Fishing With A Dotted Line ▪ Limited Edition of 3 photographs (+2 AP) ▪ 80 x 53 cm / 31 x 20 in ▪ Price € 7.000.-
The river reflected whatever it chose of sky and bridge and burning tree, and when the undergraduate had oared his boat through the reflections they closed again, completely, as if they had never been.
There one might have sat the clock round lost in thought. Thought, to call it by a prouder name than it deserved, had let its line down into the stream. It swayed, minute after minute, hither and thither among the reflections and the weeds, letting the water lift it and sink it until – you know the little tug – the sudden conglomeration of an idea at the end of one’s line: and then the cautious hauling of it in, and the careful laying of it out.
Alas, laid on the grass how small, how insignificant this thought looked; the sort of fish that a good fisherman puts back into the water so that it may grow fatter and be one day worth cooking and eating. From the series Hemingway Little.
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.-
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.
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. From the satirical black photo essay MASH War No More.
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 car has become an article of dress without which we feel uncertain, unclad, and incomplete in the urban compound. Today, cars are extensions of their owners. They make statements about the character and status of their owners. They elicit a wide range of emotions, ranging from exasperation when they don’t work to pure delight when they are expensive, beautiful and drive like a dream. They cause people to stare and drool and say “Some day …”
I always have been in touch with classic and exotic cars. Women are the makeup for photography and in my automotive work females are used to add a slice of life and story telling. And to add a touch of style and beauty. Or to drive the viewer back in time. I prefer ladies by cars over car girls. I cover everyday women and neither makeup artists, nor professional models ever have been involved. From the series The Austin Healey Road Story.
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. From the photo essay Backseat Saints.
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.