolic authorship. It speaks to the shifting roles between father and daughter, artist and subject, memory-keeper and participant. This is storytelling built not from the outside looking in, but from the inside out.
By ensuring that her father had a voice, not just within the content but within the creation itself, Thijs dismantled the usual power dynamics often present in personal narrative work. The emphasis on slow engagement made this possible. It gave both of them the time needed to build trust, reflect on their evolving relationship, and find a new way of communicating—one built not on words, but on presence.
The Rhythm of Memory: Mirroring Emotional Cadence Through Method
At the core of Safe House is a rhythm that echoes the experience of revisiting memory—nonlinear, unpredictable, and emotionally layered. The project’s method of creation reflects this rhythm in a manner that is both intentional and organic. Memory does not arrive in bursts; it seeps in slowly, through scent, space, silence, and small moments of recognition. Thijs’s approach to working mirrored this delicate unfolding.
The structure of each session followed the energy of the moment rather than any rigid blueprint. She allowed emotional cues to lead the way. If her father felt withdrawn, she waited. If a conversation unearthed something important, she gave it room to exist. This sensitivity to timing and context created a deep synchronicity between the making of the work and the emotions being explored within it.
This alignment between emotional cadence and creative methodology made the project feel alive—responsive rather than reactive. The house, the surroundings, the shifting weather—all of these elements fed into the atmosphere of each encounter. Rather than controlling the narrative, Thijs allowed it to form naturally over time. This gentle unfolding mirrors the process of emotional healing itself, which rarely follows a straight path but moves in spirals, regressions, and quiet revelations.
The deliberate nature of her work extended beyond the image-making process. It permeated every aspect of the project, from concept to execution, from text inclusion to layout. Everything about Safe House was designed to support emotional truth, not spectacle. It’s in this methodical commitment to authenticity that the project finds its rare strength.
Time as Material: Redefining the Creative Gesture
In Safe House, time becomes more than a factor—it becomes a material. It is the invisible thread that binds each moment, each frame, and each memory together. Thijs treated time not as a limitation but as a vital ingredient in building trust, extracting emotional depth, and crafting a narrative with integrity.
The prolonged timeline of the project allowed for reflection, pause, and re-evaluation. If something felt unresolved, there was space to return. If an emotional response emerged later, it could be folded back into the evolving narrative. This circular engagement with time created a sense of depth and richness rarely found in hastily produced personal work.
In choosing a slow and intentional methodology, Thijs also made a powerful commentary on the cultural obsession with speed and productivity. She challenged the idea that value lies in output. Instead, she located meaning in endurance, presence, and patience. The final work is imbued with this ethos. Every image feels lived in, every space explored rather than consumed, every emotional beat given room to echo.
The project offers a quiet but poignant reminder: sometimes, the most important stories require time to surface. They do not emerge in the rush of deadlines or the pressure of performance. They need waiting, wondering, and witnessing. Safe House exemplifies this principle, showing that when we give stories the time they need to evolve, they often reveal more than we ever expected.
In the end, time itself becomes the connective tissue that holds Safe House together—not as a timeline, but as a practice. A practice of slowing down. Of paying attention. Of showing up, again and again, until the silence between two people begins to speak.
Temporal Reflections: Connecting the Present with Fractured Memories
The imagery in Safe House spans multiple temporal dimensions. Some photographs reference specific moments from her father's past—his childhood classroom in Brussels, for instance, or the shards of broken plates from a long-ago outburst. However, Thijs resists the notion of reconstructing the past. Instead, she uses these images as emotional anchors—tools to probe memory, provoke reflection, and facilitate understanding.
The photographs were all taken in the present, yet they serve as vessels for past recollections and future aspirations. The text included in the book helps the audience place these visuals within a broader timeline, but the emotional resonance remains non-linear. This layered approach reflects the nature of memory itself: fragmented, unpredictable, and deeply personal.
Thijs’s work captures how the present is always in conversation with what came before, especially in relationships touched by psychological trauma or unspoken grief. The result is a deeply introspective visual essay—one that avoids nostalgia and instead opts for presence, honesty, and emotional rigor.
Emotional Resonance: The Viewer’s Role in Interpretation
A defining strength of Safe House lies in its openness to interpretation. While rooted in personal history, Thijs’s visual language is evocative enough to resonate with a wide audience. She acknowledges that each viewer may perceive her images through their own emotional lenses, and she welcomes this diversity of understanding.
Whether or not one has firsthand experience with bipolar disorder, the emotional undercurrents of the work—longing, miscommunication, tenderness, fear—are universally recognizable. Thijs captures these nuances without instructing the viewer on what to feel. Her objective was not to create a definitive statement, but rather to construct an empathetic space where others might see fragments of their own stories.
In doing so, she fosters connection. The book becomes a quiet companion for anyone grappling with familial tension, generational silence, or the enduring echoes of mental illness. It is not a manual or diagnosis—it is a mirror, offering both clarity and ambiguity in equal measure.
Looking Ahead: Evolving Themes and Future Explorations
Following the release of Safe House, Lea Thijs stepped away from long-form projects to focus on building financial security and reevaluating her relationship with creative work. She found greater satisfaction in crafting deeply personal projects rather than pursuing commercial commissions.
Yet, her creative instincts remain vibrant. Two new conceptual ideas currently occupy her thoughts. One centers around the intricate decision-making process surrounding parenthood—examining why individuals choose to become parents or remain child-free. This project promises to explore both societal pressures and personal reflections, likely continuing her tradition of nuanced, emotionally intelligent storytelling.
The second concept delves into the effects of gentrification and the housing crisis in Lisbon, where she currently resides. Drawing from her experience as a Belgian immigrant in a rapidly transforming city, Thijs intends to confront her own position within the complex socio-economic web of displacement and privilege. As someone who can afford the rising costs in a city where many locals cannot, she is keenly aware of her dual role as both observer and participant.
Both future projects suggest a continuation of Thijs’s commitment to ethical engagement, introspective honesty, and the exploration of difficult, often uncomfortable truths. Her work remains grounded in authenticity—never seeking spectacle, but always inviting dialogue.
Final Reflections:
In its totality, Safe House by Lea Thijs emerges as a hauntingly beautiful and emotionally intelligent meditation on the complexity of human connection—particularly between a child and a parent shaped by the undercurrents of mental illness. Rather than merely documenting a father’s struggle with bipolar disorder, Thijs presents a reflective inner world where memory, love, fragility, and identity coexist in a delicate balance. The project is not just personal; it resonates universally, allowing viewers to see reflections of their own familial entanglements and emotional inheritances.
What makes Safe House truly remarkable is its refusal to conform to a single narrative. It does not aim to resolve, diagnose, or romanticize. Instead, it invites ambiguity and nuance. It recognizes that the emotional residue left by mental illness—especially within families—is not easily captured or explained. Thijs understands that the story of mental health is not linear; it is cyclical, ever-evolving, and deeply influenced by perspective. Her photographs, imbued with silence and intentional slowness, provide the necessary space for those stories to breathe.
The artistic decisions throughout Safe House—from the large-format camera to the collaborative inclusion of her father’s voice—underscore Thijs’s ethical rigor and emotional maturity. She does not impose a gaze; she shares one. She does not speak for her father; she listens alongside him. This approach not only elevates the work beyond personal narrative but also anchors it in a wider discourse about representation, agency, and the ethics of storytelling.
In an age saturated with content, Safe House stands apart for its meditative pace and emotional sincerity. It resists sensationalism and embraces the everyday truths that define us: the unspoken conversations, the inherited silences, the places we call home, and the people we struggle to fully understand.
Ultimately, Safe House is more than a photo book—it is an act of compassion, a visual elegy, and a soft-spoken testimony to the power of love amidst uncertainty. It offers not answers, but presence. And sometimes, that is the most healing gesture of all.
