Innocence, the future still to come, and now that we look at this document of a past moment in our life, we might realize that the future we were dreaming of in very vague terms never has arrived at our doorstep, and that the dreams we had then, if we had them, were
Turning the pages of Hesitating Beauty I feel a rising sadness. And I feel gratitude for the fact that Joshua Lutz found a language that lets us imagine the outlook of a women who has lost her balance early in life. The pains we are subjected to we do not dare to share. Thus we
Regularly confronted with grief and death, pain and suffering, regularly confronted with ultimate loneliness, I haven´t learned to believe in God. But God is a necessity, even if he doesn´t exist. So we had to invent him. And if we could believe him as friendly and generous, that would offer us some of the solace
There are truths, the personal truths, or may we call them beliefs that we keep on carrying around with us, because otherwise we would loose direction and would become paralyzed. Photographs are like Tarot cards: they are the backdrop for your fantasies. I trust my eyes. But if I take photography as the embodiment of
To be different, makes you an outsider. If you merely feel different, you will make yourself your life miserable. If your difference is visible, society will give you a hard time.
Charlotte Salomon was born 1917 in Berlin. She was transported to Auschwitz on 7 October 1943 and was probably gassed on the same day she arrived there. She was five months pregnant then, only permitted to live 26 years. She would have stayed anonym as most of the Jews, Sinti and Roma and homosexuals that
Without any further information, this photograph, is nothing but beautiful form. Black and white, almost symmetric, but not fully, the hair of the young girl opening like a curtain, showing a pretty, earnest looking face, the roundness of her head echoed by the shining buttons of her shirt. But then you will get the information,
This is a photograph of my sister. I was a little kid then, as she was too. In the meanwhile my hair turned grey, and we have grown distant to each other. Not art but memory. The movement of time engraved into one image. Innocence, the future still to come, and now that we look
my husband. danait is 19 and comes from eritrea. now she lives here, in my posh little suburb. She is housed in of the tin containers the authorities had put up and shares i a room of fourteen square meters with five other women. she never says a bad word about of her roommates,
image by Sibylle Fendt from „Gärtners Reise“ Life tells many stories, but most of them remain unheard. / His hand on her hand, she feels his touch. And the journey begins, wearing a summer hat, stopping for short breaks, tomatoes on the table, sun falling on her face, small clouds up in the sky and
Looking at photographs, we easily could get the impression that they tell us stories. Stories about life and death, stories about little moments and big events. Just by looking at photographs we travel to different continents, we look in the eyes of strangers, and see catastrophes and poverty. Photographs fulfill our need to follow up
The old lady in her wheelchair detected the little stone and asked me to pick it up for her. She kept the stone in her hands for a while. Then she dropped it to the ground. Smooth little round stone, I found you in my pocket today.