People often ask me, ‘What’s the story about the tree?’ If there is one, then I’m writing it right now,” says 44-year-old photographer Patrik Svedberg (@patrik_svedberg). Patrik started the @thebroccolitree project after noticing an otherwise unremarkable tree on Lake Vättern along the drive to his studio in Jönköping, Sweden. Taking photos and videos of the tree since 2013, Patrik is struck by what happens outside of the frame, as well as what’s in it. “Sometimes it’s the most beautiful sky. Sometimes it’s a couple in their 90s. Sometimes it’s birds or stars or just so, so gray and dull. But it’s almost never about the tree itself,” he explains. “If something truly stunning happens just outside the capture then it’s lost. I will not go chasing it. But so many times something remarkable has happened right where I want it, so still today my pulse rises a bit every time I’m approaching the tree.”

Patrik says his Swedish upbringing made him environmentally conscious and the long winters are a challenge to make the best out of bad conditions. “It’s very Swedish to grow up with a strong sense and respect for nature for some reason,” he says. “Maybe it comes with the very varying seasons.”

Patrik plans to showcase images of the tree over time in galleries in the region, and will keep adding to the tree’s story over time: “The tree is the main character, but the stories wrap around it more than the tree is telling them, and each photo has its own story.

24-year-old Brazilian psychology student José Sales (@vejocores) has always had a peculiar relationship with colors. He says he was a “color maniac” as a kid. “At the age of five, I would save up my entire allowance to buy paint for my creative experiments, which sometimes included painting the neighbors’ houses without their permission,” he recalls, laughing.

During his teenage years, José became interested in photography and has recently revisited this childhood obsession. His series of photographs capture the way he sees the world, one bold color at a time. Knowing which color to use for a photographic series comes naturally. “It’s as if colors are always looking for me. I find myself taking series of photographs that relate to a consistent theme,” he says.

For José, colors have always represented emotions, and his study of psychology is an attempt to explore the subject further. “My favorite color is constantly changing and speaks to the moment I’m going through,” he says. “Blue was during a very serene time and orange was when I was looking for new possibilities.” More than anything, José hopes his photos will convey his personal experience. “I hope that people notice that my photographs are a diary, where each and every detail speaks to stories lived and felt.

My husband tries to reason with me that I am in no condition to drive, but I am currently unreasonable and get in the car anyway. Somehow, I navigate the familiar way to her building while carrying the most unfamiliar feeling in my gut.

My dad is walking up as I pull into the driveway. Once I say the thing I came to say, his world will collapse like mine just did. How does one say a sentence like this? We sit on a bench. I somehow say it in between sobs. His face goes blank. He sheds a tear but says nothing. This is how he deals with grief.

My mom isn’t home. She’s out with friends: a movie and an early dinner. So, I pace the floor while she enjoys her final moments of ignorant bliss. My husband comes in with the baby who gets hysterical when I get hysterical, so I try to stay calm.

My brother’s business manager calls. He is kind. He sends condolences. He says he was there when the detectives were there. He says something about a coroner’s notice being affixed to the front door of the house telling the world he has died. He tells me he doesn’t want to rush me and knows this is a deeply personal time, but that once the news gets out, it will be a runaway train. It will be totally out of our control. So, I need to tell my mom as soon as possible. I don’t fully understand what he means. He is my brother. He is my brother who died. I don’t realize who he is to everyone else.

My mom is still not home. I don’t know what to do. I text her and ask where she is. I don’t want to say too much. I don’t want her to drive knowing what I know. She says she’s at some sushi restaurant and texts me a picture of her dinner. I ask if she’s playing cards later tonight. She asks why — what’s wrong? I say nothing.

The phone rings at 6:45 pm. It’s one of Harris’ closest friends who rarely, if ever, calls. He tells me TMZ leaked the story. He asks if it’s true.