In the small villages of Lower Saxony time froze 1000 years ago. Since then, the wheat grows on the fields, the thatch gets dried while the sun goes up and down again. The generations of farmers run by like the seasons, children are growing up and having children of their own. Where nature is near, death is still a part of life. And in all that romantic circle of life the modern age crawls in, swirling things around while the wheat still grows, and deer gets shot. The local pub which was there for hundreds of years closed because people don’t get out as much anymore, so it was turned into a living space. The crops are no longer eaten by humans but by the gigantic biogas plant nearby. A new generation is growing up in this environment captured somewhere between the old and the new. This is a debate of change and time, exemplary of our cyclical history and how we may or may not disrupt it.

"But your baby is fine.", is what I heard a lot after I gave birth to my first child, and of course that is what was important. It was not an overly dramatic birth, actually it was quite the norm. I planned an all natural birth and it developed into a c-section. So maybe I should just shut up and be happy because my baby is fine. Maybe its all because my generation is not used to those kind of experiences. Nevertheless, I needed to work through it, feel and understand what happened there. So I began to photograph myself and relive the hours of birth.

When there is breakup, there is pain. Afterwards we can build a new relationship as friends or at least as acquaintances. But most of us don ́t: We hide, ghost or ignore. Not because it is the adult thing to do but because we can’t help it. Years later there is not much left of what was once our world. 

So here it what remains: The smell of our loved ones and their last text.

City people; we are hasting between coffee shops, clubs and busy sidewalks, in the middle of everything, with our shiny Instagram feeds, always in a swarm. Until we enter out tiny apartments and step into lonesomeness, behind closed doors, where we leave something of us behind and enter another world, wether or not we want to. Here, in the darkness of our own thoughts, something is catching up with us again that was hidden within the sparkling world outside.