Little Boy Fishing ▪ Limited Edition of 3 photographs (+2 AP) ▪ 80 x 53 cm / 31 x 20 in ▪ Price € 5.000.-
If you went through life refusing all the bait dangled in front of you, that would be no life at all. No changes would be made and you would have nothing to fight against. Life would be dull as ditchwater.
Fishing provides time to think, and reason not to. If you have the virtue of patience, an hour or two of casting alone is plenty of time to review all you’ve learned about the grand themes of life. It’s time enough to realize that every generalization stands opposed by a mosaic of exceptions, and that the biggest truths are few indeed. Meanwhile, you feel the wind shift and the temperature change. You might simply decide to be present, and observe a few facts about the drifting clouds.
Fishing in a place is a meditation on the rhythm of a tide, the arc of a year, and the seasons of life. To scratch the surface of those mysteries, for nearness to the beautiful, to reassure the world remains, to wash off some of the grief for the peace we so squander, to dip into that great and awesome pool of power that propels these epic migrations and to feel, and steal, a little of that energy.
4 Children For Sale ▪ Limited Edition of 3 photographs (+2 AP) ▪ 80 x 53 cm / 31 x 20 in ▪ Price € 12.000.-
As a filmmaker you have 25 frames a second and several minutes, or hours, to tell a story. As a photographer you have one single frame only. A photographer can’t write a dialogue. No talking actors. You have to trust the image to tell the story.
This photograph is the remake of a famous historical photo that made its way into newspapers in 1948. Redone in 2013 to put focus on the tragic case again ’cause things hadn’t changed very much. Human trafficking is still around in many countries and still numerous children are sold throughout the world. Many of them abused by child labor and child slavery. Not to mention sexual abuse and child prostitution.
“My mother needs to be in Hell burning” stated Sue Ellen, one of children given away, at age 67. Before I die, I want people to know the story behind the photo. 2 months later she died. And here is the story of 4 Children For Sale.
The Kid ▪ Limited Edition of 3 photographs (+2 AP) ▪ 80 x 53 cm / 31 x 20 in ▪ Price € 15.000.-
This is metaphorical story of a seven years old, who is stationed as a young serviceman at a ‘Mobile Army Service Hospital’ (MASH) during wartimes. A hospital alone shows what war is. For this reason he raises questions over the war and child labor.
For whom the hammer tolls. All Quiet on the Western Front? It’s only terrible to have nothing to wait for. It is very queer that the unhappiness of the world is so often brought on by small men. I want to think and at the same time that’s the last thing in the world I want to do. We are not youth any longer. We’re no longer young men. We’ve lost any desire to conquer the world. We don’t want to take the world by storm. We are refugees. We are fleeing. We are fleeing from ourselves. From our lives. We are forlorn like children, and experienced like old men, we are crude and sorrowful and superficial – I believe we are lost. To forget is the secret of eternal youth. One grows old only through memory.
Inno Saint ▪ Limited Edition of 3 photographs (+2 AP) ▪ 80 x 53 cm / 31 x 20 in ▪ Price € 12.000.-
First impressions can be wrong. So let me clear what’s going on! I’m not who you think I am. I need to feel some lips on mine. So pulling you across the line! You think I’m the fragile one? One slip, the damage done! I’m not made of china, I’m not made of glass. Would it shatter your illusions if this angel had a past? If you want my future – forget my past!
Don’t wrap me up in cotton wool. Upon a pedestal. If you touch me I won’t break. Don’t think of me that way. I’m not such an innocent girl! I’ve got a secret rose tattoo. I’m dying just to show you. I’m not as shy as you think I am, oh baby! Don’t be scared you’ll break my heart. Not gonna fall apart!
Road’s End ▪ Limited Edition of 3 photographs (+2 AP) ▪ Sold Out
The automobile has become our national sex symbol. As a result of which the woman has become cold and and undersexed; she has projected her libido on to the automobile. So in order to capture and master anything at all of her anymore man has got to make that car his own. Though he must he will not only own one but renew it each year in pristine virginity.
So we have to divorce our wife today in order to remove from our mistress the odium of mistress in order to divorce our wife tomorrow in order to remove from our mistress and so on, lending it to no one, letting no other hand ever know the last secret forever chaste forever wanton intimacy of its pedals and levers, having nowhere to go in it himself and even if he did he would not go where scratch or blemish might deface it, spending all Sunday morning washing and polishing and waxing it because in doing that he is caressing the body of the woman who has long since now denied him her bed.
Film Noir ▪ Limited Edition of 3 photographs (+2 AP) ▪ 80 x 53 cm / 31 x 20 in ▪ Price € 6.000.- ▪ 2 left
The inside of the old Lincoln smelled like asphalt and desire, gasoline and dreams. There was something unbearably sexy about cars at night. The way the fenders twisted the light and reflected the road, the way every driver became anonymous.
Three o’clock in the morning. The highway is empty, under a malignant moon. The oil drippings make the roadway gleam like a blue-satin ribbon. The night is still but for a humming noise coming up somewhere behind a rise of ground. Two other, fiercer, whiter moons, set close together, suddenly top the rise, shoot a fan of blinding platinum far down ahead of them. Headlights. The humming burgeons into a roar. The touring car is going so fast it sways from side to side. The road is straight. The way is long. The night is short. Film Noir.
Steam and Steel ▪ Limited Edition of 3 photographs (+2 AP) ▪ 80 x 53 cm / 31 x 20 in ▪ Price € 5.000.-
In the shuffling madness of the locomotive breath runs the all-time loser headlong to his death. He feels the piston scraping, steam breaking on his brow. He sees his children jumping off at the stations one by one. His woman and his best friend in bed and having fun. He’s crawling down the corridor on his hands and knees. He hears the silence howling, catches angels as they fall. And the all-time winner has got him by the balls. He picks up Gideon’s Bible open at page one. Old Charlie stole the handle, and the train it won’t stop going. No way to slow down!
Miss Nice Saxing America ▪ Limited Edition of 3 photographs (+2 AP) ▪ 80 x 53 cm / 31 x 20 in ▪ Price € 9.000.-
I’ve been out on that open road. Singing in the old bars. Swinging with the old cars. That’s the way the road dogs do it, ride ’til dark. That’s the way I make my life an art. Playing, hot or cold, saxing blues has been getting old. I’ve been traveling too long. I’ve been trying too hard, with one pretty song.
I spent my whole life driving in cars with boys, riding around town, drinking in the white noise. I spent my whole life wasted in bars, playing Rock ‘n’ Roll, dancing in the loud noise. I wear my red lipstick, I grab my coat, I grab my sax. Let’s ride. I can escape to the great sunshine, make it out to the other side. Drugs, suck it up like Vanilla Ice-ys, treat me really nice-ys. I was born to live fast, die young. Live my life on the run. Oh, my God, I feel it in the air. I’m on fire, I feel it everywhere, wonder if this is it, it’s darkest before dawn. I fall asleep in an American flag. I’m Miss America now, I’m gone. I’m Miss America, now I’m free.