picture book

I don’t know what it requires to understand the society of Korea. but, indeed, to fall asleep with a smile on the face, we have to preciously nourish /maintain our fantasy

Well-knowing that the sensation of peeling oranges, counting peas would become a different one in Paris, I flattened the asphalt beneath my feet for another, maybe last time; my fingertips constantly brushed along the facades of this city; in no other city I could sense the standstill as distinctively as here amidst the hissing subways, the streets flooded/illuminated at night. The explicit movement of her surroundings soils the freezed standstill of her, one, the, this; Berührung.

 in my immersive environment in Seoul i found wherei don’t belong to. surprisingly trough my view finder i found moments i desired, and still do, to eternally in- terwove with. ‘white wet sand’ moments at the sea wet sand between the toes. isn’t it of unappeasable magic! indeed for me it is. so much of being in the present; days, yea years after, I would over and again find tiniest sand crumbs everywhere in my apartment (laughing) let’s think of them as reminders to never forget about the magical moments in life. if it’s sand crumble or grain I go with both, the one more besetting as the other.

picture book

grateful for all the moments in which i found personal treasures, the displayed photographies accumulate into my picture book, inherent 112 nights spent abroad in my mothers mother country. a seemingly well-trusted culture known by stories of my mom, puzzled together with blurry childhood memories. peu à peu l’oiseau fait son nid. i hoarded memories to create my Seoul, my Korea. to my surprise i encountered uncountable vast pinpoints which i desire to be eternally interwove with, and all that with a deep anchored chuckle.

in search of my umbilical cord i figured something out, whatever it would be, i’m still exploring. paradoxically it turned out to be the image producing advice par excellence, die Kamera , to embody my umbilical cord. this immensely packed Mega City, home for millions of people, locale of flickering billboards and miraculous phenomena of nature, killer for too many students, then, turned its facade of a apriori isolating monster into an odd, ambiguous playground.

a deep diving journey into South Korea's treasures and measures, the origin of my beloved mothers family and my playground for nearly five month. starting with a desolate, yeah by far the loneliest period of my life yet,  i played out all my cards. i talked to homeless people, to wracks, to strangers, prostitutes, artists, curators, musicians, politicians, millionaires, monks, spirits, to mother earth and not at least to myself all this for the sake of finding answers to question i was driven by . i lived in a 6m2 room, lived in the 64th floor, lived on the streets. i lived absent eventually lived out this exciting hell. When i asked Yun, a families well-trusted friend 'What do you think about Seoul City' he'd reply under cynical laughter exactly that 'exciting hell'. I knew it would become a different feeling to peel oranges and count pees in Paris, so for a very last time i'd trample the asphalt below my feet . 


i absolutely respect and admire the presence
of feelings, theirs dynamic nature and immer
sive aura. i adore the fantasy feelings arise in us. tales planted on earth; such as Nessie wandering around in Loch Ness. its existence will be sustained by any further fantasy passed on from person to another, fostering its drizzling taste and sweeping scent.

hitchhiked from Greece to Berlin.