Peeling potatoes

while I read

about the world falling apart.

The American Dream.

It's called a dream

for a reason

because it’s not 

a reality

for everyone.

Away

pain.

The urge to travel far away

is a word

in German

Fern

weh.

Sometimes

soon

means

never.

My daughter

is

my muse.

One person

in a sea

of millions.

After the virus broke out

my daughter and I

started doing photowalks around the canal.

I taught her how to use a camera

and she taught me a new way of seeing.

I heard someone say

there's only

two kinds of people

that walk in LA

bums or artists.

Albert

holding my camera

so elegantly

at the Griffith Observatory.

I

too

am a loner

wondering.

Doing

nothing,

really

under a tree

squinting

at the sun so bright

doing

really

nothing.

Sometimes

the silly name of a German store

can put a smile on your face.

I hope they are right

and one day

everybody will be happy.

The signs said

STOP

END

NO

but we did not listen.

Still dreaming

the American Dream,

still dreaming.

I tilted down with the camera

to photograph my shadow

on the street.

Just then – without warning –

I disappeared.

The very first word

my daughter said to me

was “shoe“.

In Kiev

in the back of a car

going to work,

I saw a group of soldiers

in the back of a car

going to work.

First snow,

magic snow.

Last snow,

no more snow.

I look so much

sometimes 

I forget to listen.

I never get tired

of looking

at water.

I

always

ask for

a window seat

to look

and to take pictures.

Birthdays

are

always better

in the sun.

My daughter's hair

used to be

so thick

combing it

took forever.

I left

right after

the light

started to dissolve the man

standing on a rock

in front

of me.

I used to

love to

take walks

on the old graveyard

in Berlin.

When I went to a funeral

there

the mood changed

and I turned my back

and never went there since.

I did

not

know

I could

love

this much.

Not matter what

you photograph

you always

photograph

yourself.

The nature in LA

at night

reminds me

of the dreams I had

as a child.

The rolls of film

I shot in the desert

got x–rayed so intensely

at the airport,

it gave the pictures

a new mood.

Every day

breaks

my heart.

But it's ok.

In the high-rises

of Gropius Stadt,

in Berlin,

so many people

are living together,

alone.

Elise

lying on my favourite car

reading my favourite book

in my favourite city.

In no other city

kids

rule the streets

like in Berlin.

Each time

I read

"NO PICTURES"

I instinctively grab my camera

and look why

somebody felt the need

to put up this sign.

To me

it might as well read

"PICTURE OPPORTUNITY".

One day

having breakfast

on a trans-continental overnight flight

felt like

being awake in a dream.

Some time ago

I took this picture

of a snowstorm

with a camera

that I gave away

some time ago.

I like to think

that all the beautiful

rusty vintage cars in LA

become ghosts

once the sun sets

and ride through

the city

all by themselves

when everyone is sleeping.

An open bottle

of Mountain Dew

in Echo Park

reminded me

of the iconic words

from Alice In Wonderland:

“Drink me“.

One day

in a tiny bungalow

in Hollywood

we met a cat

who loved water.

There are so many

little details and nuances

you start noticing

when doing the same thing

over and over.

When we shot a commercial in Paris,

on the Pont Neuf,

Fanny,

our dancer,

in between her choreography

suddenly disappeared

on the small ledge behind the bridge.

On the Seine

I could see the tourists

looking as baffled

as I was.

Sometimes

when you look out of

a window

you're not sure yet

whether you look

into the past

or the future.

I love how the fog

in Venice Beach

appears and disappears

so quickly

without a warning

making the coastline look like

a forgotten ghost town.

This picture

feels like it’s not taken by me.

And in a way that’s true,

because I was just there

at the right moment,

not giving directions

or setting up a mark for the butterfly where to land.

Just pressing the shutter.

Waking up 

too early

in the morning

jet–lagged

walking around with a camera around my neck

is still magical to me.

For a music video

we once filmed Claude 

lying in the gras

with a golden gun.

In the end

I didn’t like the video

and I don’t like guns

but for some reason

I still like this picture 

of Claude sleeping peacefully

with a golden gun.

On Gran Canaria 

isolated through my lens

from the trashy and touristy environment

a girl sitting in the dunes

looked like

it just fell to earth.

Some time ago,

at the night before Christmas Eve 

in Dortmund, Germany.

We didn’t have any money,

and we passed a long construction fence.

Behind it were hundreds of chopped trees

all neatly lined up 

and we wondered 

what would happen to all these Christmas trees

if nobody bought them?

So impulsively we grabbed the nearest tree 

and pulled it under the fence.

It was our first Christmas Tree 

together.

Years later 

we shot a commercial,

in a small Chateau in Paris,

owned by a rich American.

The art department brought in a small 

but beautiful Christmas tree,

that reminded me of

that stolen tree in Dortmund.

Claude who has 

big red lips

that she's hiding

with a telephone

shaped like

big red lips.

When Zelda 

was just a few weeks old

she looked like a doll

made of porcelain.