NorthEastSouthWest

Berlin is newer than last time. Loud. Colourful. With lots of U- and S-Bahnen, busses, people.
Nobody stands out.
You don’t know where to start and you don’t know where you’ll end. And the more you find out, the more you understand.
Saturday might be too early.

Berlin. Clear skies. Almost too blue.

It’s about last September conversations on trees.
Thoughts on Newton. The one with the camera. Not the one with the stars.
Thoughts on neighbourhoods in big cities.
Sometimes, you come back to a place after many years, and it’s the place that has changed. And maybe so have you, but that doesn’t matter so much.

Newton was a revelation. He struck me, for the first time, although he stands for everything in photography I don’t admire – planning, composing, accessorising. Bad taste, but the fashion of the 1980s weren’t his fault. He was a genius in what he did. His pictures have something incredibly terrible and wonderfully timeless. If you manage to look beyond all the naked bodies of those women – something that’s admittedly easier said than done, as they are, umm, very much in your face – you discover stories of places and past times, of a life lived all over the world, seen and created impressions, of sun, of indoors, of shine, of moments and poses, von Einfällen und Zufällen.

ParisBerlin

I walk through this immense city, directionless
I take busses with unknown destinations, I have time
It’s buzzing, one floor down
Tourists, cameras, smiles, maps
And it feels weird, as it’s my own country, my own capital, unknown place

And the sky is almost too blue

Smaller than I remembered it. But with a gigantic Seifenblase in front, this time.

Hamburger Bahnhof, a museum now
Beautiful setting
But modern art
Rarely do I like what I see when I go to an exhibition of modern art. Yet, I continue going cause sometimes you just have to stop and stare. And then you discover some weird beauty, some lines that make sense, something you don’t understand, something you can’t grasp. Then it’s all as weird as life itself, and when you leave the museum, you still don’t really like modern art, but again, you didn’t come in vain. It’s like with the penguins.
In the end, what I think is that Kunst ist, was irgendjemandem gefällt. And that doesn’t always have to be me.

Walking. Between the French and the German

EnteringExiting

MADNESS. The Wall.

Good question.

And now, well, now I feel a bit like moving to Berlin.