Betting on a three legged horse

Only a fool or God would bet on the weather and perhaps an englishman. Three times I traveled across Berlin and waited in vain for the snow that had been promised to materialise. It did in parts but nothing to the extent I was looking for so left each time empty handed with no shot. Then yesterday comes my dream snow from nowhere and I am nowhere to be seen near my snowing picture location. I think I'm better at guessing the colour of the next car that comes round the corner than the next 2 days weather. We haven't had so much of the white stuff this year and I sense a part of me looking forward to those first marks of spring. But the snow brings with it a new twist to the view one has and even as it melts and fades, it's dirty ridges and layers make an ever changing architecture.


heavens shadow nr. I+II.  2012 (rooftops of Berlin)

After Hours

They say if you can't beat them, then join them, so I guess you can sort of say that with the below image and my day, last friday. So you find your location, you monitor the weather and you wait for the most promising day. This day was ment to be friday, as I awaited the air to be thick with snow for a new picture for my series on Bee Hives. It did so in the very early, dark hours of dawn but then only presented a picture postcard of blue skies and white over all. They promised more to fall, I went, I waited, I waited and I waited. I did take some shots but they were not what I was after and as dusk draw in I had to admit defeat on this occasion. But the evening light and the dark shadows of night offer something special and an insight to man's alienation and dominance over his environment and with it a subject in it's self.




after hours Nr. 1B. berlin 2011.

Stille Nacht

.... heilige Nacht. That I can't say with any certainty, but the snow that came this late December to Berlin brought an undoubted peace with it. Looking out of my window late evening the picture presented before me held such a stillness, a complex and infinite dance of moment and mayhem played before me. The snow twisting in silent swirls of petticoat lace too remote to crave but so deep and close as the deepest depths of forgotten pockets newly explored. It held me suspended for how long I do not know but now I recall scenes from the film - Powaqqatsi - from Godfrey Reggio that had the same endless stillness in motion. This is all a rather long way round to saying I could only eventually step outside and sink myself into the very same darkness. It's corney to say but if there is any such thing as a church, in the real meaning of the word, then the all absorbing silence under those heavy stained dark skies was the ceilling of such.