Laughing, Listening, Loosing ......

LACHEN - LAUGHING

LISTENING  AND LOOSING

ZUHOEREN UND VERLIEREN

CHANGING

VERAENDERN

GRIEFING  TRAUERN

HOPING  HOFFEN

LOVING

LIEBEN

Seen on a cemetary in the German city of Karlsruhe - a very different sort of tomb stone

THE BUBBLE

CAN YOU SEE IT ?

Gone But Not Forgotten

Is it our wish that we might not be forgotten once we are gone? Or is it not ?

It is somehow my wish, that someone will still love my memory when I have left this life. 

Given the fact, that I can make something of my life that is memorable. 

I visited a place, that has been on my mind since a while, and that I had seen only from the outside through an iron fence when driving by in my car. 

I came to look at one of the oldest cemetery's of East London with graves and tombstones, that are as old as the history of this part of the country where I live, the Eastern Cape.

Many of the first settlers that came to the tip of the African continent from Europe and started their lives here, have found their last resting place on this beautiful but now deserted cemetary under old trees and bushes where you can see the blue of the sea from many points. Long alleys lined by ancient pine trees lead the visitor through it. 

Except, that nobody walks anymore these alleys because it is said to be very dangerous, and that it is a place where you get stabbed, mugged, robbed, raped and attacked.

I have been waiting for someone to go with me for a long time, but did not succeed. One morning then, having become impatient, I drove there by myself. 

The gate was open and I went in. The area seemed deserted and isolated and had a strange aura. Graveyards do not intimidate or disturb me but here I did feel something else. I felt I was not safe. But the scenery was of utmost, romantic and idyllic beauty and tempted me to walk in a little. 

Some of the tombstones and sculptures on the graves were as large as human beings. 

The fate of many of them was and is to be vandalized, abused and ravaged at night when their heads and limbs are beaten off and fire is made on them. 

But still even without a head they serve their purpose: to remind us of something. They remind us of something, that we mostly forget, but that is important to remember to keep us empowered and challenged and motivated in life.

MOMENTO MORI. Remember you must die. Remember the moment comes you must die.

The graves are sunken in and I walked over them in deep grass, that was partly illuminated by the sun when looking at the inscriptions on the tombstones.

Why should we remember that the moment comes we die?

I think that it must be remembered, not with fear in your heart, but just as a personal due date by which we should have done something good and may be great as well.

A reminder to be passionate and joyful. Not to waste your life is the message. 

May be it was simply my imagination, but it seemed to me that the children's graves where the ones, that were mostly untouched. Little angels were still praying.

Most of the time.

A great number of the tomb stones had German names and engravings on them like this one, on which was written in German, that a woman named Elizabeth came in the year 1825 from DEUTSCHLAND ( Germany) and died in East London in 1904. 

Most of the graves date back to the 1800's as early as 1807. 

Many of the inscriptions showed that they carry remains of people who have died before 1900. 

But there are also those who came from other far-away places to Africa. And died young. 

To come from Glasgow in Scotland in the year 1866 to South-Africa is a very long way to die at the age of 33 years.

Many died young. In our perception of today they died terribly young.

Like Baby Enis.

There was an amazing variety of absolutely beautiful sculptures and grave ornaments, and by the detail and the work of them you could see, that they had cost a fortune, even at the time when they were commissioned and when money was still spent on art and detail.

Carved, shaped and engraved in stone a century ago by truly skilled hands.

To tell us they are gone, but not forgotten.

The depth of this statement is incredible. The essence of it is not only symbolic and religious but it show us that art and an artists hand's have made it possible for these names to endure the weather and history of centuries. Through art they are not forgotten. 

And I can look at them. Me and others can look at them. You can look at  them.

Should they not be better protected and taken care of then? 

And what the ones, that stayed behind wished for the ones that left them is still the same what is wished for today.

PEACE, PERFECT PEACE.

And it does not matter, that there are the ones that cannot be traced anymore because their names have disappeared.

They are gone, but not forgotten.

But it would be nice if the descendants could still visit this graveyard peaceful and without fear of being attacked and stabbed.

This graveyard could be like a little famous Pere Lachaise in Paris. It could be a historical monument. 

A place of peace and tranquility in the heart of the city reminding you of a strong part of this country's history.

And while I linger with these thoughts I get shouted at from a distance.

A friendly but upset man who turns out to be the manager tells me to come out of there.

" Don't you know that is one of the most dangerous places in town ? " he asks, " have you not seen the signboard  at the entrance?  Where is your car ? I am gonna walk you to your car? What are you doing here in anyway? When did u get in ?

 A battery of question.

" Nothing, I said, I am just taking pictures of the graves, looking at the inscriptions"."

" Are you doing research'?" 

" No not really", I said " I am just interested ".

" But you can not be here alone, promise me you won't come here anymore alone ? " 

I promised.  AND THEN I SAW MY NAME.

My name is not so common. And I have never seen it on a tombstone.

But there it was.

Isabella died at the age of 29 years in the 1895 five years after her daughter Rose aged 2,5 years.

MOMENTO MORI.

THE WORLD IN THE WATER

Rock-pools are since childhood an ever-fascinating world to me. They are visible during a certain time when exposed at low tide only. 

Gazing down into the clear water and seeing a world so different and wild and wonderful looking back at me peacefully has left me often with a feeling that I can not describe adequately but that might be named freedom. 

It feels like being lost in a beautiful way.

Like Jean Jacques Cousteau must have felt when he explored the worlds under water for the first time in his diving suit that looked like an octopus itself. 

And a couple of hours later everything inside gets changed by the power of the incoming water - no matter how perfect the installation was. 

The two rock pools in the first photo have nearly the same size, color and shape and to complete the picture two stones of the same size and color landed in them.

Coral of  light pink color grow on the round and smooth wall inside. And at the bottom a closed oyster. My reflection in the crystal clear water.

Can you see the standing lion at the bottom.? SHAPED BY THE SAND.

A perfect aquarium with the items organized in poetic arrangement.

I think this is so fascinating.

SOMETHING SO BEAUTIFUL

I saw blood red roses on a soft green background, broken by by white lines.
I SAW SOMETHING SO BEAUTIFUL.

If this was my painting, my own piece of art, done on canvas I would have come a step closer to achieving my life's purpose and goal.

But this painting is in the water. It has been done by different life-forms of the ocean. And it is intended to be perishable. Artists have started to create perishable art. Art that is created for a certain exhibition, shown to the public and then destroyed. 

Following nature's example? 

Small sea nails have decided to crawl a slippery stone covered with green and red algae lying in a rock pool, the surface powdered with a thin layer of white sand, leaving their traces.

Thereby creating a net of interconnected lines looking like a hidden message.

And when they have completed the painting a new piece of work will be started. To be destroyed again.

A PIECE OF SEA GLASS

Beached, stranded and trapped between a rock and a hard place.
But not yet grinded enough to have attained smooth beauty. However it is well on it's way if it rejoins the sea when the high tide sets in and the currents start to work on it again and no human hand picks it up.
I won't. To reach perfection takes time.

A STRAIGHT LINE

It has been said that there are no straight lines in nature and I have believed it myself for a while.

But there is always someone or something to proof you wrong and show you the relativity of your thoughts.

A RING OF REFLECTION

This is the most mystical and spiritual photo I have taken last year. And it is for many friends the most loved one of 2009. 

It is special and I see this photo as a gift that I was allowed to have to remind me of that moment.

I took this picture while I was on a holiday at the wild-coast on a walk along the beach during low tide when all the rock formations where exposed.

The small rock-pool shaped by the flowing water contained tiny shell pieces. 

What attracted me was the darker ring outside the rock-pool in the stone. This is not moisture. The stone has a darker color and the shape of the circle perfectly complements the nature of the rock-pool.

Only later when I was bending over to take the photo from above did I see the two amazing rings of light reflection in the water that were in perfect symmetry to each other and everything around them.

How can I be talking so much about a hole in a stone?

Cause it was a moment of enchantment.

And staying enchanted is one of the most important things for me in life.

If the elements come together with shape and structure and light it is magic. And then you have art.

STORIES OF THE SEA

Shells in a small sea water pool only visible at low tide, organized in clear pattern.


Strolling along the beach makes me happy. Always has. I have been longing for the sea since I was a child. I could say I have a relationship with the ocean. I see a thousand things that make me happy while I walk.

When you have a camera in your hand you get more attentive, your perception is intensified. The ocean is the oldest story teller in the world. I can find inspirations for my work everywhere. This washed out rock at the beach - a piece of art and it would be extremely difficult to copy it. Brancusi could do it.
  Reed - grass growing on the dunes, just where the sand is soft an white. Beautiful design for a ring.

And an even shaped canal during low tide showing the breaking waves at the end. Not visible at high tide. A perfect place to catch crayfish.