life time … passes by

I don’t quite understand where time has gone. Old year, new year. London, Berlin. This year, I am turning fourty and although there is no reason to get nervous I don’t know how it could happen that just a moment ago, my life was all starting and now, has reached its mature middle (when I am lucky).  When I was a child my grandfather once complained how short life was and being so young feeling time so vastly streched, I couldn’t find this remark anything but ridiculous. But now, every year gets shorter.

Life may get easier growing older; one benefits from experience. However, an aspect I can’t get used to is all these things passing by just to never return. And while remembering them, you even seem to lose your present.

new home

While having managed my move, I am still trying to re-connect my life to England. Unwrapping pieces of memory has been part of establishing a new home in Berlin and caused some sentimental feelings. With a smile, however, I always look up to a small painting I bought on the Isles of Scilly I visited right before I left England and which casts back memories of an unbroken life on beaches I was walking on my own, collecting colourful shells, and singing songs by Soko and Pixies “I was swimming in the Caribbean”. Now, the painting has found a place on a Berlin shelf overlooking my new sunny home with view into a couple of trees that make me feel quite peaceful.

cinema of memories

I feel quite sentimental about my favourite London cinema, the Curzon Soho.

Several times in my life, whenever I had moved to a new city where I didn’t feel at home yet, I resorted to cinemas as safe places of which I knew how they worked and made me feel less strange. In London however and due to language issues, it took me months before I started watching films. Thus, it was rather a special event when I finally entered the Curzon’s largest room to watch a film in Australian English I hardly understood. Yet, this was the beginning of a cinema love. The Curzon didn’t just show ‘the good films’ but also conveyed the right atmosphere. There was the café in the ground floor offering rich cakes which one could eat while watching people out on Shaftesbury Avenue, and there was the cosy café in the first basement advertising the latest films released. There were film posters opposite the toilets in the second basement, The Class, Mad World, Lola rennt and there was a large poster in the box office of In the Mood for Love which is one of my favourites ever. The months before I left London, my cinema trips to the Curzon – now taking place in wintery afternoons – intensified in frequency but also depth of experience. Strangely, I most remember the film Another Earth, beautifully shot in white and blue colours; by no means a perfect film but it somehow hit my feeling of futility. It was right before Christmas and the air dark and sweet, the Curzon café offered ginger bread men and an advertising prior the film played the overly sugary songs by Lana del Rey. I already knew it would be my last Advent season in London and it felt warm and melancholic and still reluctant that it wouldn’t happen what was going to happen.

The Curzon’s website is still bookmarked in my laptop and every now and then, I return to it and get a longing to escape my current world to its basement and feel at home.

little stories

There is always a social interest prior to the aesthetic interest when taking pictures. To document people’s reality, to document how people live, to document human environment is a main motivation. There are wonderful stories to discover in everyday life. And what happens in the photographic situation, what happens between the person photographed and me is more exciting than many other things in life.

under the tv tower

While experiencing flashbacks of London – me sitting in the C2 bus to Camden, me passing by the Hampstead ponds, me strolling around on Brick Lane on a Sunday – I am trying to discover Berlin. How different it is; strikingly peaceful, relaxed, almost cosy. There is nothing of London’s hostility. When the sun is shining, parts of the city seem to turn into a beach; there is sand and striped beach chairs; everywhere there are street cafes filled with people having breakfast, lunch, smoking. There is normal life here which one recognizes first on the fact that children live in the city, children that play in groups in the streets, children that cycle around on bikes, children that play on playgrounds. Where in London is real poverty, here there is an exhibited bohemianism of doors colourfully scribbled with graffiti and walls with left-wing messages and gaps between buildings filled with rubbish. This deliberately keeping things run down is a statement more than a real lack of resources. Wherever you go, there are less people. Sometimes I miss the density of London and the connected intensity; then the only place I know to go is Alexanderplatz. – I still don’t know where to go in Berlin and thinking that all this here is fine, I wish I could go home now.