Flurr.
[ Morges, 2012 ]
The abandoned villetta, once full of roses and golden German heads, now left in brambles. The village’s church, where they each had their funeral. Thunder clapping outside in November. The cemetery’s stillness broken only by the reddish gravel grinding under footsteps and the occasional gush of water from the stone sink. Tombs drink in abundance when visitors salute.
One day my name will end there too. Engraved on a granite slab.
Pursuing the family’s story, in perpetuum.
[ Torricella, 2007 ]
Six months in Belgrade were insane enough, but the return to the fatherland was besides delirious. No wonder we had a hard time to hitch a ride. And yet.. there’s no place like home.
[ La Gabule, 2011 ]
A timid smile, red lipstick and the search for 2 a.m. coffee in Alexandarplatz.
Six months later, there we were, where he no longer was.
[ Buchstabenmuseum, Berlin-Mitte, 2011 ]